Cotton Wool World by Eve Westwood - HTML preview

One hundred and fifty nine

Was it only hours ago I took my journey to the airport? My perception of time has warped. Am I sure I haven’t just been beamed up. Was I sitting at my desk at work, typing some indistinct letter when a bright light engulfed me? Next thing I appeared in a new undiscovered place. I don’t quite know why I’ve been chosen but I feel it must all be part of a bigger plan. If only I could put all this mind wandering to better use.

I think back, I have to rack my brains. No, it was yesterday I left. Yes, I’m sure of it. I think. I’d been packed for days. Living like a tramp in the same clothes because I’d stupidly folded everything else away, put things into hibernation for a while. Those last few days were weird. Surreal in a way. Even the dogs looked at me with incomprehension. I remember I sat watching one of the dogs trying to catch a bluebottle which was crawling up its paw much to my amusement. Dogs have a fantastic range of facial expressions if you stop for a moment and study them.

When was that? It seems a long time ago, somewhere in the distant past but I know it can’t be.

I took one last walk up the lane. The lane I had walked on for years. The lane I had fallen over on countless times. The lane I was proposed to on. The lane. A lane. It had nearly taken a hold over me. So very nearly.

It was a going to be a sunny day. It seemed fitting.

The taxi was early but it didn’t matter. I’d been ready for a long time. The place no longer belonged to me.

My stamp had been erased. The rooms I laughed in.

Cried in. The rooms we fought in. Loved in. I had placed them in memory. They would always be there.

That’s the only place they existed now.

179

The taxi beeped. How long had I been stood there? I didn’t even take a last look around. I felt something. I can’t place whether it was a wrench or a release.

Perhaps both. I can’t explain it but whatever it was seemed the direct cause of the tears which streamed down my face as the car pulled away from the life I knew. I said goodbye to the sheep, to the trees, to the small steam of water residing off the side of the path, to the crumbling deserted farm building I had passed so many times. Why did I never jump the fence and go there? I passed no-one. I was glad of that. I didn’t have the dilemma of whether to wave or look away in ignorance. I wouldn’t have known how to behave. As I left the village I closed my eyes and asked myself for forgiveness.