Mauer.

and i can't promise you that i won't let you down.

"Don't be pathetic, it's easy. Just tell me something true. Tell me. Tell me now."

The Butterfly Effect

I often wonder if I’d be better off if I hadn’t left the house that day. I honestly think that yes, I’d probably be a much happier person if I hadn’t. And it is funny, in a way, that all of us tend to look back and think, ‘maybe I shouldn’t have done that,’ or ‘maybe I should have said this instead of that,’ when, at the time, whatever we did or didn’t do seemed the most logical.

I know it won’t change anything, but I keep thinking about the little things that morning that led to me being on that bus at eleven fifty-eight. Like how I’d forgotten to reset my alarm, or how on leaving the house I couldn’t find my key, and how before that, I couldn’t even decide what to eat for breakfast. They were all things that by themselves wouldn’t have had any impact on my day whatsoever. Yet together, they paved the way for me to be caught up in something I doubt anyone would ever want to be a part of.

***

It was never going to be a pleasant day. I knew that before it started raining, before I got on the bus to Uni with the foggy windows and damp seats and air that made my stomach turn. Dragging myself down to the kitchen to find something to eat, I’d stood facing the window, looking out onto the garden. Thanks to the shadow cast by the clouds overhead, it had had this sombre, guarded look about it. Had I known what was to happen later on, I would have described these clouds as ominous or foreboding, but then and there, all the clouds meant was rain. And all rain meant was an umbrella, boots and maybe not my favourite coat.

Even so, I was having a slow start that morning, and the glum weather made me want to draw it out even further. So I decided to give it another hour and miss my first class; nobody else was home, so I didn’t even have to feel guilty about it.

***

I must have underestimated how long it would take, or had deliberately done everything slower than usual, because the extra hour I’d given myself came and went sooner than I expected, and instead of feeling relaxed when I finally made it out the front door, I felt more anxious than I’d been all morning.

***

I wish I could say that something told me not to get on that bus. Maybe I should have taken into account the broken windscreen wiper on the left side. But in all honesty, I doubt I noticed that until afterwards.

The bus came two minutes late. With the heating on, the windows had fogged up on the inside, and people had been writing things on them with their fingers. Getting on, all I could think was that I couldn’t breathe through the warm odour of tacky perfume mingled with the wet dog smell of musty seats, so I didn’t realise I’d sat down at least four rows in front of where I usually felt comfortable.

We were all going to the same place; that was evident enough. If I’d been blind I would know we were students by the conversations people were having. But I’ve never been drawn to people acting like experts about things they barely know anything about. And that was why my attention ended up focused on a boy across the aisle from me, just in front of the doors. He was reading one of my favourite books, and I immediately felt an affinity with him, deciding that if we had gone to school together we’d have been friends - which was a bit stupid really. My friends didn’t read at all.

He must have felt my eyes on him, the way you can always sense if someone is watching you, because he closed his book and turned his head my way. I hadn’t noticed; worlds away, I was imagining the conversation about that book that we’d never have. But the sudden movement snapped me back, and after some brief and awkward eye contact I diverted my attention beyond him to what I could see through the window, and tried to pretend that that was where I’d been looking the entire time.

Through the clouded, wet glass, the world appeared blurry and distorted. The overcast sky, the river and the houses on the opposing shore were all joined by the grey haze of rain hammering the water. And even though she was difficult to see, I did notice the girl riding her bike alongside the bus. But it took me a moment or two to figure out why something about it didn’t seem right.

Why she was by the edge of the road in the emergency lane, rather than on the path that would have been the obvious choice, I’ll never know. But it shouldn’t have mattered why. People do things without explanation all the time.

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if the bus driver knew she was there, or if he could see her at all. I’d taken the same route for long enough to know that the lane she was in was going to end in another twenty metres, and because she didn’t look like she was moving to the path any time soon, she had two choices. One was to take her chances and ride out in front of the bus, or the safer option, to slow down and let the traffic go past. If I had been in her position I know what I would have done. Except that I wasn’t.

I nearly said something. Honestly, I really did consider telling the driver to look out for her. But as usual my tongue got the better of me and refused to let a word out. Or maybe I was just too damn self-aware.

***

Often it’s the in-between moments that you remember most. I remember realising that my watch had come undone and I remember that I looked down to fix it. It’s strange now, to think that that moment was the last time I really felt that I knew who I was and what I stood for. Up until then, I’d never considered that the consequence of my not acting could affect me so deeply.

The chaos came in the seconds that followed. I didn’t see it happen, but I heard it. Felt it. Yet I’m not sure what came first - the jolt forward as the bus screeched to a halt, the shrieks of the people around me, the crunching noise, or the dull thud of something heavy rebounding off tempered glass.

I used to think that the not-remembering was from the shock of it, and that it would have all come back to me by now. But no matter how hard I try to piece it back together, it remains a blur, and is the reason why I was never counted as a reliable witness.

What I do recall is looking up again and realising that the day had been turned on its head. There was a deathly quiet. Music had stopped and the conversations ceased.

The few people who had been standing had fallen down onto each other; someone had caught his forehead on a stop button and a trickle of blood was slowly making its way down his face. But he didn’t appear to notice; even when it reached his lip and he would have been able to taste the saltiness. While everything continued on around us, for a moment or two it felt like the only indication that the world hadn’t frozen was the pattering of rain on the windows.

The bus driver broke the quiet by opening the doors and the barrier that separated him from the rest of us. Turning back before he shuffled out, he said, “Don’t get out, kids,” but his heart wasn’t in it.

The doors were left open and the boy who’d hit his head was the first to find his feet. Then, curious as ever, we all found ourselves edging slowly out of our seats and tentatively stepping down and into the rain. If a part of me didn’t want to know what lay in wait outside, it was overcome by the fear that if I didn’t get out with everyone else, they would know. They would know that I had something to do with it.

***

The driver was a big hulking block of a man, and if I’d been younger I might have been frightened by the sheer size of him. But I doubt anyone could have been afraid of him at that moment, not with the way his shoulders drooped and how he seemed to fall in on himself as he knelt there. It was strange and somewhat unnerving to see how someone so large could appear so small. I guess that’s what happens to you when your spirit is crushed and your life has taken a turn you never saw coming.

The bike had snapped in two. Half of it was under the bus, and I think the only reason that the same didn’t happen to the girl who’d been riding it was because of the peculiar angle of the impact. And there she was; helmet askew, lying in the arms of the driver on the wet, miserable road while the blood on her arms and legs kept getting washed away by the heavy rain.

We had to face the facts - we couldn’t do anything about it. We weren’t qualified or able to do anything at all. The most we could do was reassure ourselves, “She’s breathing, she’s breathing, she’s okay.” And for a while there, she was.

But by the time the ambulance and police arrived we couldn’t be sure anymore. And when they took her away, we were just left there with a bus that barely had a scratch on it. Traffic returned to normal, but we couldn’t.

A girl who’d been standing beside me ran over to the water’s edge and vomited onto the concrete that stopped the bank from falling into the river. The rest of us just stood there, waiting, and I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand being as helpless as the rest of them. Not to mention that I couldn’t help feeling somewhat responsible. If I’d said something, maybe none of this would have happened.

I didn’t know how I was going to get back on a bus after all that. But I knew that I probably would. And even though I wanted to walk away, to keep walking until my knees hurt and my legs ached and my feet blistered, I didn’t move. 

***

We tried so hard to live in the truth

Everyone is much too happy for you to be honest with them
because if you were honest with them the world would be colder.

You could choose anything, you choose to lose, again and again.

We are the angry mob
We read the papers every day
We like who we like
We hate who we hate
But we're also easily swayed

Je vous connais à peine, ce qui vous rend si spécial?

Je voudrais que quelqu'un m'attende quelque part.

Mon Dieu, je suis une telle contradiction. Je suis probablement schizophrène.

Il dit quelque chose mais ses mots ne font pas de bruit et je n'entends rien.

nous sommes tous emmêlés.

Sorry, but I'd only make you miserable.

There are people who cannot see,
                          who cannot hear,
                                      who have never slept in a bed,
    who have never known the sound of music
             or the feel of the ocean.
                         There are people in this world
                                    who are dying

                          before they've learnt to live.

The fact that you only ever think about your own little life shows the kind of person you are.

And that's not my kind of person.

Because failure's a part of it all

And if failure doesn't hurt then failure doesn't work at all.

When the winter falls too cold to touch.

Cause all that I wanted, all that I needed

All that I wanted, was to be

And all that I wanted, all that I needed

All that I wanted, was to be alone

Was to be alone

Was to be alone

I know all the rules, I just don't want to play it.

I don't want to be wanted.
I don't want to be adored, longed for or sought after.
I'd rather be desired for what I am and what I can do and say than be wanted for me.
I don't want to be wanted by anyone.
Not me.
Not me.

life, the universe, and everything.

"Another thing that got forgotten was the fact that against all probability a sperm whale had been suddenly been called into existence several miles above the surface of an alien planet.


And since this is not a naturally tenable position for a whale, this poor innocent creature had very little time to come to terms with its identity as a whale before it then had to come to terms with not being a whale any more.

This is a complete record of its thought from the moment it began its life till the moment it ended it.

Ah . . . ! What's happening? it thought.


Er, excuse me, who am I?


Hello?


Why am I here? What's my purpose in life?


What do I mean by who am I?


Calm down, get a grip now . . . oh! this is an interesting what is it?


It's sort of . . . yawning, tingling sensation in my . . . my . . . well, I suppose I'd better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for that sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world, so let's call it my stomach.


Good. Ooooh, it's getting quite strong. And hey, what about this whistling roaring sound going past what I'm suddenly going to call my head? Perhaps I can call that . . . wind! Is that a good name? It'll do . . . perhaps I can find a better name for it later when I've found out what it's for.


It must be something very important because there certainly seems to be a hell of a lot of it. Hey! What's this thing? This . . . let's call it a tail - yeah, tail. Hey! I can really thrash it about pretty good, can't I? Wow! Wow! That feels great! Doesn't seem to achieve very much but I'll probably find out what it's for later on. Now, have I built up any coherent picture of things yet?


No.


Never mind, hey, this is really exciting, so much to find out about, so much to look forward to, I'm quite dizzy with anticipation . . . Or is it the wind?


There really is a lot of that now, isn't there? And wow! Hey! What's this thing suddenly coming toward me very fast? Very, very fast. So big and flat and round, it needs a big wide-sounding name like . . . ow . . . ound . . . round . . . ground! That's it! That's a good name- ground!


I wonder if it will be friends with me?

And the rest, after a sudden wet thud, was silence.

Curiously enough, the only thing that went through the mind of the bowl of petunias as it fell was Oh no, not again. Many people have speculated that if we knew exactly why the bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the Universe than we do now."
 

You don't want a girl like me.

Maybe I'm a crook for stealing your heart away


And maybe I'm a crook for not caring for it

And maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad person

Well baby, I know.