Todestrieb
You don't know where you're going. You don't care where you're going. All you know is that you're going. Going away. From your house, from that evil old bitch, from yourself
"Anna!" you hear a familiar voice call out to you in the darkness. Jerked out of your reverie, you gaze around at the equally familiar surroundings. You have unwittingly walked straight to St. Jerome Catholic Church, your family's parish. Across the street in front of the rectory, waving at you in his old woolen mittens, is Father Carl. He rushes across the street to you.
"My dear!" he says breathlessly, covering your bare shoulders with his coat. "What are you doing out in this dreadful cold?"
He peers meaningfully into your eyes. Only a few hours have passed since you last saw him at the funeral. Looking at him makes you feel like you never left your house at all, like you are still there in that stuffy living room surrounded by all of those family and friends, by everyone who didn't know what in the world they could possibly say to you. By those few who, though they stood just a few feet away from you, might as well have been in a different world You find yourself short of breath and overheated under his heavy coat. The cold felt good. It was unpleasant, but for that reason it felt good, it felt He's expecting an answer.
"I'm just going for a walk," you say unconvincingly. At this point he has looked you up and down and his eyes have taken on a look of urgency.
"My child," he coaxes you, "Come inside. It's too cold out here for you. You've been through too much to be wandering all around Boston at this hour. Please come inside, my dear."
His kind words have overpowered you. You find yourself moving with him up the little walkway towards the front door of the rectory, when suddenly he says,
"You know, your aunt Fiona is such a lovely woman. And so pious. It was lovely getting to see her today, despite such terrible circumstances."
It is at this moment that you remember why you never go to church anymore. Because church is filled with the Aunt Fionas of the world. You stiffen under Fr. Carl's guiding hand, stopping dead at the base of the rectory steps.
"My Aunt Fiona is a callous, bigoted bitch who covers up her many shortcomings by making a big show of holiness! Now if you'll excuse me, Father, I was in the middle of a walk."
You spin around on your high heel, making quick progress back towards the street.
"Anna!" Fr. Carl calls after you. "Anna! Please come back! I'm sorry I made you angry. Come inside, my dear, for God's sake, it's such a cold night! Anna!"
You hear the worry in his voice, but he respectfully holds back from following you. In the corner of your eye, you glimpse the warm light in the windows. A wind has begun to swirl on the street, picking up dead leaves and dirt which further blacken the night. Your angry heart beats furiously in your chest and you have that same feeling you had when you left your house earlier in the evening: if you don't keep moving, something is going to break.
"Anna!" you hear a familiar voice call out to you in the darkness. Jerked out of your reverie, you gaze around at the equally familiar surroundings. You have unwittingly walked straight to St. Jerome Catholic Church, your family's parish. Across the street in front of the rectory, waving at you in his old woolen mittens, is Father Carl. He rushes across the street to you.
"My dear!" he says breathlessly, covering your bare shoulders with his coat. "What are you doing out in this dreadful cold?"
He peers meaningfully into your eyes. Only a few hours have passed since you last saw him at the funeral. Looking at him makes you feel like you never left your house at all, like you are still there in that stuffy living room surrounded by all of those family and friends, by everyone who didn't know what in the world they could possibly say to you. By those few who, though they stood just a few feet away from you, might as well have been in a different world You find yourself short of breath and overheated under his heavy coat. The cold felt good. It was unpleasant, but for that reason it felt good, it felt He's expecting an answer.
"I'm just going for a walk," you say unconvincingly. At this point he has looked you up and down and his eyes have taken on a look of urgency.
"My child," he coaxes you, "Come inside. It's too cold out here for you. You've been through too much to be wandering all around Boston at this hour. Please come inside, my dear."
His kind words have overpowered you. You find yourself moving with him up the little walkway towards the front door of the rectory, when suddenly he says,
"You know, your aunt Fiona is such a lovely woman. And so pious. It was lovely getting to see her today, despite such terrible circumstances."
It is at this moment that you remember why you never go to church anymore. Because church is filled with the Aunt Fionas of the world. You stiffen under Fr. Carl's guiding hand, stopping dead at the base of the rectory steps.
"My Aunt Fiona is a callous, bigoted bitch who covers up her many shortcomings by making a big show of holiness! Now if you'll excuse me, Father, I was in the middle of a walk."
You spin around on your high heel, making quick progress back towards the street.
"Anna!" Fr. Carl calls after you. "Anna! Please come back! I'm sorry I made you angry. Come inside, my dear, for God's sake, it's such a cold night! Anna!"
You hear the worry in his voice, but he respectfully holds back from following you. In the corner of your eye, you glimpse the warm light in the windows. A wind has begun to swirl on the street, picking up dead leaves and dirt which further blacken the night. Your angry heart beats furiously in your chest and you have that same feeling you had when you left your house earlier in the evening: if you don't keep moving, something is going to break.