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Outside the window, the wind blew, and a row of branches passed at the windows of the house as if to greet the returning host.
This movement of the trees immediately brought Gustav back to his thoughts – the "silent majority", nowadays it is called that. And this majority was formed by the fact that everyone began to reflect in communication, and to build their image in society; relativism in worldview, the very relativism when absolutely everything can be questioned, even that which was once set as a dogma. And on top of that, game semantics, in which any meaning has a game meaning that has to be guessed, but everyone can do it in their own way. And clip culture, in which the development of cognition goes hand in hand with the development of evaluative opinion, closely constructed by a multitude of short clips, colorful and rapidly changing.
Thus, the "silent majority" has chosen two interesting ways of its existence:
either a return to confessional culture, in which many things acquire bright outlines again, having formed a "safety cushion", or the revival of ethno-cultural traditions, within the framework of which it will be not only pleasant to model the new, but also to look at the old with interest and respect, which will give confidence and pride in one's own "I".
At this time, a new concept was even born – "emergence": properties of the whole system not as a sum. After all, it is also clearer and more logical when Indian chiefs go home in SUVs after performing all the rituals, which may be more than one thousand years old; or when a new smartphone of a student in the capital is painted with ancient Russian patterns, and when he drinks milk with honey instead of antibiotics of the 3rd or 4th generation; or when a country house of a newly minted businessman is made without a single nail as it was built 800 years ago. Everything else may look like modernity, but a piece of the old has turned out to be very pleasant to put into the whole, without attaching it to the whole, as if it does not complete the picture, but creates a new one, next to the existing one, but of much smaller size, which makes life more complete.
"The new toys turned out to be much more interesting, and, most importantly, more dangerous than the old ones. – Gustav thought. – Now it's not clear to everyone where the toys are and where you are. It's as if you've become a toy yourself.
These toys were much more fun to play with, and one of them was just now calling. Oksana.
Of course he didn't pick up the phone. What was the point of picking up the phone? She wouldn't tell him anything original or new anyway – it was easy enough to describe her train of thought in such a state.
First, alcohol made her think in terms of a constant "now-now", the frequency of repetition of which is as great as the duration of their existence, so that time ceases to have any more or less distinguishable intervals.
Secondly, the surrounding environment in the form of nightclub bacchanalia with unquenchable deafening rumble completely dissolves the personality and the desire to decide something – you just want to move in the seemingly from the look of it, but useless in its essence, the general rhythm of the raging wave on an empty place.
And thirdly, they did not set any visible or invisible goals and objectives when they went there. They just went together to look at each other. And Oksana showed what she was: unprincipled, willful and untenable as a person. The last one was especially galling, and it was the last one that was going to make her suffer now, especially when she sobered up.
She didn't call for long and only once. Apparently, it wasn't easy listening to the silent ringing either. I wondered if she wanted to apologize for something or just say that the guy wanted to fuck her.
It didn't matter, though it was interesting. What mattered was what she would hear from her the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow, when she wouldn't be suffering from alcohol intoxication and it would be time to think about her relationship.
Gustav climbed up to the tower where he had his favorite view of the "forest waves" and gazed into the twilight – the green crowns of the trees had taken shape, showing all the relatively strong wind blowing. If you looked at the tops of the trees in the distance, you would feel as if you alone knew how that tree felt, and even better than it did. You see how and what influences it, in what direction it will swing now, and what awaits it after that. All this was only knowledge, not influence – in the case of trees it didn't matter, but in the case of people, such knowledge gave real power. If you showed a man that you were interesting, he'd grow ears. It was only necessary to feed him a couple of good advice or just the right words, and he became your friend, forgetting that only another person and no one else can be his most dangerous enemy. If you approved of this friendship, he would open up, giving you undeserved opportunities for his own destruction. And most of all Gustav was surprised by two absolutely opposite features of the man: on the one hand his foolish naivety and trust, and, on the other hand, his ruthless cruelty and hypocrisy. These two qualities seemed to be recruiting each of them to the team of the surrounding reality, and the characteristics of such selection, whether in a single individual or in an entire civilization, could change with astonishing speed and eagerness, going from one extreme to another.
***
Vincent, a recent friend of Gustav's with whom they had occasionally discussed things that were in the back of every man's mind, was due to visit him that afternoon. They usually talked, looking out at the darkness of the forest from the second floor of the mansion.
"Vin, what would you say are the main distinguishing features of the current stage of humanity? Well, for society, for people as a society," Gustav asked.
Vincent, apparently not quite expecting a question about something general rather than about a person as a person, didn't even show any sign of being uncomfortable with such questions, but thought, "You know, you can't really tell. Maybe latency? Striving for balance. The ancient peoples didn't have that. Neither did the Middle Ages. No one thought about any kind of measure – they just took the maximum always. And it always ended badly. As time went on, there was less of this greed. And now, apparently, there is something that suppresses this greed. Latency. Apparently, both society and the state have it. It's just that they all have it to different degrees.
– That's a good point. It used to be really about making the most of things. At least in the example of colonies. In the ancient world, colonies were just part of a state with a special status based mainly on remoteness. In Modern times, it came to the point that a colony could even have its own conventional king, and that the order at the same time in different colonies of the same metropolis could be different. And when the colonial system ended, the system of global lending and investment came into being. Softer and softer, then only to hold on tighter. – Yes, I didn't really think of that… Although what you said about lending is, of course, brilliantly done. It's been working for more than half a century, since the U.S. started implementing the Marshall Plan – loans to those who would renounce communism. Here is a loan for you, but spend it wherever we want, on a factory that will produce what we need and sell it to us at a price we tell ourselves. And the loan itself – "How much do we owe? 2 billion? No money? Pay 2 and a half next year. No money again? Pay next year 3 and a half." Then someone comes to power who doesn't want to do as they say, and they tell him: "Pay now". The country has a crisis, defaults, then a new government. The new government turns out to be "smarter", and they also allow them not to pay their debts on time, just increasing them every year, until someone new and uncooperative comes in. I think it's very simple. And ingenious.
Gustav smiled. He liked this approach to things. Always liked it – whether someone suited you or not, always look at how they do something. Learn, not envy. It's much more useful and productive.
"You say that about Americans. – said Gustav, turning his eyes with interest from the treetops to his interlocutor. – As if you were counseling them on these matters."
The Spaniard smiled, his swarthy features gleaming slightly, yet retaining a certain masculine roughness; he was certainly popular with the women: black hair, almost as black as the earth, tactful manners, strikingly precise and quick in character, and very successful, giving no doubt about the legality of his illegal income.
"Gustav, you remember what I do… My father did the same thing for Franco – the dictator always had problems with his neighbors and with everyone around him, especially after he was the only tyrant in Western Europe, and he'd cooperated with the Nazis before that, not everyone was sure they'd want him in his place… But you had to survive…" Vincent waggled his eyebrow, as if trying to confirm his thought with more than just words, and then continued: "You can't survive without oil in the modern world, you know, and it's a very fast commodity, a tradable commodity – the livelier the economy, the faster it eats it up, nobody ever thought about the population… So that's what I'm getting at. From the outside, it looks very vague that you can hold on to some left transportation for a long and stable time, but it is not so. And it's everywhere "not so" – any thing, any process, seemingly impermanent, can actually become so. And, believe me, in time, when you work out and adjust everything, smuggling is much easier and faster than crowding and fiddling with filling out declarations and going through customs inspections. And the best example is the flow of drugs from Latin America to the United States. It seems that they catch it in containers along the whole route and strangle it at the production sites, but it does not become less… Actually, what I am saying. Americans. They're hated all over the planet, I guess. It's like they behave defiantly, live at the expense of others. Well, that's true, of course, but it didn't just fall out of the sky. It all came from their system. System, that's what I'm saying. It's all done "scientifically", let's say. Like the Roman Empire used to be. Like McDonald's now. It's very simple, very clear, very well practiced. And, most importantly, there are general rules that have to be observed. For example, in the U.S. system of government, such a system is called "checks and balances" – one body does not let the other go beyond its limits, and the entire state apparatus is permeated in this way. And so is the legal system, and so are elections. Of course, everything is not perfect, but no one has ever thought of anything better. "Worthy," Gustav nodded. His interlocutor's monologue clearly satisfied him in the part of the answer, and it was evident that this answer had long been formed, thought over, corrected, but perhaps submitted to someone for evaluation for the first time.
"So, my father, when he started smuggling crude oil for Franco, had also heard enough that his volumes would accomplish nothing, because only large-scale government volumes, possible only by open means, made sense, and he said that anything systemic mattered. And he turned out to be right… Of course, his achievements did not cover all the needs, but it was enough to survive in those conditions, especially when his methods were applied in different directions". This time the Irishman said nothing. It was clear that he agreed. He only nodded – his interlocutor had given him some thoughts about what was missing from the whole. Just that systematicity. I mean, it was there, of course, on some level, but it was all grounded and developed empirically, after a number of mistakes and misconceptions. There was no doubting Gustav's skill and ability to manipulate people and provoke the right situations, but it worked on a case-bycase basis – there was no common goal or connection in all this… And it was worth doing.
Gustav looked inside the glass – bourbon, a radiant brown liquid, sweet corn. It had once been just moonshine. From Kentucky. Then it became Kentucky moonshine. Then it became seasonal Kentucky moonshine from Kentucky oak barrels. Then it was called bourbon. Systemic. That's the reason this liquor became bourbon, and booze from neighboring Virginia remained just one "of". "So the U.S. is so all about being systemic. – "said the Irishman in the affirmative. – And what explains such selectivity in them. Did it fall out of the sky?" Vincent smiled: "If it had come from the sky, my friend, I wouldn't have lived more than a generation… It's all very attractive, of course, when the best things seem to come from somewhere above, from the unruly peaks, so to speak. But it's the opposite in this life. All the achievements, all the successes, all the incredible accomplishments come from the pit. If you like, from the cesspool." – Oh, yeah!
–
That's right. – The Spaniard smiled sweetly once more. – Where do you get your boxing champions from: Brooklyn or Disneyland? Nobel laureates, where did they grow up and establish themselves as a person, in the suburbs of Malm?? Do businessmen who create commercial empires from nothing come from Brussels and Hamburg? No. These people were overwhelmingly born and formed in some hellish asshole where, figuratively speaking, you can't even get sunlight if you get a visa. They grew up there and decided that they needed something more, and then they just got into the taste… Look at the biographies of great people – it's the road to death, not a descent from Olympus to people for demonstration."
–
Not bad. It's not bad at all. What does the United States have to do with this? – Well, look at the beginning, it's the land of scum. When they were a colony, beggars, fugitives, felons, criminals, of course, prostitutes and just plain losers in life went there. To start a new life…as you can see, they succeeded. And for one simple reason – they have already been to the bottom to realize one simple and only thing – they don't belong at the bottom. And also, as you can see now, they are already determining where the bottom will be. That's where systematicity comes from.
–
From dirt to princes, then.
–
It's a Russian phraseology. But look, even in this expression, there's something pejorative. Russians don't like such things. They need: if you were born in a palace, you live there, if you were born a merchant, you have to pull your own weight. All your life. A kind of voluntary fatalism. On the one hand, it's kind of gloomy to think that you will stay down there, and most of it is exactly there. And on the other hand – the soul is calm. You don't decide anything, so you die and go to heaven. That's the essence of Orthodoxy. In the West, they won't even think of such things. And if you have achieved something on your own, you are not "from dirt to princes", but you are a selfmademan – a man who has made himself. And there it causes respect, not quiet envy.
Gustav grinned: "You're a Russophobe!" and drank the bourbon in a gulp. Vincent finished his fourth glass: "I don't really care what you call it, to be honest. You can't change people, but you can learn to understand them better, or rather where-what comes from in them… And now the main trend is to be in the trend… The playfulness of the person playing. When the benefit of the game becomes an end in itself. The original goal was to find yourself in this game, to be yourself… But the tool turned out to be so sweet that it replaced the very essence of this game. Not the game for you, but now you are for the game. You're not yourself. You're always in something. Your family, or your job. Maybe your friends. Or maybe God. Or in your worries. Even if you're totally selfish, you're not in yourself, then you're in a bunch of little things that are for you: suits, cars, or your own face. Anything but yourself. You can't be in yourself. It would be a clinic, a madhouse… If you're in yourself… And why would you want to be in yourself?
You're not the center of the universe, even if you want to be. You don't want to be, you just think you are. You don't understand what comes next, what it's for. And this stupid and unconscious "I wanted it that way" only ruins even the most selfcentered personalities. And it ruins not from the side of everyone else, but from the side of yourself. When you start to prove and justify your own actions, invented not by yourself, but only by yourself and made. And it would be good to prove it to someone – you will prove it to yourself, as if defending the fact of your existence. And the more you defend it, the less of you there really is. Gustav never thought of hurting this man. Or death. And it wasn't that he didn't deserve it. It was just that the man was a great conversationalist, something like himself. Destroying him would be like heating the stove with a book with his face on the cover: it might get warm, but there wouldn't be enough of the book to go around, not to mention the fact that there was plenty of other, more suitable material than the structured volume of clever thoughts stored on paper. And Vincent seemed to realize that, not so much that he was in no danger, but that his interlocutor was dangerous. And not to say that it was appealing in any way, but it added to the interest of the whole thing, and made him want to talk about things he wouldn't normally want to think about.
The biggest similarity they had was in their approach. They both looked at people as if from the outside. Usually you look at people who aren't in your life, people who are in the news, people who don't concern you at all. But they looked at everyone that way. As if they didn't have a life of their own, as if no one could be in it.
Yet there is much more power in gentleness. Even when it comes to inanimate objects – take your time, be as timely and natural as water in a stream filling a vast lake or even a river turning into a sea. The natural current never meets with any resistance, and if it deals with something sensible, that sensible thing considers it its duty not only not to hinder but to help it. Such an original natural law is to preserve and maintain the natural. One only has to pretend to be this natural, and one can consider oneself a winner. Whether you are a person, a state, a system, or an alcoholic beverage. Maybe even an insect – like the false queen of the ants, who only pretends to be a queen but does not fulfill any of her functions, and the ants will feed her and guard her and do whatever is necessary to keep her alive, but get nothing in return. And all this only because she is natural, naturally occupying a place that is not her own and not meant for her.
It became necessary for Gustav to talk about the most unnatural thing about people – their willingness to give up their lives of their own free will. The need to talk about suicide. And the impression that Vincent knew so much about suicide, as if he himself had committed it more than once, and then came back and wrote his memoirs: "You know, there is such a thing in the world as suicide tourism… Well, some countries have the right to euthanasia, others don't. So you can come to a place where there is, well, and do what you want… Well, really, it's not so important where you die. And here there are also suitable specialists… Methods…
Everything you need".
"Where do they do this kind of business? Switzerland, by any chance? There you can collect suicides from all over the country for the national team…" – Gustav poured another shot of bourbon into his glass.
–
Yeah, and there. I don't even know where it started. But it's there. A lot of people were against it, and they organized a referendum. But nothing changed. It's everyone's right to send themselves to the afterlife. The only thing they won't understand is whose right it is to help them. It's a bit gloomy, of course… But in Mexico they didn't even think of banning anything. In fact, they don't care much about technology there. Well, service is still service, but, as always, reasonable… They poison themselves with pills. It's like a strong sleeping pill, you fall asleep and don't wake up. It's like you don't die, you just fall asleep. Penobarbital. Except they don't monitor quality in Mexico. A dead guy's not gonna write a review anyway. He's not gonna ask for a redo. And the fact that he didn't just fall asleep, but was convulsing and gasping for air… greedily gulping for air, looking for more, climbing out of the other world… actually trying to survive, having been so eager to die before… No one will ever tell…" Vincent took another sip of whiskey, then looked at the glass-a big, strong glass, like a block of moonlit ice that had never been anything else in its essence. – You know, there are still those iconic places, like high-rise structures, from which, conventionally speaking, people like to throw themselves off. Well, in Veliky Novgorod it was a tower of steel beams on the embankment near the Drama Theater. A bit of an apocalyptic place. So after a few incidents it was simply dismantled. But you can't do that with the famous suspension bridge in San Francisco. They're still jumping on it. What's my point? One of them survived. You know, a failed suicide. And then he said that when you've already jumped, the moment you're flying, you realize that all your problems are solvable. Except for one. That you're already flying off the bridge…" Vincent stopped talking, looked at the glass again, took another swig of whiskey. Yes, he obviously knew as much about suicide as the human mind was allowed to know.
Outside the window, the trees suddenly shook. Wind. Strong and gusty. It whipped the trees from side to side and raged with the fury of drunken Vikings, as if something he'd just said was about him. And Vincent felt it.
–
Don't take it personally. – said Gustav, not taking his eyes off the sprawling crowns dancing in unison. – People tend to take natural phenomena personally… It used to be, of course, more epic – eclipses there, and thunderstorms, any natural disaster… even the change of day and night. And it's all proven now. And with such frenzied certainty… I was talking to some Canadian Indians once. The tribe still lives in the woods today. On their own. And all with the same ideas… So, they believed that the Sun and the Moon are husband and wife, and they see them in turn because they pass each other to hold their child in their arms. Then I asked what happens at times when neither of the two of them is visible, such as when it's raining. "They both draw their bows," they told me, and when asked why they do it, they said, "How would we know?" Do you realize how naive that is? That is, up to some point they are absolutely sure, after some point they don't know anything, and pretend that it is so. And although nothing really changes from their assumptions, it helps them to live, conditionally speaking.
–
Why "conventionally speaking"?
–
Just because up to a certain point. Then someone starts thinking, starts asking questions. And then it starts to get in the way… Natural phenomena don't need to be commented on at all. They're there and that's it. They don't express anything. They don't even have that ability. You want to study them, study them. But don't interpret what they do. Because they're not even actions. It's just a given. And not trying to make sense of it is as foolish as a Persian king a few thousand years ago thinking he was punishing the sea with whips.
Vincent drank what was left in his glass, "Good example. I have another one… In Egypt. Before every flood of the Nile. On which, in fact, the survival of that entire ancient state depended, the Pharaoh issued a decree on the. To the Nile. That is, he gave an order to the river to overflow in order to be able to sow and harvest… It is more interesting to turn it the other way around – they believed that if there was no order from the Pharaoh, there would be no overflow of the Nile… Throwing a rolled-up sheet of papyrus into the river and thinking that something would change from it… Yes, it is stupid… But people have always been afraid of nature. And they've been even more afraid of people who cover themselves with nature, identifying it with themselves. And it's unlikely that anything will ever change. Too much man means nothing to her or to those who cover themselves with her. And it is peculiar for a man to be especially afraid not of the one who is strong, but of the one for whom he means nothing, as if he is afraid that he will be crushed like a bug.
With each word Gustav was once again convinced that it was not in vain that he had kept this man alive and not destroyed him. Two years ago, Gustav had traveled through southeastern Turkey, interested in ancient rock fortresses that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Through the same places Vincent bought smuggled oil from Iraq, not caring who it came from, where it went, or who would make money from it but him. And it was profitable for Islamist militants, who later founded an entire quasi-state. And, although the supply channels themselves were formed in the early years of Saddam Hussein's rule, when, after the failed intervention in Kuwait, international sanctions were imposed on Iraq, obliging it to sell oil for food at low prices, then these channels began to actually finance terrorism.
Vincent was buying from them and transporting them to Europe, selling the raw materials on the Rotterdam exchange under the guise of Turkish. Many people knew about it, both in the CIA and in the European intelligence services, not to mention the Turkish ones, and everyone was happy with it. But it didn't suit the competitors from BritishDutchShell, who ordered Vincent. He just got lucky that time. He met Gustave in the ruins of the old town.
–
There are many strange things in the world. – Gustav said it with a kind of experienced interest, as abstruse biologists usually say about new species of animals. – One part of the planet, for example, is always trying to save animals. And if at first it all started with rare species, now someone is trying to save all animals, even, for example, those wolves that were raised in captivity to make a fur coat out of them… And once I was in Nepal. So there is a holiday there, when hundreds of animals – sheep, goats – are slaughtered as a sacrifice. Massively. It's not even dozens. It's hundreds. And for nothing. Not for some kind of hides or meat. Just for nothing. As a tradition… – Gustav's eyes were completely calm – with the same expression he could tell about children's holidays on New Year's Eve, and about the installation of drilling platforms in the ocean, and about Nazi concentration camps – just as a presentation of information, and then you could look at the reaction of the interlocutor: as long as you were sitting without emotions, you were open; if the interlocutor felt something, you would feel it immediately yourself. This was the way to understand others, and it was easier to manipulate them. At that moment Vincent received a phone call. He really had to go. He was flying to Istanbul tonight for a meeting. It was worth bargaining about the future, and only a fresh head would do.
"Drunk again?" – It was not that Gustav cared, but rather wondered how much one could drive drunk on Krakozhin roads in an expensive car.
"Fate helps the brave," the Spaniard said, looking into the distance. And it was evident that for him it was not just words, and not self-confidence. To him it is the order of things in life. "A Latin saying," he added. – "The Romans knew how to win." A couple minutes later, Vincent was out of the house, heading for his Chrysler 300C.
The room got a little darker. But just a little. There were a lot of thoughts in my head. Gustav turned on his laptop and went to Facebook – there were 300 messages, but it was worth opening them, and it turned out that almost all of them had been written by Oksana alone, all morning.
She was offline now and probably passed out from drinking, but until it happened she had burst like a Venetian sewer. She was hysterical, insulting, apologizing, making excuses, professing her love and saying there couldn't be anyone else like him in her life. She was both ashamed and scared. And torn by the silence in return. And it was both easy and hard to write this. And wanted and didn't want to hear the answer. "So do you love me or not I SPARKS??????!!!!" her last message.
Gustav didn't write anything back. She hadn't suffered enough yet. Let her believe in hope. People are so fond of that saying, "Hope is the last to die." Apparently, everyone likes to die, or lose, or maybe be disappointed.
Let him wait. At first it will be a pleasant wait, then it will become bearable, then difficult and finally unbearable. "Why doesn't he say anything? Where did he go??? Is he on purpose????" – these are the questions that await her. And further she will make up anything, as long as she does not think that he, really on purpose. After all, he wrote that he loves her. That must be so hard to write. You can't lie in such cases. I mean, he can see her condition.
"Stupid people," Gustav thought for the hundredth or thousandth time in his life. – Thousands of years of proving to each other that we should look at actions, and everyone keeps looking at words.
A couple hours later, of course, Oksana called. After listening to a few beeps to give her more ground for doubt, Gustav picked up the phone: "Yes."
Silence. Silence at first. Almost always. Silence, after all, always comes before actions.
"Gus," the girl's voice both expressed everything and nothing. Full of emptiness. The kind of emptiness that feeds hopelessness. Before calling, she thought for a long time, over how she told everyone about her purity and integrity with clients, not mixing personal life with public life. And in doing so, she lied. Lied to everyone, too. She'd slept with virtually every man who'd made a real estate deal through her. She even ingrained the phrase "real estate deal through her" in her soul. She believed that one day she would simply meet her man and say a resounding "no" to such an attitude and in an instant forget all of this. But that time never came. And such deals with men have long been a given. And when the moment of choice came yesterday, she had thought it was "just one more time that doesn't change anything." After all, Pablo had bought the apartment through her, too.
"Yes"-Gustav held a pause. As always. Man is his own best executioner.
"I called this morning… Did you read my messages?"
"Messages? No. I woke up a little while ago. Why, is there something urgent there?"
Silence. Silence again. And all because the answer was not what was expected. No reproofs, no moralizing, no idle chatter, but only indifference, stretching like a layer of clouds across the sky.
–
Gustav, I didn't mean to… I was drunk. I don't even remember everything… Or even I don't remember much.
–
What is there to remember? It's just the way it is.
–
Don't say that. I'm sorry. ߅
–
Sorry for what? You have nothing to apologize for. Just like there's no hard feelings.
–
So… So you're not offended by me?
–
No. Of course I'm not offended.
She sighed. She knew. There are men. Real men who know how to understand. They know how to take a punch. And they do it with honor. They say they're made of steel. And that's exactly what he is. And he is. And he's with her.
She sighed once more, wanting once more to feel the relief she had just felt when that pile of stones, that red-hot mass of iron, had fallen away from her shoulders. It was easy now. Now she could move on with her life. And now she would be with him. Only with him. Always.
–
I'm… So glad… You have no idea what a weight has been lifted off me right now… So I'll come to you now?
–
You don't have to.
–
All right. Uh-huh. You're right. I should come to my senses. – she sighed again, this time smiling so she could be heard on the phone. – Tomorrow, then?
–
No. You shouldn't come here.
Little doubts. Like a slight breeze. Like a slight darkening and you start to think you've only blinked.
–
Not to you?… Why, Gus?
–
Oksan.
–
Yes, sweetie.
–
Who needs a whore?
Something rumbled in her ears. Or maybe not in her ears. Somewhere inside. Her eyes went dark, and it felt like she'd forgotten how to breathe. How to breathe the air around her. She tried to cough, to push through whatever was stirring in her throat and ask "why?", "why?", "how do I fix it?". She tried to say it when the phone was already ringing off the hook, when her salty tears mixed with mascara rolled down her cheeks past her trembling lips. She tried to believe it wasn't her, it just happened. She tried to remember that things were different. She tried and tried, not realizing she was tearing her own stupid heart with her fingernails....
