Lars

 

 

He pulled up at the curb and turned the motor off and looked around at the day - birds chirping, a perfect blue sky. Thoughts falling back to his life and its predicament - all the failure. Was this the person you were meant to be? Broke, destitute, living in a rooming house, jobless, single, middle-aged, haven’t been on date in over ten years - what’s wrong with this picture?

The sound of a police siren somewhere in the distance, thoughts swirling around like a hurricane, repeating like a broken record. All the guilt and recriminations rising up to meet him, taking on some evil form and threatening to slay him where he sat. And then he remembered his divinity and his new-found political persuasion, sat and breathed, remembered the value of forgiveness, particularly for oneself, waited for it to pass. He got out of the car and walked up the drive, pressed the buzzer, heard the buzzing sound and pushed the door. Made his way up the stairs. His mate, standing behind the fly wire screen, then opening it, and ushering him in. Looking like some unheard-of monster, a yeti, or a hermit with a beard, which he was.

‘Morning, brother!’

Lars. The German. Beard down to his waste, balding, wearing the same track-suite pants and flannelette shirt, he always wore.  

‘Come in, come in! I’ve just got the coffee on, it’s just about to start!’

A darkened hallway, the entrance to a cave, that was the kitchen. A stool already in its place. He sat down on it, looked over and saw the steaming cup sitting on the bench, then looked over at his mate, smiling through his beard, then wondered, all of sudden, whether or not, maybe, life wasn’t all that bad: maybe, it was what you made it. Or maybe, just maybe, it was utterly perfect. Lars, handing him the coffee; the music starting, and they sat in reverend silence, waited for it to begin. Lars, adjusting the volume, the speaker crackling to life.

‘You’re listening to the Anarchist world this week…’

The long-awaited words, a harking back to another time - the hot coffee, a source of refuge. And then it was over and they sat and looked at each other, the portal still open, moments of stillness before the world and its machinations would return.

Reviews

[Red Brick Keshner]

Fascinating read here, and truly reflects your fascination for literature. You have a natural story telling flow and the poetic lines and phrases are another plus, it should be noted. Already won over to the guy and Lars, his mate. A slice of life in full colour, unashamed and not pretentious at all. Two thumbs up here. Cheers.