She was standing in the shower facing away from the water. Her entire body was shivering as she stood there with her hands against the wall. The warm water was running down her body but she felt cold as ice. She could not help but sob like a wounded wolf, luckily there was the noise of the water. She heard the bathroom door opening, he came in still filled with the joy of their momentary happiness and hungry for more. She wanted so badly to stop crying but could not get herself to even make an effort. It was too late anyway. He opened the shower door and hold her tight. She fell instantly into his arms like little butterfly that was swept away by a storm. His clothes became soaking wet instantly but neither of them cared. They both were sitting on the bathroom floor as she sobbed like a baby in his arms as loud as she could. It felt nice to have the luxury to cry and not care who could hear her. They were in a hotel room after all, who cares what the strangers next door would think. It felt like they had been sitting there for hours, her eyes were red and puffy, her face was buried in his chest. He smelled nice, he felt nice, he felt like home, even though she was so far away from her home. The silence was calming. There was no need for words, there was so much to say but there never would have been enough time to say it all, so why bother. They somehow managed to steal a day from their lives, from the lives of the others. They stole couple of miserable hours from the fate and there wasn’t much of a selection for what they would do. They went for the most obvious, most miserable choice of them all. Anything else would be too painful, at least that’s what they thought. Yet there they were sitting on the bathroom floor already hurting from what they did, already sinking deep into the misery they created for themselves. Humans are so greedy, we are never satisfied with the moment, we always want more, always look for what is next. What was next for them was countless sleepless nights, clashes of different time zones, different lives and the heartbroken hope that maybe someday again… It felt so nice to sit there in his arms and be still and silent like a statue, if only one could die like this… In the arms of the one who is there to be silent with you, who won’t ask questions, who doesn’t have the answers, but is there to hold you tight and let you cry your heart out for no reason at all and for all the right reasons altogether. She had no strength left. He picked her up and took her to the bed. She felt how the warm blanket covered her naked still wet body all the way from neck to the tip of her toes. Her eyes could hardly open, she could not utter a single word. Within seconds she drifted into a numb sleep, her body was floating through void, her thoughts had vanished and when she opened her eyes it was already morning. The sunlight was struggling to get in through the closed shades, her hair was still wet and so was the pillow. She woke up with emptiness in her heart, she woke up as if matured for a whole year within the night that felt like a second-long sleep. She could still feel the sticky dried spots of the tears on her cheeks, her eyes hurt and she was dizzy. But the physical pain and discomfort would pass. He was still asleep. She could not bear the thought of facing him after all that. She could not imagine what she would say, how they would part. It was painful enough that they both knew what’s next. Why bother go through the pointless dialogues and polite looks, hidden tears behind cheerful smiles. She was getting dressed ready to leave. As she grabbed her purse she saw his piercing eyes stare at her motionless. He knows, they both do. He will understand. She almost ran to the elevator, the early morning silence in the hotel was disturbed by the sound of her heart beat, which seemed so loud it could wake everyone up. She pressed the button, the light went on and then there was the dreadful moment of waiting. Take the stairs, wait just one more second, will he come after me? Why? The doors open. Thankfully the elevator is empty. The worst thing in situations like this is to have to deal with people, to be polite to strangers, think of your manners, all the while when there is a storm in your mind that won’t leave you alone. But we humans are greedy. Even when we know what is the right thing to do we convince ourselves otherwise by thinking of hundreds of counterpoints and excuses. Humans are greedy… so she went back… she went back to face him, to kiss him one more time, to have the sloppy goodbye with endless words that make no sense, with pointless dialogues that desperately try to cover up the pain. She went back to see him one more time, to chase for the sparkle of connection in his eyes, she went back knowing perfectly well that she would regret it just like she had been already regretting coming to meet him in the first place. She went back, there was nowhere lower to sink, there was no way to undo the future pain, no way to lessen the mistake. She went back…
You texted that you would have to stay longer for a meeting. Reading the message my imagination went wild feeling in all the gaps of the misspoken words, of the details you so skilfully left out. Longer... you took the time from me, from us... Why? For whom? Whose on the other side of the spiral that you are so desperately yet calmly reaching towards?
You know, last night I had a dream, a dream about something I would rather not name, because well, probably because of some stupid superstition that if I name it then it might become more real then it needs to be. Or maybe because naming it makes it so blunt, so plain and cliche. We don't like cliche, we don't starve for uniqueness either,we like being us, being ourselves. But yes, back to my dream... I cried, I cried in my sleep because you hurt me so much in my dream. With the first sunlight crawling inside our room through the cracks of the blinds you got up and kissed me as usual, took the extra blanket from the floor and made sure I was warm and covered before you left. I heard you but was too mad to open my eyes, to mad to even give one of those half-asleep smiles that has a special tenderness of effortlessness that makes it so sincere. I was mad... hurt... still half-asleep, still under the veil of dreams that can be so vivid at times that one can't help but wonder which is more real, your morning kiss or the hurtful dream?
I went on with my day pretending it's just a bad illusion that will soon pass. And then I received your text. I did not want to treat it as a sign but the pain crawled back into my chest like green smoke that is noiseless but can't be unnoticed. So I noticed it, I had to. Hours kept passing and biting my lips did not help any bit. has it been hours really? probably not, but it sure felt like it. Time is so irrelevant at times like this, it can stretch when you are in a state of waiting, it can fill the entire room with it's slow pace, crawl under the furniture to fill out every single empty spot and crack. The silence grew louder in the room and it seemed as if the walls would scream at me soon, and all because I so desperately wanted to escape my own thoughts while their haunting presence would not leave the room.
Desperate emptiness.. It is torturing me... the unnameable...
I open my eyes. Its dark in the room, my head feels heavy and I can hardly feel my body. For couple seconds my mind feels lost and then I remember... The first thought that crosses my mind is that he's gone. And the same thought keeps spinning in my head, trying to convince me that it is true. It's like I just woke up from a nightmare, only that nightmare is my reality.
The last couple days reappear in front of my eyes like a movie, it's like my mind is trying to remind me what had happened. Wednesday, 02:15 pm - I receive the call and rush to the hospital. 3:25 pm - the nurse tells me he's doing fine, she goes on talking and describing me his situation but I can't hear anything or understand her words. All I got was surgery, he's doing ok so far. "So far"... What does it mean? Wednesday, some time after 4, I'm sitting and waiting when the doctor approaches me. Again words that I am not able to comprehend. I don't understand. He keeps on talking. "I'm sorry, we did everything we could". What? So how is he? I still don't understand but I can't speak either, my entire body is frozen. I feel like a piece of ice standing in the hallway. The doctor slowly pronounces the words - I'm sorry, your husband is gone. I feel and hear how my frozen body brakes down into tiny pieces. I sink down and don't realize how appear on the floor with my legs numbed. And then... Then I don't remember. I just woke up. I guess I must be in the hospital. How long have I been here? Where is he? I want to see him. I have to see him. How long have I been here? Did they bury my husband without me? No, they can't, they wouldn't! What do I do now? What am I supposed to do? Should I quite my job? Do I continue paying my bills? How do I go on living? The questions get bigger and bigger until they feel the entire room. I feel like my own questions are attacking me. And this darkness. Why is it so dark in this room? As if the darkness inside is not enough. Give me some light, damn it! Give me some light. I can't take this anymore! What is happening? I can hear my own voice. I'm screaming. Why? It feels like somebody else is screaming inside me, someone else is controlling my voice.
The lights turns on and a group of people enter the room, they are all wearing white. Must be nurses, then I must be in a hospital. Uggh... what's that?
-This will help you relax
I hear a woman's voice, but I don't have any strength to react to it, my entire body goes numb, I feel my eyes closing...
I see white. I'm not sure if everything is white here or it's just a bright light. Where am I? What am I? Dead? I wish... I finally completely open my eyes, a man is sitting in front of me, looks like a doctor. He's holding some papers and a pen, he keeps staring at me but doesn't speak for a while. I finally decide to break the awkward silence.
-Where am I?
-You are in a mental institution Mrs. Jackson
I feel my lips moving, shaping an awkward smile, more sarcastic than anything else. The man goes on.
- I am your primary doctor, Mike Williams. You have been here for four months, since the day your husband passed away. You're suffering from severe depression, hallucinations, also memory loss.
-I remember that my husband is gone
-Yes ma'am, but you don't remember anything after that day. In fact I have explained this same thing to you several times. You don't remember our conversations, your treatment, in fact you don't remember that you have been here for four months already.
I so don't care even I am surprised. It's like somebody has turned off all my senses, emotions and feelings. He's gone... Nothing really matters anymore. That is the last thing that I remember because that was the last thing that mattered. The doctor is still talking, but I can't hear him. Everything and everyone around seems so unreal. Has the world changed this much or is it just me?
Memory loss... hmm... well, why do I need my memory when there is nothing worth remembering anymore. There's no logic, no meaning, it's just nothing around me. Even my own thoughts seem so abstract and disorganized to me. I close my eyes, trying to shut down the entire world, the entire universe of nothing. I close my eyes, praying that whoever had turned off my senses would turn me off entirely... He's gone.
10 տարեկան էի երբ պապիկս՝ պապուն, ձեռքս բռնած ինձ տարավ Հանրային Ռադիո, մանկապատանեկան խմբագրություն։ Նույն օրը առավոտյան հեռուստացույցի առաջ նստած էինք, ու ասեցի որ շատ կուզենայի հաղորդում վարել, բարձրաձայնեցի հենց այնպես, ավելի շատ ինքս ինձ համար։ Իսկ պապուն լսեց ու նույն օրը երազանքս իրականություն դարձրեց։
Եվ այդպես ես հայտնվեցի մանկական խմբագրությունում։ Այն ժամանակ խմբագրության սենյակն ուրիշ հարկում էր, ձայնագրման ստուդիան դեռ տեխնիկայով հարուստ չէր, պատանի հաղորդավարներն էլ այնքան շատ չէին ինչքան այսօր, ես էլ շատ ավելի լուռ էի ու ամաչկոտ (վստահ եմ խմբագիրներս կհիշեն)։ Ռադիոն շատ արագ դարձավ առօրյաիս կարևոր մասը, ու այդպես շարունակվեց մոտ 10 տարի։ Ամեն օր դասերից հետո հպարտությամբ էի քայլում դեպի ռադիոտուն, մուտքի մեծ դռներից ներս մտնելիս ինձ կարևոր էի զգում, ցույց տալիս անցագիրս ու բարձրանում խմբագրություն։ Իսկ այնտեղ ուրիշ աշխարհ էր․․․ Կողքից պարզ ու հասարակ թվացող սենյակն իրականում կախարդական էներգիա ուներ։ Այնտեղ մի խումբ ստեղծագործ մարդիկ կարողանում էին ամեն օր մի նոր աշխարհ ստեղծել ու ուղարկել եթեր, նոր հերոսներ, նոր պատմություններ ու արկածներ։ Իսկ մենք՝ պատանի հաղորդավարներս, պատիվ ունեինք հանդիպել իրական հերոսների, թե ստուդիայում, թե խմբագրությունում։ Մենք այդ աշխարհի մի մասն էինք, մեր ձայնն էր հնչում հանրայինի եթերում․․․ Եթե այն ժամանակ անգամ դա չեմ գիտակցել, այսօր գիտեմ, դա մեծ պատիվ էր։
Ժամանակի ընթացքում ռադիոտան շենքը էլ ավելի ջերմ ու հարազատ դարձավ, մարդիկ նունյպես։ Ասես մի մեծ ընտանիք լիներ, և իհարկե պատասխանատու աշխատանքի կողքին կային նաև խենթ ու խելառ արկածներ, ծիծաղելի կիքսեր, ուղիղ եթերից շփոթված հյուրեր։ Երանի մեր խմբագիրների համբերությանը, որ մեզ պես գժերին պիտի հավաքեին ու տանեին ստուդիա։
Սիրում եմ ռադիոն․․․
Առաջին հաղորդումը կարդացի Անահիտ Նավասարդյանի հետ, "Արեգ"-ը։ Այդ ժամանակ խմբագրությունում ամենափոքրն էի։ Հետո "Արեգը" վերանվանվեց "Հարրի Փոթերի Ակումբ" ու առավոտյան եթերաժամից տեղափոխվեց կեսօր։ Մանկական խմբագրությունում մի ուրիշ փուլ էլ ինձ համար "Աբռա-Կադաբռա"-ն էր, թեթև, ժամանցային հաղորդում։ Վերջին հաղորդումը կարդալիս ""Հարրի Փոթերի Ակումբ"-ն էինք ձայնագրում մի խումբ պատանիների հետ, այս անգամ ես ստուդիայում ամենամեծն էի․․․
Այսօր ռադիոյի օրն է ու ես ուզում եմ սրտանց շնորհավորել բոլոր ռադիոսիրահարներին ու ոլորտի աշխատակիցների, բայց առանձնահատուկ պիտի շնորհավորեմ Հանրային Ռադիոյի Մանկապատանեկան Խմբագրությանը, այնտեղ հանդիպած բոլոր ընկերներիս, որոնցից շատերն արդեն իրենց բնագավառում կայացած մարդիկ են, ոմանք արդեն ընտանիք են ստեղծում, առանձնահատուկներն էլ արդյունքում դարձան անփոխարինելի ընկերներ։ Ամեն տարի նոր պատանի լրագրողներ են գալիս մանկական խմբագրություն, իսկ մեր խմբագիրները մնում են ու նույն եռանդով, նվիրվածուրյամբ շարունակում կերտել մի կախարդական աշխարհ թե ռադիոլսողների, և թե սուդիայում գտնվող պատանիների համար։
Շնորհակալ եմ բոլորիցդ․․․ Ռադիոն միայն այսօր չէ որ հիշում եմ, բայց այսօր առիթից օգտվելով կասեմ՝ շնորհակալ եմ։ Անուներ նշելն անիմաստ եմ համարում, վստահ եմ դուք կգտնեք Ջեզ այս տողերում։ Շնորհակալ եմ մեծ փորձի ու գիտելիքների ձեռքբերման համար, անսահման էներգիայի ու ջերմության համար։ Շնորհակալ եմ որ առիթ ունեցա մի մասը լինել այս կախարդական միջավայրի, այն օրից երբ դեռ 10 տարեկան էի, ու պապուն ձեռքս բռնած ինձ տարավ Հանրային Ռադիո, Մանկապատանեկան Խմբագրություն․․․
She was sitting in front of the typewriter, trying to make the words make any sense. She hadn't written anything for almost a month now. The silky robe was hugging her body, leaving her legs uncovered. The sunlight was slowly filling the tiny study she had for ages, making her realize that she had been up all night.
She hadn't written anything for almost a month now. The editor was waiting for another article, but she had nothing. She hated writing for living, hated when was forced to write for certain hours, certain pages, and most of all certain people.
Writing used to be to be so much more fun when she was a little girl. All of her writings belonged to her and only her. She was the one deciding what to write, when and how. She had many different diaries and journals. She really enjoyed writing back then, when it was nothing more but just a hobby, a fun way to spend the free time. She always regretted the day when she decided to turn her hobby into a profession. People always say "Do what you like and you will never have to work a day in your life". That is so silly.
First it was fun, she was writing and discovered more about herself and the people who enjoyed reading her works. But then she learned that writing for selling is a lot harder then writing for your own joy. She had to take into consideration everybody's opinion but hers, and it was killing her. She had to write to make money, to have a job and writing started to become less and less enjoyable. She had lost the privacy in it. She had to lose her own style and ideas, she had to forget about creativity, originality, and become just like all the other writers that seemed so dull to her. She used to hate them, but now she was one of them.
Sunday... And here she was, in front of the typewriter, torturing herself, the machine, and the pure dog that really didn't like the sound of the typewriter. She had to give her article Monday morning, yet she had nothing to give, no single line was written. And somehow she didn't even care. She was just sitting there and aimlessly typing about herself in third person, about her poor dog that hated the sound of the typing machine, and about her crazy Sunday that was about to change her life...
That Sunday she decided to quite writing. At least that's what she told to the rest of the world Monday morning, and only she, her typewriter and her dog knew that she was going back to writing, real writing, writing for herself, about herself.
That Sunday changed her life....
She stopped being a "Writer", to start writing again...