When was the first time she listened to the other person without being selfish? Without being ‘what’s in it for me’? Without “I”? Without tapping her foot?
In a small but well-decorated bedroom. In a narrow bed with devices attached. A window opened to a wide lawn with trees blurred in rain. An LED TV mounted on the wall connected to all the movies she rewatched. To relive.
A cigarette in her hand, she listened to the young man on the sofa, back straight, telling her how he ended here. A breakup. Of course. The same script for all the misérables.
What could be the other side of the story? She never asked. She was interested in him – his words, his voice. The communication.
It was the first time she truly listened. Without interruption. Without judgment. Without dismissing or shouting. With a selflessness new to her.
Because that was it.
Because it was over.
Perhaps the last cigarette.
In the hospice center, under the palliative care of that young nurse, who signed up for this job to talk to people who were left alone to die in peace. Not really. He was looking for something better.
Anyway. There she was, listening. Finally. At 71.
Because there was no other speaker left.
Left.
But before you feel empathy for her, don’t. Not everyone can afford such a death. It was an elite death in an elite setting – paid for.
Feel for yourself. Or the nurse. Not her. She had her fair share of all the adventures and successes and affairs and sweats.
Ever wondered about the ones you hate in your gut? The ones who sweat and moan with you. Beside you. In the same bed sheet. And these are the ones you remember on your deathbed. How pathetic. Or maybe you never hated them. You cherish the memories and lies and pretend while getting along with someone else. Again, pathetic.
Imagine if she had listened to the one she loved – and hated at the same time – after calling him herself, and then she shouted with spit flowing from her mouth, in the congested setting of her car and then asked him to get out… she’d still be here. Alone. If not that year, then the next. People fall. Always. Sometimes you see, and sometimes you didn’t.
And those who stay are the cowards. Those sticking with the status quo. Passing days. Waiting for miracles. Afraid of losing more in pursuit of losing one. The one.
Nonetheless. Glitches and random algorithms. Trial and error. Absurdity. Absolute absurdity.
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