The Baby

We were still very young that summer, Alice and I. Young to the world, to ourselves and young to each other. We had just graduated, were not looking for a job and had nothing to do. Back then, we didn’t have anything but idle days. So, as every day, we’d meet at the harbour and lay there on the wooden landing. Being together made us feel that we were at least doing something. Something useful, that we were being part of society. It even felt as if the whole world was inside us and we were in control of it. 

Seagulls were picking the desolate pleasure yachts and I fiddled unconsciously around with Alice’ fingers in my hand.

‘Do you feel that void,’ she said, ‘there’s a void. Behind the birds, the clouds, the blueness.’ 

She was deep like that. She knew things and I didn’t. I went along with everything she said and she knew even that, but she didn’t care. That’s why I loved her.

‘We can’t see it, but it’s there,’ she said. ‘We’re constantly falling into the abyss. Do you feel that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t feel it,’ she said as she pulled her fingers out of my hand, ‘We’re not supposed to feel it. We’re like bees. We create a structure, a honeycomb, and fill it with babies and jobs and honey and everything. But I feel that void. I want to feel it.’

‘I feel it too,’ I said and tried to imagine what she meant. 

‘You know, everyone’s always trying not to forget. But that’s not difficult. Remembering is not difficult. It’s banal. The hardest part is letting go. We’re not designed to forget. We’re not designed to see the emptiness in our lives. Blessed are those Alzheimer people.’

‘My grandma has Alzheimer’s,’ I said, ‘but she’s not happy. She’s always angry with us or moaning about people we don’t even know.’

‘I don’t mean it like that,’ Alice said, ‘you don’t understand.’ and I didn’t. I didn’t understand.

That was the last time I saw her. Every day of that summer I went back to the landing and lay there. Waiting. Thinking. Eventually, my mom found me a job, so I moved out and I went on with my life. And in the beginning I did have other girlfriends, but it never lasted. Nothing ever does.

            

So last year, my grandma died and I went back to my hometown to attend her funeral. Afterwards people came up and gave me their condolences. One of them was Alice with a baby in her arms.

‘Hi,’ I said and shook her free hand, ‘Long time.’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry about your grandma.’

‘Yes. I see you have a baby now.’

‘Three,’ she said, ‘this is my third.’

‘Three,’ I repeated.

‘I guess that’s life,’ Alice shrugged.

‘I guess so,’ I said, ‘Hey, do you still remember what you said that summer? With the honeycomb and the void?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘what honeycomb?’