Natalie II

[Part I found here]

I can’t say I recall with much vividity the events that unfolded the day Natalie died. Perhaps that is because I didn’t know that her soul was to depart that day and thus I made no great attempt to imprint the day’s happenings on my mind. If only I had some cue or sign from the heavens that would relay to me the importance of that day. I would have made an effort to memorize everything I could about it – the exact hues and shades the sky took on as the day progressed; the speed of the winds and the direction in which they blew; the high and low temperatures of the day; the stage in which the moon resided and whether it graced the night sky with its presence or hid behind dubious clouds; the exact time I woke up and the first thing I thought of; the most pressing concern I had; the news that was making headlines; the weather lady’s outfit on the evening news – everything. I wish I could remember, but I don’t. I wish it was one of those days where you awaken from sleep knowing somehow that it was going to be a day of consequence so you could pay attention and not just regard it as some ordinary, soulless day. So many times now I’ve gone back to that day and I simply cannot recall any details worth mentioning. The only thing I recall with some amount of vividness is the way it snowed. It snowed all day and all night, at times the snowfall accompanied by gushing winds of great strength and at other times with a quietness unparalleled by any other day of the year. Everyone was mute then trying hard to hear the snow fall, as if intently concentrating on some turbulent matter the secrets of which would be revealed in the descending snowflakes. That is all that comes to mind when I look back upon that day, nothing else. I find it very odd and troubling, to say the least. If Natalie was so special, shouldn’t I have remembered? I can’t even tell you what I felt and how I reacted when the news was broken to me. Of the repertoire of event-associated emotions that I carry around enmeshed in my sense of self, the box labelled ‘Natalie’s death’ is empty. I wish I knew why.

You know what is strange, though? All this talk of Natalie and not a tear in my eye. I never really missed Natalie the way that separation makes you miss someone you love. I don’t miss her now also, but the knowledge of her absence never leaves me. It’s like there is an invisible sign hanging down from every corner I turn, staring at me squarely in the eye, stating simply “Natalie is no more.” No, actually, it wouldn’t say that for there is a distinct sadness inherent in the words “no more,” as if to imply a sense of loss or longing for the thing that is “no more” to once again be. It would perhaps say “Natalie is not here.” Although that would seem to suggest that she was being searched for and clearly, I am not searching for Natalie. I suppose it would just proclaim her departure from this world and a shifting of residences into an otherworldly life. Yes, that would probably be it; just a simple fact, devoid of any superfluous implications that are far too significant to be stated.

I’m not entirely certain if this fact will interest you, but there was a lengthy pause between the end of the last sentence and the start of the present one – forty three minutes, to be exact. Forty three minutes of me either twirling my pen between my middle finger and forefinger, or just staring at the neat blue lines on the half empty page in my notebook, hoping for inspiration to strike. Clearly, inspiration failed to come by and rescue me from my sudden debilitating writer’s block, hence this awful paragraph that you are reading. But I got tired of waiting and decided I need to write something, anything, even if at the risk of sounding rather stupid. The shockingly clean part of the page that wasn’t smeared with ink was mocking me (honest, I swear it was!) and I had no choice but to give in.

Actually, I must admit, I have a confession to make. Best get it out of the way now since it has been bothering me for a while and I can’t say it has nothing to do with the supposed writer’s block.

 

to be continued…