Yet The Heart Beats Fast

The Death Of a Salesman came in with the mail a week ago. As I began to read it, I found it incredibly hard to focus on the play. A piece of paper that the previous owner forgot in the book, considering that it is she,  made me think about her.

“I turn to you

Like sunflowers in the sun

I want to dance myself

But my roots are stuck”

I immediately began to think of her story. Maybe, she thought this poem in a supermarket while she was strolling among the shelves and trying hard to remember. Then, maybe she looks at her right shelf and sees cat foods, then remembers she does not have any cats. At the shelf of her left she sees some discount candles, yet she wishes they were cheaper. She strolls the whole market twice, then she grabs two ready made pancake mixtures, four packs of noodles, three cans of soup, and two bottles of rose wine. Yet she feels she has forgotten something. Somethings are missing on her shopping list. She heads to home and unlocks the door that she locked for four times. Sighs. She steps in her house and sorrow falls at her chest like a heavy fog. She again turns the lock four times. Inhales through her nose and exhales from her mouth. She repeats this for many times. Yet the heart keeps beating fast. Her room faces a lovely backyard with trees of roses, plums, and pomegranates. You can pluck a pomegranate with your hand If you just reach out from her window. Beyond the garden, there is a graveyard that covers most of the city. It is a pity that the graveyard is on the usual road she takes every day. She hates breathing dead people when it rains. She hates the idea of death. She sat on her stool and wrote:

“I turn to you

Like sunflowers in the sun

I want to dance myself

But my roots are stuck”

I named her Sky, and she likes to dance.

She puts her paper and pen away and inhales through her nose and exhales from her mouth. The heart still beats fast. She feels the sorrow in each string of her hair, in the roots of her hair, Sky wants to skin her scalp.
If I am to describe the image of her mind, I would say that it reminds Friedrich’s “Woman Before the Rising Sun”. The name might sound idyllic, but believe me, it is not.
She reaches out for her phone and calls the music man. They meet by the sea, they sit on the rocks. Between the dark clouds, the moon shows a glimpse of herself, but never reveals too much of her. He lights a cigarette, she coughs. He asks:
“What’s the matter?”

“I feel suffocated. I called you because –“

“Because you did not want to think. It is okay I know how you feel. But you have to learn to deal with your loneliness”

“I know, I just don’t know how. I feel weak.”

Loneliness was a dangerous zone for Sky, where she became too near to herself, that she burned.

“You will see that loneliness is not that bad. You will, in fact, see that any other thing than loneliness is terrible. Terrible I say. I know you feel weak, unimportant, but in where I have reached, I don’t need to be important. I just need to be myself. We are always somebody’s something. That’s why we often find ourselves suffocated.”

“Do you think if I punch my chest too hard, will the heart stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t believe? That I am strong?”

“I believe that you are strong.”

“There is something inside my chest. It punches hard, and something  rips my ribs apart, trying to make its way out. I want to punch back from the outside, to make it stop. Make it all stop.”

He smiled and said, “Let them out.”

“I can’t.”

She breathes in and out, heart beats faster. They stop talking and begin to watch the tide.

Then Sky, hypnotically, as if she has just received a prophecy quotes something she had read a very long time ago:
“To love someone else enough to forget about yourself even for one moment is to be free.”

“No, that’s being in chains. That’s the punch coming from the inside.”

“ I want to forget myself.”

“You can’t”

“Let’s dance.”

“You are drunk.”

“No, I am myself. Let’s dance till our hot iron shoes consume us, till they consume our passion, consume us. Let’s fall in love and jump from the heights of ourselves, and bump to the ground, with nothing but only our bones left. Isn’t it the way it always is?”

“Let me take you home.”

“Where is that supposed to be?”

He holds her and lifts her up.

“I want to forget myself.”

“I know a way.”

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