Ch2
Of Monotonous Weather, Naome's disappearance
….and what happens when we sleep.
What dreadful weather! I thought. There were no rain, no wind but the sky was overcast by ominous looking clouds. Coffee cup in hand, I found myself peering aimlessly out the window in search of the sun or some nice feature that could make my morning a little better.
It seemed like a continuation of yesterday. The weather exactly the same; Boring and ominous.
The usual stream of youngsters meandered past, rubbing their eyes and yawning, walking unsteadily and holding their breath in anticipation for the events of the day.
What was worse though, was that Naome had not returned. She opening the door and saying a cheerful “Hello!” around nine or ten would have put an end to the day, at least that was how the day should have ended. But she had not come home, so today was just an extension of the worry, the not-knowing and stress of Tuesday.
It was Wednesday! I discovered and with Wednesday went food shopping, laundry and a café visit. I tried ringing her again – no answer now either – before setting diligently out on todays chores.
I, unlike Naome, enjoy finishing everything up in the morning, so that I have the afternoon free. Usually, I'd go to work and then finish up my chores, but my sentence had also left me on something my boss called “Indefinite leave” . So even though the sensor on my leg had a timer and end, that did not extend to my job. I worked as an tutor at the local university, just two miles out of my no-go zone, but reckless driving was clearly not something the university – a well respected one, who often did good in the national rankings – could abide for. “Look, its not that you're not a good teacher, in fact your phenomenal. It's just with the sentence and everything, it would not look good. The university – remember we depend a lot on our sponsors – would seem like it was endorsing your behaviour, and furthermore; being a lecturer requires a pristine, untouched public record”. The phone call had lasted forever, culminating in an endless tirade of “We do apologise, and sorry for the inconvenience, truly sorries and good luck in the future” The whiskey-sore, tiresome, upper class accent of the head of humanities kept pounding at me for an entire hour, until he released me by saying I was on “indefinite leave”. I cursed his stupid comb-over, those retro ray bands and that grey suit of his and went on to do my chores.
It was not that I was in any financial trouble. I had more than enough money saved up to last a year and maybe six months more if I used them sparingly. Every month I would put away a fixed amount 20% of my salary, no more and certainly no less which was not that hard as we – or I? - lived a very laid-back life. Weekdays we would stay home most nights, cook dinner for ourselves and watch a movie or something before going to bed. The only exception to this was that we sometimes ate out on Wednesdays. Not every Wednesday, but whenever we felt like having pizza or a luxurious steak dinner, we would treat ourselves – given that it was a Wednesday.
Also, Naome had a knack for shopping. Like all girls, she liked to dress nicely and have a presentable face, but she also worked as a sales director at a hipster-clothing venture. Therefore she would often receive items free to use when speaking with potential clients or just to dress nice at a prominent party. The little money she used on clothes however, she spent diligently. Traversing through the bigger malls, or just a back-alley shop, she would rummage frantically through the reols, the clothes-hangers and cupboards finding absolutely stunning garments for the least amount of money possible. Whatever she bought, be it a dress or just a simple t-shirt, would then be a miraculous fit. She would wear it as a second-skin, all folds and corners of the clothes blending seamlessly with her figure. What a girl!
For holiday or vacations we did not really do much. Sometimes we would drive to the beach, where her parents had a cabin – a musty old thing without electricity or running water, which made going to the toilet an experience in itself (I usually just held it in for the entire weekend). Most times however, we would just enjoy having time off. Treat ourself to a lush meal. Enjoy some champagne at a local bar with some of her friends – I did not really know that many since I was originally from a town two hours off by bullet train. Or walk around the city aimlessly before looking for something to stumble over, like a cafe or a museum.
This said, one time each year we went all out. We called this “Pollo-Loco” Every summer - sometime in August – we would book a flight to somewhere in Spain and live like kings. Not that we aimed at spending money; No, every day was spent doing what we wanted and nothing else. Navigating the hills around Granada, or diving deep into the lore of the bask countryside; Learning to surf at the coast of malaga, or simply lying on the beach nipping at alcoholic drinks.
As I picked up the vacuum cleaner, I reminisced about our Spanish summers.
- You come back!
- No, you catch me.
Her white skirt caressed the sand as she sprang across the shoreline. Waves, foamy and complacement, splashing along her ankles. Her naked bust, not too big but round and perky, heaved in accordance with her step. She smiled teasingly as she turned towards me, only ten meters away.
- No way, Naome, your way faster than me.
- Ha, you're just afraid you'll lose to a woman.
- I'm certainly not.
The words had barely escaped my lips as I blushed, my face turned crimson and I made it my prime venture to discover the truth of my feet – buried in the sand. From my feet to her lead a trail of footprins ready to be washed away come the next wave. I bet, and hoped I would reach her before then. If not, she might run far far away and hide away in Santa Maria del Compostela. She had that amicable quality, to be both teasing and seductive at the same time. Giving up, I sighed before setting after her.
- Remember, if you don't catch me I'll be lost forever. I'll run all naked like, through malaga all the way to Santa Maria del Compostela. You'll never find me!
- I'm gonna catch you vixen! I'll tie you up and force you to make love, clean my house and breed children – like the Germans of old!
- Hahaha, strong words – hope your feet prove as strong!
Under the setting Spanish sun we had chased each other for what seemed like a lifetime, the. Tourist as Spaniards alike would peek at the woman running around, tits jutting and skirt flailing in the mild on-shore breeze; as well as the rapist adorned with a red Hawaiian shirt, a sun hat and khaki shorts. While laughing a bit too loud for someone all alone, I gathered my thoughts and gave the apartment a quick inspection.
Wednesday was here, there was a lot to be done. Three days worth of Dishes concealed the sink. The entire apartment had been refurbished with another three days worth of soda cans, meal wrappings and t-shirt I had cast away. It seemed like the windows and mirrors too, needed a quick cleaning – I could not even remember last I had done so. A layer of dust hang over them, along with a black stain on the window facing the park – probably a remnant from our last party.
Instead of engaging the black stain, which for some reason irked me boundlessly. I began Wednesday by vacuuming the floors. Done vacuuming, I realised I needed some music and went to my record player. After browsing through my records a while, I choose a record of The Lumineers – an American folk rock group I had grown fond of after seeing them live How come music always sounds better after having watched it live? I did not feel especially happy either, and figured I would probably enjoy the sound of their slow, melancholic guitars and the sloppy voice of their lead singer. As their slow anthem “Morning song” , dedicated to love and bad weather played in the background I began cleaning the dishes. Done with those “Charlie boy” came on, a truly sad piece about something sad – I had never really paid attention to the lyrics on this one. Continuing, I began collecting the garbage. The mound seemed endless. I removed the cans and t-shirt and put them in their respective bags, one for laundry and another for trash. Turning around though, there seemed to have spawned - as if out of nowhere – another layer of filthy clothing and assorted trash. I sighed to myself in indignation, but kept at it. No mound should beat me.
I brushed my brow and stretched my back – creaking and complaining in defiance. I stood erect for some time scanning for anything I might have missed. The apartment was clean as could be. That done, I tried Naome again, but it went straight to voicemail. Where could she have gone? For her to disappear like this was very unusual, she would always let me know if going somewhere unexpected or if something out of the ordinary happened that required her to come home later than expected. Once or twice she had called to me from work. Sometimes, she had to stay an hour or two extra to work on a sales pitch or something, but a night out without any call had not happened before. Never in our seven years of being together had she done anything like this. Better call her friends. I tried Christina, Emily and Julie. The first had not seen her since their party, and asked how I was doing. The second had not attended any party, and had not seen or spoken to her in more than a month, complaining on the distance that had grown between them. The third had also not heard of the party, nor had she any contributions to make; According to her, she and Naome had not spoken in year. Strange, I thought I'd know Naome's closest friends. Dumbfounded, I checked my watch as if to reassure myself that time was somehow in the order I imagined. True, green fingers hinted at the time being 11.35 – so I had used about an hour and half on cleaning.
I looked over the apartment one more time. Thought about calling the police, but decided not to She'll come, probably a great explanation. In an hour or so, she would stride through the door in her high heels and miniskirt, wearing a ralph Lauren polo – pink most likely – and a cardigan of some matching colour draped over her shoulders – probably in a matching colour.
Deciding I needed a nap, I stretched out on the sofa. All the while my ankle monitor was beating of its own time, in bright flashes of red.
12.45 came. Still no sign of Naome. I noticed that I had forgotten the windows and the stain, but resolved cleaning those next Wednesday.
The watch passed two as I rose from the couch, the monitor was starting to itch. “Better do the shopping” I murmured to myself as I rose, donned my black vans and headed out the door.
Venturing outside – I discovered a mist that had not been there in the morning. It was thick and wet and I could feel it seep into me like I was slowly being submerged underwater. Slowly, it grabbed a hold of me and I quickened my pace in an effort to remain – should have worn more clothes – but it proved futile. The mist sucked the warmth out of me, along with something else. Rows of trees flanked the road on both sides. They were oak trees, dead and solemn in expectation of winter. The world beyond the road and trees did not exist there, beyond those were only mist. As I walked in the middle of the yellow line – not many cars here at this hour – I began to ponder. About Naome, her friends and my car crash. I had done a lot of wrong stuff in my days, taking Steroids for one. My journey into the world of steroids had left me with a broken nose, distrustful parents and a regretting heart. I had not been a bad guy, to the contrary I believed that I was entirely normal – if not nice. Sure, I would drive my teacher mad in school by drumming the entire corpus of Metallica in class, but I always worked hard, smiled and achieved good grades. My friends were far worse, and often complained about me being “A Fucking Momma's boy” , I took no heed however. I had no urge to rebel, no difficult childhood or home situation to atone for. I was just an ordinary guy. Of course as if by faith, my friends invited me to drink once, when I was seventeen, and I got wasted beyond belief. A phone call later and an angry mum picked me up – I can't recall any of this – and drove me home, where I puked for an entire day and night, interjected only with short bouts of “I'm sorry” and “I'll never drink again” . Somehow, I had managed to become the black sheep of the family. My brother was just as bad, but he never got caught. Weird how one is always busted when doing something wrong? Like a message from the universe saying “Fuck you, the moon told me you were up to something, and here you are. I've told your parents too” . How weird to be judged for that second of mistake instead of that lifetime of charity?
Sad and disillusioned, I trudged on past oak trees with no name to the local grocery store. Realising I had no shopping list, I went by my gut, which told me I had to by soda, pizza and chips. Afraid of the teller judging me, I grabbed an assortment of greens and threw them on top. At least I'll appear healthy.
Home again the hours ticked by as the fog descended on my apartment. At one minute it was four. I closed my eyes and took another nap and suddenly my clock had turned six. I called Naome countless of times. As the clock turned eight, I called the police.
Long story and a bunch of numbers later I had reported Naome missing. The clerk at the police station, a woman with an extremely high pitched voice and a pencil she kept clicking next to her earpiece assured me that every measure and resource available to them would be on this to ensure a speedy recovery of her. She also advised me that this would probably be quick, but if the case remained unsolved after 48hours the victim would be assumed dead and therefore resources allocated to “more appropriate cases” . She asked me if I was the man from the motorcycle crash – curtly enough but I could hear her colleagues laughing in the background. “What can be more important than my girlfriend!!” I screamed at her, before slamming the receiver down angrily.
I instantly regretted that. I was sad and all alone on the five mile stretch of land allowed to me. I had no friends nearby - always had Naome - and no club or cinema to go to. I was worried. At the same time I was also sad for myself, I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted to drink a beer and listen to her tell me about her work, the gossip in the halls or the new fashions. I wanted to relieve my mind from the oppression that had descended as quickly as the mist outside – I wanted someone to tell me I was good and worth something. That if I had not been there as they came home, they would have been disappointed.
No one came however. No phone rang telling me Naome had been found. No distant friend knocked at my door and the mist did not cease. I stayed up till ten waiting for Naome whilst half-reading a crime novel I had purchased at the supermarket a few weeks before. Watching the mist fall thicker and darker outside of that window, with the annoying black stain. I had two cans of beer, but I could not relax. Nor was I able to enjoy my book. After a page or two, my eyes would drift from the murder taking place before them and journey to the window with the black stain. Outside, the mist was so thick, even the light had trouble. No sound escaped it. No car drove past, nor did any children or bandits scream or laugh as they trod along the cobbled streets of nighttime in search of danger or part. All I could see outside was the nearest traffic light, located at the intersection right outside my window. From green through yellow and then red, then repeat. As the red signal beep so would the light on my ankle, as if the universe was somehow in sync and warning me about someone. What was strange though was that from up high, the very same moon that had been present at my crash veered its light through the clouds and gleamed in the window in anticipation. That troublesome moon hovered anxiously. Holding its breath waiting for my next mistake.
After my third can of beer, I fell asleep mouth agape and book resting firmly on my chest. The room was silent trying its best not to disturb me and the moon held watch from up high. Gazing at my body, outstretched on the sofa in deep slumber.
After a while, the moon grew tired and went away. Only the mist remained. Silent footsteps emerged. From feet to tiny to wake anyone up. Slowly, they traversed the room, taking due care not to wake me. Past the clock on the wall, and the clean sink they marched. The steps were all in unison, there were many of them but they all held the same pace – like the traffic light and the sensor. Tick Tack the clock went; And the feet responded with regular Thud, Thud. At their destination, they stopped beside the sofa, produced a small box made of oak with silver metalwork. One of the creatures produced a key, of the purest gold and with due care put it into the lock. The silver hinges screamed but there were no sound as another of the creatures pried the box open. It was a small box, though to them it must have been massive, like a pirate's treasure chest loaded with pure gold. A third creature climbed onto the sofa. It had done this before, so it knew exactly how to perform the maneuverer without disturbing anything. No sound came as it jumped onto the sofa and dragged itself up; It was so small and light that not even the pillow shifted.
From out of nowhere, it produced a set of scissors all normal looking. The scissors had a red handle and an aluminium body, not nearly as extraordinary as the creatures themselves - nor their treasure chest.
Diligently, the creature grabbed a single strand of my hair with deft and nimble fingers – remember it had done this before. Slowly, it cut the strand at the base with its scissors. Then, it dropped the hair down to the ones waiting at the bottom of the sofa, who snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground. Repeating the process, they went about this all night – until the mist cleared and the night gave way to light.
As I woke, the weather remained as tedious as the morning prior. It was a normal, tiresome day. The traffic light beeped as always and the air stood still, not even the oak trees dared move. Students in their uniforms scurried past on their way to school, chatting about some girl they liked or a test they had flunked. My ankle beeped of the time nervously, and Naome was still not there. For a moment, I mistook Thursday for Tuesday.
