window-shopping

I amble through the city-centre, I’m in no rush. Opening my eyes feels like watching a video on fast-forward, distorted voices hurriedstepsbarelyrecognizable faces. I choose my steps carefully; try not to step on the crack between the concrete tiles. Anything could break now, I could easily go to pieces any time. There is no certainty, it is just a feeling. I watch my feet, watch the lower half of the shop windows and see the reflection of a hundred feet hurrying over the wet and mucky floor. The green fur-boots that walk beside me make me ponder whether surrealism has become reality, or whether it is just reality that has turned surreal some minute between the last glass yesterday evening and the ringing of the alarm clock. I feel I’m being distracted by my own thoughts and come to a momentary halt as I try to regain my balance. Then I continue sluggishly stumbling, carrying on my deliberate, foolish dance. I look out for the green fur in the all the greyish buzz, but it’s gone. As I make my way, the loudspeakers on the roofs persuade the shoes around me to leave the muck and step into the hot air that showers down on everyone brave enough to pass these invisible doors opening/closing/opening incessantly (The thought crosses my mind that these showers disinfect your soul, helping you to let down your natural defences). I can make out the speakers’ noise, but the cotton-wool in my head stifles the words. I move through a world full of sounds and devoid of meaning. By the bus stop I halt and take a tentative look around. Less feet here. Holding on to the post of a traffic sign, carefully checking the position of my feet, I begin to raise my head. I sway a little, but I manage to steady myself. What had been a pair of beige suede shoes on the periphery of my field of vision now becomes a pair of legs wrapped in a dark green coat and a white handbag. I try to focus, lift my head a bit higher. Legs and handbag turn into a whole body, all dressed in this dark green coat; hips, waist, breasts, shoulders, all indiscernible, all one straight line. The last bit is the most difficult part. I raise my gaze even further, ready to close my eyes anytime. The face opposite makes my heartbeat stop for a second, then I feel my legs moving, involuntarily. It is just half a step backwards, but that did it. I look down, panic-stricken, and it takes me some seconds to realize, but yes, that face, that old lady’s face… that face with the innocent dark green hat matching the coat perfectly, that face made me step on the crack. The crack. I feel my knees weaken; feel sick, my stomach’s heaving, and I have to run, run. My feet hardly carry my weight, my terribly heavy weight, I’m concrete, I’m solid lead, but then I finally manage to move. I push myself away from the post, make a large step, and fling myself into the moving traffic. I catch a glimpse of my watch: 15:43, the bus is on time.

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As if it were that easy.