Words to Tie to Bricks (2 page)

I still have your pillow.

I hope you don’t mind.

(I’m sorry.)

(Come back.)

G
RACE
C
OLLINS

I’
VE NEVER BEEN SUCCESSFUL
. But I have this idea of what it feels like.

Imagine a world. A world where everything is possible. Anything you can dream is a reality, nightmares are a myth, pain an old wives’ tale. People don’t get old and die so no one is
ever burdened with loss. Everyone knows this. They know that the idea of something not existing is the only thing that is impossible. And the consequence of everything is different from here. They
are good consequences because bad actions cannot be done.

And today, on this day, people feel something. They don’t know what, but they can feel something great in the air. It’s pumping throughout their bodies, each step bringing them one
step closer to it. No one knows why though. They don’t question it but soon they will.

And you, you are the exception to all of this. You know of things that aren’t real. You know that not everything you dream is real but you don’t care, not one bit. You know that
consequences are not always good because bad actions will hurt. And you know that sometimes people die, and it hurts to lose them. You know that soon things will change in this world. And do you
want to know what else you know? You know that you are the cause of this greatness and you know that soon, everyone will know this, but it will be too late.

You see, you’re in this big old city. Hundreds of people all around. Buildings that mark the wonderful civilizations before cover the ground. You are standing on the top of the tallest,
oldest building; you feel no fear, you feel no bravery. You feel nothing. You simply exist. And standing on this height you can see everyone and everything and you can see how they feel the unknown
greatness. And if you focus a little bit, you can feel all their emotions, you can feel the happiness and the joy and you feel every emotion at once and you know all these things and you step to
the edge of the building.

And you turn your back on the city.

You take a breath.

And you do not jump. You let go.

Such a simple thing to do and yet it has taken all this time. Suddenly you know that the people know and for the first time in your life you are doing something different.

I imagine the feeling of success as not the feeling of hitting the ground, not of letting yourself drop but the feeling in between.

The feeling of falling and the feeling of knowing and the feeling of feeling. And the feeling of doing more than just existing.

That is success.

C
ONOR
K
ELLEHER

In a world where nothing is beautiful,

And if it were, it would be obscured by the black

And by the tint of your gas mask.

The world had long begun to melt.

The planet enveloped by a toxic fog.

A life now not of colours, but of shapes

And on a high hill, are our shifting shapes.

We can’t remember anything bright or beautiful,

And so we journey through the fog,

To see if there’s anything to be seen that isn’t black.

The liquid landscape around us is devoted to the melt.

Or what I can see of it, anyway, through my mask.

The gas means you cannot remove the mask,

And so we’ve forgotten our faces’ shapes.

I think of how little we know of each other, and I begin to melt.

If I could see you, I know you would be beautiful.

All we are outside, silhouettes against black.

All we are inside, twisting fog.

But maybe we should be thankful for that fog,

And the limitations of the mask.

Do we want to see what’s blocked by blankets of black?

Do we want those defined shapes?

Maybe the ignorance and blank bliss is beautiful.

My eyes begin to melt.

But we run, even as we melt.

We will find our treasure in the fog,

Even if that treasure is less than beautiful.

Brand new scars mark my mask,

A record of where we’ve been, and of the shapes

Of what we’ve carved for ourselves from the black.

There are whispers in the black,

Fixed figures that live in the melt.

We hide from their defined shapes.

I love you, I promise, no matter what happens in this fog.

I love you and I love your gas mask.

It’s all fantastically beautiful.

In the black, you slip through the fog.

And the melt devours you through your mask.

I see your gasping faces’ shapes. Even now, even here, beautiful.

C
AROL
M
C
G
ILL

I
T
’
S BEEN A SWELTERING DAY
, moving slowly into an exhausting, hot night. It’s been a day when the sun softens the
world with heat and paints everything with gold, a day when all there is to be done is lie in the shade fanning yourself with a napkin, a day to spend sucking at ice lollies or eating strawberries
or twisting your hair in your hand so it doesn’t stick to the back of your neck.

It’s at sunset on a day like this that you come home.

Though it was a day for doing nothing, we did everything.

I took the kids down to swim in the river. When we got back to the house, I let them run on the grass in the garden to dry off. For a while I chased them, laughing hysterically and tickling
them, but then the heat got the better of me and I went inside. It was too hot to cook so I made a sort of salad for dinner. I watched through the window as the children chased each other,
collapsed with fatigue, and chased once again.

After I called them in we ate the makeshift salad with bread and butter. We drank lots of lemonade and ate lots of ice cream. I took them on a walk to the meadow and told them to be very, very
quiet and not to move at all, because then we’d see the rabbits. We wandered home through the dusk and they put on their pyjamas. Becky pulled her nightshirt over her head but then stripped
off immediately because she was too hot, so I opened all the windows in their room and let them splash cold water on their faces. I told them a story. When I go back to check on them now
they’re asleep, but the blankets are in a heap on the floor.

Leaving the back door open, I go outside. It’s cooling down out here, despite getting stuffier in the house. The shadows are growing longer and the gold light is fading to give way to
night. I walk down the garden and lean on the back gate, watching the sunset. And then I see you.

You take your time coming up the lane that runs by the back of the house. You’re very close before I see your face and I know for sure that it’s you. Long before that I become very
conscious of how faded the flowers are on the summer dress I’m wearing, of how tangled my hair is and how dirty the soles of my feet are, because it had been too hot for shoes all day. When I
see that it’s you I feel dreamlike. Not that I think I’m asleep – I know it’s real and that’s what makes it a dream.

When you finally reach me you stop so there’s nothing between us but that rusty gate. This was where you’d always kissed me goodnight. This was where the best kind of silence had
always replaced the best kind of words. This was where you’d looked in my eyes and promised never to do what you’d done. This was where I’d waited for you every night, for all of
the first year you were gone.

Today, I wait for you to break the silence.

But you don’t. You look past me, up the garden towards the house that was our home, with a sort of longing in your eyes.

I wonder if you know about your lighter lying on my dressing table, and how I used it that one time I tried to smoke, after everyone claimed it’d help me relax. I wonder if you know about
the way I kept buying your favourite tea bags for months. I wonder if you know how guilty I felt after I replaced those yellow curtains you picked out. If you know how I jumped down my
sister’s throat when she sat in your chair on her visit. How I had to stop the clock because the ticking drove me mad. How much I cried after giving away your clothes. I wonder if you know
how I broke all the china in the house after you were gone.

I wonder if you know just how angry I was.

But I’m doing well. I keep on telling myself I’m doing well. The pain is still there but I’m learning to live with it without hurting too much, and I can manage almost a day
without thinking of you. I met a nice guy at the meeting in the town hall, Michael he was called, and he invited me out for coffee and gave me flowers. He’s been round a few times, and the
kids like him. Max climbed all over him and Becky sat on his knee and looked up at him with round, shy eyes. He tried to kiss me once, I turned my face away so he got my cheek. But I’ve been
thinking about it ever since and maybe next time I’ll let him.

Shouldn’t you be the first one to speak? I don’t know what it is you’re here to say.

You touch my face. Your hand is familiar to me. And it’s so much better than fantasies or tear-soaked sheets or nights filled with silence.

‘It’s time to let me go,’ you whisper. I shake my head.

‘Yes it is. It’s time,’ you insist, your voice soft. ‘You’ve been holding on to me and I’ve been holding onto you. But we’re both ready. It’s
time.’

‘You promised you’d never leave me,’ I choke out. I think I’m crying.

‘You know I had no choice,’ you remind me gently. How have I managed for so long without you to remind me of things? ‘You know it was my time to die. Come on now. You’re
ready. You can do it. You can let me go.’

I cry. And finally I nod. You lean forward and kiss my mouth. I close my eyes. When I open them there’s nothing but the sunset and my fingers stroking thin air.