Friday, December 19, 2008

A bad day for Milk.

It was a bad day for Milk. The warm morning started to show some marks on his tan and the Jazz concert he was listening to… surely altered time. It was in fact the theme of his study: "we can alter time if we really manage to change our internal rhythm" and the Jazz was the perfect method for it.

He was sick… way too much sun, way too much Jazz. Time shifted for him and the 5 minutes he was spacing out, came back to tell him that in fact they grew into 5 days.

So… there are 5 days since the cat was missing? The Jazz concert failed to bring back her waving tail… that's why there’s no question, why his insides were not feeling that good.

By God, missing someone is really a damaging business.

Concentrating on his pain, Milk went into a deep sleep we call coma. Twisted around his guts he was dreaming only of the cat and her joyful figure. It’s strange how cats don’t have the anatomy to be sad. Surely… they try and we see some effort but they’re still just cats. As he wakes up, the cat is next to him.

She’s not sleeping, she’s not eating, she’s all wet and dirty and she seems in pain. Just like he was feeling.

Have his thoughts twisted her reality too? It seemed impossible... the Jazz concert was over.

Without saying a word he gets of the bed and starts to dress up. He’ll go to work and will not ask her a thing... if she feels like it... the cat will talk, will tell him everything, will love him again.

He could see on the expressions of all the colleagues he met that he wasn’t in his best shape. Everyone was looking at him like all of a sudden he was born malformed, suffered a severe burn on his face or just lost a limb, as having disabilities. They were acting accordingly, masking their attitude, trying not to stare too much.

Is my love … my disability? People treat me hopelessly.

He went back home, the cat was faking it too. She was acting like nothing happened, just like a disabled person tries to act normal.

Milk was hoping initially that she will burst open and confess, that the pain she was covering was meant to be remorse, to be out of love for him to turn into medicine for them both.

But the cat never speaks her most intimate echoes. The cat’s anatomy can’t let her burst into tears.

The cat is faking every color of her fur and every sun ray in her eye.

It was a bad day for Milk. With a sad smile, he kissed the cat on her little pink nose, took his jacket and went out.

In the Jazz bar, Milk was trying to shift time in the other direction, shrinking hours in shot glasses, drinking his guts out.

If the cat would come after him, pick him up, drunk as he was, telling him – “Come home you idiot”… it would be a nice story... right?

But cats changed. It was a bad day for Milk.

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