Читать книгу Soundtrack to Torment - Julian Clyne - Страница 5

Above the Clouds

Naomi’s face at the airport. I’m embarking on a journey across a continent and an ocean. It is a race against time. Yet I have no power to go faster, it is entirely out of my hands. It is unbearable: I can only watch in agony as the hourglass empties itself, grain after grain, and I know that this time there won’t be anyone to flip it around.

Naomi’s face at the airport. Her eyes, her beautiful blue-grey eyes, the colour of the Pacific on a bright sunbathed day. She’s fighting hard not to cry, and I thank her for it. To see her tears would tip me over the edge, too. She wants me to know she’ll always be there for me. And right then, she is my only glitter of hope. For a brief instant, with her hand strongly squeezing my hand, I don’t feel the pain. For an instant the oppressive fear disappears which has been growing ever since I heard about my sister’s accident. Naomi and I don’t speak. Words are useless at this point. Her presence is more than I could have prayed for. Before I head towards the security check, she leans in, forces a faint smile, and kisses me. She whispers in my ear, “I love you.” It’s the first time she said it, it’s the first time either one of us said it. I can’t return it, I can only hug her even more strongly. I leave her, hold on to her hand as long as possible, but I have to let her go. “I’m right behind you,” I hear her shout, but I’m scared that we will never again meet as the people we are now.

Naomi’s face at the airport. The vision lingers in my mind. I need to hold on to it, to treasure it, to cherish it. It will no doubt become a crutch for me to lean on. The next thing that penetrates my perception is the blue sky above the clouds. Perfect, untainted azure, as if everything was alright, as if nothing could ever break the peace, as if they were right in saying that, up here, the sun always shines. But it’s just an illusion. For I’m flying East, into the night, and up here the night is even darker.

Naomi’s face at the airport. She’s all I see, even though I try to remember my sister, try to conjure images from a happy past. But instead of memories, there are premonitions of horror. My vivid imagination becomes a curse. I start to see an ICU, tubes dangling and machines beeping. I start to see a crematorium. I start to see my parents, devastated. Then, as if my mind entered a mode of self-defence, Naomi’s face at the airport always returns, stops me from going deeper into the darkness. Tears run down my cheeks and the lady next to me asks if I’m all right. I don’t answer. I’m sorry, too; she seems nice. What use to me are the words of a stranger now? Instead I look out the tiny window and hope the sunset behind us will appease me. The clouds are the colour of blood.

Joe’s face at the airport as he picks me up. Words are useless, his expression says it all. I’m too late.