I woke up on the last day.
I stared at the curtains as they moved in the slight breeze, throwing shade. Then the radio turned on precisely at seven o’clock as the alarm commanded it and a stream of music came through the speakers.
We ate breakfast together. Me, my wife and our son. He was lost in the story of his previous night’s dream and I was lost in my thoughts about the upcoming day.
I walked him to school. I held his hand while half-listening to his tales of heroism and villainy. I didn’t even notice when the story changed. I was more concerned about the traffic and the people that were flowing around us.
After that, I went to my favourite cafe. It was just a few blocks away from the faculty. I sat outside in the morning sun, pulled a folder of papers from my bag, ordered a coffee and started grading the papers. The topic was a thought experiment about one specific American tribe. I managed to get through about half of them until eleven o’clock, which was when my lecture was about to begin. That day I was talking about the danger of “going native” in anthropological research. I have already given that lecture countless times.
At the canteen, one of the students joined me at the table. He gave me a nervous smile as he asked if he may sit with me. I nodded. It hasn’t taken him long to start probing the territory with his questions. He wasn’t sure about a few topics that we went through that semester and since the exams were painfully close I agreed to a meeting with him later in my office. He wasn’t a bad student. It just always took him a bit longer to comprehend the topic. I sat with him for an hour and he left at much more ease.
After my workday was over I wandered through the city streets towards the ice cream truck where I met with my wife and son and then, together, we slowly walked home.
We had dinner together. I helped my son with his homework. It wasn’t my place to give him straight answers. I always guided him to them. It was the same with my students. It is better for them to understand the topic on their own rather than just memorize facts.
We put our son to sleep. I went back to my desk, having more work to do. The other half of the papers wouldn’t grade themselves. She went also to her desk but not to work. She opened her favourite game and immersed herself deep in it. She was the more childish one of the two of us.
As we lay in bed the sirens started screaming. I looked out of the window, confused. There were people rushing down the street. My wife also got up and dressed up in fear and confusion. I went for our son. Then we ran to the cellar. He was sleepy and still half-dreaming. We sat there, holding each other. The three of us sat there in silence.
Then the earth trembled.
***
I woke up on the first day.
I stared at our curtains that were throwing a shade made of flowers and leaves on our bed. The sound of morning traffic and city life was coming from outside, blending with her calm breathing, as she lay, curled up against my back. Then the radio next to our bed turned on precisely at seven o’clock as the alarm commanded it and a stream of music came through the speakers.
We ate breakfast together. Me, my wife and our son. He was lost in the story of his previous night’s dream. She was, as always, listening in awe. She was his greatest listener and loved his profoundly exaggerated tales.
I walked him to school. I held his hand while listening to his tales of heroism and villainy, although I didn’t even notice when the story changed. Same as he never noticed the transition of scenery between our house, the streets of this city close to the heart and his school. I was more concerned about the traffic and people that were flowing around us.
After that, I went to my favourite cafe. I sat outside in the morning sun and started grading the papers. I managed to get through about half of them until eleven o’clock, which was when my lecture was about to begin. I have already given that lecture countless times. This time however I finished much sooner than I anticipated. I guess I was too hungry to go over all the examples.
At the canteen, one of the students joined me at the table. He gave me a nervous smile as he asked if he may sit with me. I nodded. It hasn’t taken him long to start probing the territory with his questions. He wasn’t sure about a few topics that we went through that semester. It just always took him a bit longer to comprehend what was happening.
After my workday was over I wandered through the city streets towards the ice cream truck where I met with my wife and son and then, together, we slowly walked home in the evening sun.
We had dinner together. I helped my son with his homework. It wasn’t my place to give him straight answers. I always guided him to them. It was the same with my students.
We put our son to sleep. I went back to my desk, having more work to do. She went also to her desk but not to work. She opened her favourite game and immersed herself deep in it. She was the more childish one of the two of us, but I could never hold it against her. After all, that was the reason why we met and I loved her for it.
As we lay in the bed the sirens started screaming. I looked out of the window, confused. My wife also got up and dressed up in fear and confusion. I went for our son. Then we ran to the cellar. We sat there, holding each other.
Then the earth trembled.
***
I woke up the second day.
I opened my eyes to golden sunshine and a slight breeze from the half-opened window. The shadowplay of flowers and leaves was moving back and forth as the wind moved the curtains. The sound of morning traffic and city life was coming from outside, blending with her calm breathing, as she lay, curled up against my back. Then the radio next to our bed turned on precisely at seven o’clock as the alarm commanded it and a stream of music came through the speakers. She murmured and opened her eyes.
We prepared breakfast and as we sat at the table our son came rushing down the stairs. I smiled at him and gestured towards his plate of waffles. He threw his bag next to the chair and with a mouthful of food he started telling us yet another of his incredible dream adventures. He was glowing. I sat quietly, eating and listening. Nodding here and there. Exchanging occasional glances with my wife. She was, as always, listening in awe, completely under the spell of his fantasy. She was his greatest listener and loved his profoundly exaggerated tales. Like every morning, I fell for her again.
I walked him to school as every morning. I held his hand while listening to that compelling young voice. I glanced around the street. There were faces of people. Either rushing, enjoying a hot morning, lost in their thoughts or immersed deep in conversation or everything at once. I didn’t even notice when the tale changed. Same as he never noticed the transition of scenery between our house, the streets of this city close to the heart and his school. I occasionally responded here and there, adding my own insight to encourage him in his imagination.
There were more kids around the school than ever. Their parents were dropping them off and hugging them for final goodbyes. I hugged my son and wished him good luck with his presentation. He was so anxious yet excited. I smiled and waved him goodbye.
After my working day was over I wandered through the city streets towards the ice cream truck where my wife and son were already waiting for me. I joined them and bought us ice cream. We both took our son by the hand and slowly walked through the city centre back home. The streets were filled with people. Filled with life. Filled with random music. Filled with our laughter and conversation. He was glowing and seemed so fragile. His skin was so warm to the touch. He was happy.
We had dinner together. My wife and I cooked as we always did on Friday nights and I helped him with his homework. I was always firm yet patient. I guided him toward the answers and he always understood them in the end. He was a smart kid.
I was proud of him.
Then I heard the sirens.
Then the earth trembled.
***
I woke up on the third day.
The sun shone on our bed through curtains, drawing a texture of flowers and leaves by its shade. I stared at the golden light, smiling. The sound of morning traffic and city life was coming from outside, blending with the calm breathing of my love, as she lay, curled up against my back. Then the radio turned on precisely at seven o’clock and a gentle piano filled our bedroom. She released her hands from around my chest.
We prepared breakfast together and as we sat at the table all sounds were somehow muffled. The world around us got quieter. I smiled towards the stairs and gestured to a plate of waffles. I sat quietly eating and listening. Nodding here and there. Exchanging occasional glances with my wife. She was, as always, listening in awe. She was a great listener of those profoundly exaggerated tales. Like every morning, I fell for her again and that much more.
I walked to school. My hand was grasping the air as if it was holding some other one. I didn’t notice when the tale changed. Same as I didn’t notice the transition of scenery between our house, the streets of this city close to the heart and school. I occasionally responded here and there to keep up that nonexistent conversation.
There were no kids around the school.
After my workday was over I wandered through the city streets towards the ice cream truck where my wife was already waiting for me. I joined her and bought us ice cream. We both, hand in hand, slowly walked through the city centre back home. The streets were filled with people. Filled with calmness. Filled with serenity. Filled with our passion and conversation. She was glowing and seemed so fragile. Her skin so warm to the touch.
We cooked together as we always did on Friday nights since our second date. Then we ate in silence. We cut the meat carefully to not make the slightest sound. The candles on the table were slowly burning away.
She went to her desk but not for work. She opened her favourite game and immersed herself deep in it. She was the more childish one of the two of us, but I could never hold it against her. After all if not for that one game we would never meet. We both loved to create an imaginary life. Lead the people we created in the game towards love, towards a great career, towards the big family. We had private jokes about it. Saying goodbye in the game’s language which almost sounded like “see you soon”. We played once again together.
I looked deep into her eyes and kissed her.
She was glowing.
Then I heard the sirens.
Then Earth trembled.
***
I woke up on the fourth day.
The sun shone on our bed through curtains drawing a texture of flowers and leaves by its shade. I stared at the golden light, smiling. The sound of morning traffic and city life was as mute as was my calm breathing. Then the radio turned on precisely at seven o’clock.
I’ve had my breakfast. Carefully picking every bite so as to not disturb the silence.
I walked to school. I held an imaginary hand while glancing around the street. There were faces of people. Either calmly strolling, smiling at each other, lost in their thoughts or immersed deep in silent conversation or everything at once. I noticed when the tale changed. Same as I noticed the transition of scenery between our house, the streets of Brno and school.
I went to my favourite café. I sat outside in the morning sun and left my eyes wandering around the city streets. The colours were dull and edges blurry.
That day I was talking about the danger of “going native” in anthropological research. There was only one student. It hasn’t taken him long to start probing the territory with his questions. He wasn’t sure about a few topics that we went through that semester and since the exams were painfully close I agreed to a meeting with him later in my office.
He wasn’t a bad student. It just always took him a bit longer to comprehend what was happening. I saw myself in him.
After my workday was over I wandered through the city streets, admiring the scenery of architecture bathing in the light of the golden hour. At those times I always had my head up in the windows and balconies. I always wondered what lives were lived behind those curtains. Behind those red roses and herbs. Was there singing in the shower? Was there a television and ice hockey on it? Was there a young kid telling stories? I loved this city. If Prague was the heart of Europe, Brno was its main artery. But this artery was cut off.
The city was bleeding out memories. Killed a few nights before in an instant.
I saw those buildings, those balconies withering away. Bleeding out of existence as the few that remembered them already bled out. I was bleeding out too.
When I heard the sirens I went up. I knew I was supposed to be in the cellar so I went to the roof. Finally, I’ve seen the bomb that already killed us. It vaporised our bodies in a way we forgot we died. I smiled. I was glowing.
I knew.
Tomorrow will be my last day.
See you soon.
Then Earth trembled.