claretspill whilst leaving london
a story of a mishap in london, October 24 2003,
As I left London, I died. The emotional pressure of having each and every inch of memory you have connected to this place was the crime suspect, and I was then murdered, brutally. I was numb, cold as a stiff, insides breaking up to pieces, while my eyes felt swollen tenfold their size. My whole life flashes in fragments at one particularly agonizing second, and then afterwards nothing. All the faces and places I have known all my life, and then afterwards; nothing. That would probably explain what I feel to have inside of me now, which was; nothing. In these few short months in my history, life suddenly stopped being so philosophical and started to look painful as hell. Mine, even got to the worse point where I could only wished I hadn’t been able to feel, as they were the only reason I was on this unforgiving route of sorrow. My life has ended its joyful routine as I lost what had always become the reason to live for. First, it was Sam, and then, it was almost my career, after, it was my health, then my unborn baby, to make things worse, my friends slipped away during this period, and then it was Bow. Now, I am losing my London, and losing each and every soul I have in the realms of my chest in the process.
I had been hiding in a hotel in Soho for three days before today, and I was forced to follow the specifically heart-breaking route to the airport. And still, I cant believe that I am doing this thing that I was doing; leaving London.
The sky was filled with bright fading blue colour on the topside, with flashes of purplish sombre red-violet sunset setting the time to night bellow them. I couldn’t help myself to overflow my chest with a hefty feeling of pride and joy, and a sense of loss when I came across the beautiful view of the London eye standing up in front of those picturesque colour combinations. Suddenly I felt so lost. In a matter of hours I would be eligible in being the guilty party of my feeling so. I felt like there was so many things I could have done, and yet I didn’t, and in the same time, I was left with the heavy choice of not being able to do those things, thus, forcing me to separate from this heaven on earth I had always had the pleasure of calling home. London is my life, and what my thoughts are asking me; how good would my life then be without it?.
Flashes of memories floods the realms of my brains like painful cancer. We pass the Victoria embankment, and the Victoria crossing to Charing Cross Station. My heartbeat stops, and a guilty steam from inside my chest is evolving itself upwards. I want to tear away this pain so much, but I don’t want Smithy, the person who is driving his Range Rover for me right now to see me doing so. I remember the times when the guys and I were young, and we used to fool around with our giddy thoughts and actions along these cold pavements, throwing unintelligent comments about mostly anything, like the world was ours for keep. If it wasn’t the way the Prime Minister reacted on marijuana legalization laws, or how a football pundit discriminate a footballer just because he has collected more red cards than anyone else in the premiership, then it’s the welfare of the nearest most posh club in London which we would probably blank if we were out of crazy things to do. Then, when we got older, we used to share our problems and solution-potential as we walked along these streets with packs of chips, cans of beers, bags of sweets or cones of chocolate gelatos, and a handful of swagger. We had it all, the whole wide London was ours, and along with it came the world. I remembered feeling like I belonged here, more than anywhere else in the world I had ever been. The lights of the brightest club in London were even less bright than the ones hanging above our lives. Even the London eye couldn’t bear to stand the forces, and forced to come second as places of interest. Everything was larger than life itself here, and it shall remain that way. And as for the city of London itself, she shall stay as the eternal framing of the history of us, in the past, the present and hopefully the future. My life here has seen it all. I had watched my old friends grow old. My best friends changed from simple next-door boys with mischievous behaviours and cocky accents to noticeably talented football stars, my then-unknown pals of the third kind to celebrities of public knowledge, my fall to a rise, and my rise to the fall, my then-simple life to a complicated maze in which I myself had found to be victimised by. In the end, nothing had really changed, or so I learnt. For me, every single thing that reminded me of this place and how we were could only make me hurt even more.
The view coming from the west side of Victoria embankment facing the London eye and the aquarium at sundown was just magnificent. But St. Paul’s hospital was horrifying for me. Though architecturally speaking, the building is set up at the most strategic places and still giving that majestic feel to it, a sense of guilt and dread emptiness ran through me every time the sight of the building appears. I lost my baby there, and I still couldn’t quite forget how that felt just yet. To think about it, nobody would. But for me, that was the turning point of anything bad that happened afterwards. I recalled everybody’s faces, the doctors, the nurses, my parents, my brother, and Bow. It is that part of trying to forget which hurts the most. I figured I would have felt better if only they weren’t there and I was to face it alone. Though a part of me says otherwise. I never felt so lost before, but that time I did, as if the lifeline device that is mechanically running my heart had just been pulled out of my system. Little did I know, living the days after the event was even more death defying. I don’t think I had ever felt more suicidal in the past two weeks than my whole scrutinizing teenage years. So, there was where my parents and brother stepped in. There where the essence of my current problem, the one which got me into leaving this place.
I know that it has already been cold these few days, but the pressure that I kept to stop my eyes from tearing made my face felt really hot. Inside, I was shattered to pieces. A ring sets into silence, a number appears on my mobile; a foreign number, might be of Spain, which could only mean one thing; my parents.
- Yes?- I answer.
A familiar voice of my mum’s passes through my ears. + Dear, are you okay? Are you boarding yet?
- No, not yet mum,..- I answer, rather raised-tone, turning to the person who is currently driving the car, Smithy. – Am just heading to the Airport,.
+Oh,.- Mum sighs. Noticing how much she knows just at what point I would describe my fascination of this city, she is probably half-wondering whether I would change my mind about my leaving London. +What time will you be here, then?
- I am not sure, the ticket’s inside my other bag, and it’s rather hard to reach it at the moment, - which of course was a total lie, as I was staring at the plane ticket’s envelope right now. I just don’t feel like telling her, and I don’t exactly know why. I guess I don’t want her to think that I am as excited as she is of my coming to their house in Spain. – Maybe about ten,..- which was also a mere suggestion, as I truly cant remember the exact time of my arrival, though pretty certain that it would not be after ten. I thought I could have stay in the airport for a while and wait for them, so I can spare time to take some air and think of everything when I finally get there.
+Ten,.. of course,.we’ll just check with the company to make sure,..- mum suggests. Yes, of course, I forget that she can do that, and that she usually does that, checking on things, and now that she has reason to do so, there is absolutely no stopping.
-Right,..- hopeless of not being able to have the expected free time I needed, I sigh.
+ Are you alright?- mum then asks, with her comfortably set tone.
- yeah, of course, I am fine, why not?- I turn to Smithy again with a weird look, signalling how awkward my mother’s question had transformed into. Smithy just scratches a light grin.
+ Who are you with? Are you taking the cab to the Airport?- again, that sorts of questions that are only worthy to be asked to a ten year-old.
- Mum,…..i’m fine! I’m with Smithy now, he’s driving me to the airport, and stop worrying for me, will you?
+ Lucky you still have other friends,…that Lee boy is just no good for you, we had seen it coming from the-..
-Alright mum, I get the point, I’ll see you later, okay?,
Understanding the need to not further the conversation anymore, mum sighed uncomfortably. +Alright, as you wish,..love you,.
- Love you too,..- and I push the red phone symbol on my mobile, and end the conversation.
*Mum’s worried?..- Smithy grins calmly.
-Yeah,…she ought to,..- I turn my head back to the window of the Rover, outlooking the majestic view of London. Every inch of its part seem to want to stab me to death with every view I take inside, forcing me to bite my lips harder and pray to not cry my head off of the idea. Though, inside I cant stand it, I just cant stand the thought of leaving this place and witnessing every single part of the process, pretending to act casual and not being able to actually feel myself of whatever I need to feel. I died, I know I did. I had left my soul here, and my body is leaving. I am now officially haunting this place, as London always haunted me before, time and time when I leave for short stays somewhere else. After all, it has only been the air that I breathe, the water I need, the swagger and the fall, the sight of my loved ones, the blood running through my veins, the heartbeat pumping in my chest, and without them I died.
*She’ll be okay, right?- Smithy shoots back.
I just nod. Not finding the exact amount of strength I need to answer his question in an appropriate manner.
*Do you want to go along Knightsbridge?- Smithy asks with a calm close lipped smile. I know what he is trying to do that time. He is offering a check, on whether I was ready to pass my old streets again, my apartment, my grocer, my favourite restaurants, my preferred pubs, my frequently-visited shops, the Royal Albert Hall, the Knightsbridge station, Hyde Park, Kensington, everything that has been a close part of my life in this city, or basically everything that had created my life. Thus, when I destroyed my life here, these are the only things I couldn’t bear to even hear about. If there is telling for sure the state I am in now, then one should easily tell that I am such a hopeless mess.
Though, in front of Smithy I must remain calm and strong, despite the fact that the brown eyed Yorkshire blonde might not even need the slightest effort to see just at what level of devastation I had implanted myself in. – Okay,..- and an okay feels like nothing, just a simple word consists of few letters I happen to know how to say. I try hard enough to not think of the consequences of my saying this word, and it just might work.
We swerve down the sides of Victoria and pass Westminster, before going along the embankment way and finding the streets heading to New Bond Street. I was feeling numb than ever. Numbed of the enormous blow I had been holding inside my chest, numbed of the cold between my fingers, numbed of all the thoughts heavying my brains, numbed of all the memories invested in these streets.
We pass Knightsbridge, and I can sense Smithy’s checking eyes on me, despite the fact that I wasn’t even looking at him. Smithy has just cut his hair short, with tiny Mohawk-like bump on the centre. I may not have said this before, but he looks nice with his ever blonde-dyed hair. He used to have brunette locks, but they just never quite shine between the crowds, and being ordinary is just what me and my friends deny on being. Smithy rolls the sleeves of his dark blue sweater over the heat inside the car, perhaps. I know he didn’t want to roll down the window for some air, due to his status in London. His cheeks degenerate its colours from totally pale to slightly pink. That’s the thing with Smithy. He had the palest skin, and when he still got his dark hair, he looked as if someone had just jugged a huge pile of ice water on top of him. Thus, my Dad, and all his knowledge of health, judged him of having at least one disfunctional kidney, which of course was blatantly unnecessary, as we know he doesn’t. Looking at Smithy now, I guess he had grown out of that, both the hair, the judgement and the skin. He looks nicer now, darker skin and blonde hair. Whilst on the pitch his tempo, action and temper remain all the way the same, really one character to boot if I should be the coach to his club, though. For me, and the rest of us who adore the beautiful game; he is simply God-like.
I turn back to the window separating me and the outside world. Everything turns to a blur to my sight. Hyde Park, the apartments, the streets and the glorified shopping spots seem to weep for my departure as much as I was. I know too well that this turn in this street leads to places in my memories, that road gives way to states of comfort in times of my past, this point goes to the way to the spice shop, that way goes to my regular grocer, basically the only place in London where I can find some nice Belgian spiced cheeses, and this corner there leads to the tastiest gelato shop ever in London, whereas that one will get me to the guys’ frequently-visited pub. Every single corner has its own stories, each stop at the pavement, each traffic light, everything. If I should somehow write a story about my life, this place would be where the story sets in, and evidently where it would start.
posted by gliterry_gucci_doll @ 10:02 pm
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