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Serene
Light - Feb 2005 Edition
| The Walkaway Journey |
| By Dorothee Lang
|
An airport. A stop
over. In Milano, it is morning still, yet June had crossed mountains
already. Had seen the moon set and the sun rise at the same time,
above clouds, air born. Had taken the first picture of her journey,
unplanned, a sky moment. Now she is down on the ground
again.
A gate. A corridor. June walks through them, towards
the real plane, towards the long distance connection, all the way to
the gate. It isn't open yet. Two more hours. Time to wait. Time to
kill in between movement, time to live in between places. The name
for this status: transit. The zone for those who are here in person,
but not by protocol. Who will leave Italy without ever entering it.
Just another oddity of life, made comfortable by upholstered chairs
armed with massive armrests to keep people from laying down to
sleep.
A pencil. A page. Milano, June writes in her
diary. Now what next, she wonders. She has no clue. So she leaves
the entry as it is, a name of a place, uncommented.
A mother. A child.
Sitting next to June. Returning from where she is leaving to.
Counterparts of life: for every one going, there is one coming. The
child, dressed all in pink, turns the waiting into play time. One,
two, three, do you know your A, B, C. If only I could do the same,
zoom out all the others, June wishes. She closes her eyes. It
doesn't make a difference. There are too many people. Trying to find
a quieter spot, she gets up and walks along the corridors.
A
shop. A book. Its title, The Walkaway Journey, wakes memories of
another book, of another trip. June can't remember where she had
been, what she had seen back then, but she still remembers the image
those curled black letters on the page had formed: a place down
under, a morning, and all that is left of those who lived in the
place is all that they acquired while they lived there. No
explanation, no scribbled note, nothing but the melancholy of the
remaining silence.
A riddle. A relation. They went as
they came. Walking away, walking back home, like summer birds, like
winter whales. Maybe we aren't so different from those aborigines
after all, June thinks as she studies the metal birds outside,
waiting for their takeoff. Maybe the basic reason for the move she
was about to make was as simple as theirs: because it was time for
it.
.
|
Dorothee Lang
Dorothee Lang lives in Germany, worked for several years in the
advertising division of a media company, and is now a freelance
writer and web designer. Her work has appeared in The Sunday Herald,
The Mississippi Review, Pedestal Magazine, Drunken Boat and Artzar,
among others. She lives in Germany, edits the travel magazine
subside.zine. | |
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