What if all the birds in the world stopped singing, would anyone notice? What if all the Gods of all religions stopped listening, said bugger off you lot we�re off to the pub for a soothing ale or an orange juice, depending on their persuasion. Can you imagine if they got tired of listening to the plea�s, the promises, the non stop voices, begging for forgiveness or damning their neighbours to hell. Would we know? Would we care?
What if I never get out of bed again, will anyone notice? You would, but you�re gone. With a child�s mind, I wonder if it�s to a place of frolicking lambs and silver butterflies. Is it all you imagine? Is it better? Will you sup on chocolate fudge and Beef Wellington, are the oysters as big as saucers? Does it matter that you didn�t want to go?
I wonder aloud to my cold up of tea as I curl up in a too big bed hugging your pillow that still smells of you. Such a beautiful scent. Afraid, so afraid that your smell, like you, will disappear.
There is no one to answer my �what if� questions now. The game we played all our life together. Thoughts would occur to me at the oddest times, shampooing the dog, driving to the shop at 11pm to get chocolate, me having lost the paper, rock, and scissors bet. In the middle of a scrabble fest after two bottles of wine and the scores in disarray, what if we were cows and we could only eat one thing for the rest of our bovine lives, what would it be? You cheese, me licorice ice cream. What if we were Asian, how would we get our contact lenses in? What if we hadn�t met, who would we be with? Endless questions, endless pondering. Infinite possibilities. That�s what we were. Infinite possibilities.
Does anyone care that I�m here? Like a cold hot water bottle, insulated on the outside and stone cold within. I think not. The phone rings and our voices herald the fact we aren�t here but will call back. We won�t. Occasional knocks on the door make me burrow deeper into my cocoon, only leaving its insulation when my body insists. I don�t want this existence. I don�t want to be just me. I have been willing my heart to slow down, my kidneys to stop, and my liver to wither. They don�t.
Sleep, Dreams of you. Dreams are the playground where I hide. Running, laughing, pushing you down the slide. Who will we play with now? You with all our departed animals and me with shadows. Chasing, chasing, never catching. Last night I dreamt you yelled at me, you were really angry. Little flecks of spittle hung at the corners of your mouth. I cowered behind the swings. You want me to play with others, not you. But, like the dumb, ugly kid at school I follow you, undaunted. You�re getting further ahead now. I can�t see you. Crying I chase you. I can�t find you.
New faces are coming into the playground, blurring your image. I fight them. Go away I scream. How can I not? It�s our playground. Only for us. Our slide, our swings, our life. Outraged I throw stones at them. Amazingly they don�t run away, but smile and hold open their arms. I am so afraid now. So afraid. What if I forget.
What if I still kept living, will you forgive me?
