Go left

 

Why

don't

you

sit

by

the

fire

and

tell

me

all

about

it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I

don't

like

the

thought

of

losing

you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tracks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hold

me

tight

and

promise

to

never

let

me

go.

We promised to tell each other everything. There were to be no secrets between us. We had to be completely open with each other if we were to stay together. I said we should start at the beginning and take it from there, although that’s easier said than done. Most of the time we were acting randomly, starting anywhere and going wherever the mood took us.

This is how it goes:

– Do you know how to juggle?

– No, I don’t think so.

– Do you know how to catch?

– Yes, of course.

– How?

– Well... you just do it, don’t you? You keep your eye on the ball and at the right moment, you hang onto it. I guess it’s something you learn. It helps not to think about it too much.

– It’s the same with juggling, except there’s more than one ball and you have to throw as well as catch and keep your eye on the ball. It’s like trying to do more than one thing at the same time. It helps not to think about anything at all.

– A bit like driving, I suppose. You know, when you’re moving your arms and legs and watching the road, and then afterwards you can’t remember having done it. You don’t remember a thing...

– Do you know how to save a life?

– What do you mean?

– Do you know how to keep somebody alive who might otherwise die? Can you hold on to somebody whose time has come, keep them from passing over to the other side?

– I don’t know.

– Could you stop somebody from bleeding to death?

– I think so... By applying pressure to the wound?

– Right. How about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? Heart massage?

– Yes... Probably...

– Could you prevent somebody from choking? Or drowning? What about poisoning? What would you do?

– I dunno. I’ve never thought about it. Look, what are you driving at?

– There’s been an accident. Perhaps it’s on this road up ahead. You’re the first person on the scene. There is a car. Two cars. A head-on collision. Metal shrapnel and shards of glass are scattered across the road. The two cars face away from each other like dance partners who have been flung apart. In the first car, there are two people. You can see smears of blood but no obvious source. They seem remarkably relaxed, slumped together as if they stopped for a quick nap and fell into a deep slumber instead.

In the other car, there is a woman sitting behind the wheel, seat belt on, waiting quietly. Are you OK? Can you move? She says yes, yes, she’s fine, she loves to sit in the car on sunny days and watch the world go by, sorry to be such a terrible nuisance... But when you lean in through the broken window to – what? Reassure her? Comfort her? Hold her? Surely it’s alright to touch her now – her face crumples and the voice takes off high and fast no no leave me alone no nooooo...

You are all alone on the desert road. The recent paroxysm of violence has been superseded by a drowsy calm. The trapped woman is murmuring softly to herself. The whole scene seems to have been dipped in a pool of clear, molten wax which is slowly starting to solidify. What do you do?

– Send for help?

– There is no help, no one to do your dirty work for you. You’re on your own.