Up Tempo Song

Swirling dust in the beam of light. He looked at it and a moment of stillness came over him. He regretted having to disturb the tiny particles that undoubtedly liked nothing better than to settle down and rest. No rest for the wicked, he had plenty to do. Grocery shopping, the laundry, putting the bins out for collection, file tax returns (two weeks late), change the bed, pay the rent on the new apartment, call the dentist for an appointment and wistfully, he added, read the newspaper. Humph, he thought, if only there was any time left in the day. The days were too short. Or maybe not too short, maybe he should just face up to the fact that these days things just took a bit longer to accomplish.

Having opened the hatch to the loft, he now resolutely climbed the rungs of the ladder, one by one. His children had insisted they would clear it all out for him, but he had refused. The loft was full of memories and he needed time to store them, quietly. He had insisted and his children had relented. A small victory, but it had given him immense satisfaction. Now where to begin? His eyes wandered around, briefly settling on a piece of furniture (ah, Nan’s chair), boxes (there’s a timeline for you) and a pile of books (a good place to start). Did I really read all these or were they hers? He pushed that thought away quickly. He would deal with her when this was all over and done with. He carried the books down, placing the ones he remembered reading in one box and the ones he didn’t and liked the look of in another box. The leftovers went into the first box - for the charity shop. A thought stirred and he walked over to the wall. He’d had sleepless nights trying to remember the doctor’s appointments and people he’d promised to visit, until he had found an old calendar, lost in a pile of her magazines. She had been good at keeping him organised. He looked at the neat rows of squares, one for each day, and changed the time of the meeting they had called about this morning. He noticed the party invite. Oh, sugar. He’d forgotten about the party. Maybe he could still buy something online. I may be old, but I ain’t stupid, he chuckled, something else to add to his to-do-list. He read his daughter’s name in the square for Friday. Was he going to meet her, or was she coming round to see him? He couldn’t remember. Must improve my diary keeping - another thing to add to the list. On his way back to the loft he stopped by the bathroom. Some things really couldn’t wait, be postponed or forgotten. Imagine. The last thought made him shudder. I ain’t that old!

This time he didn’t feel apologetic towards the dust. His eyes rested on the boxes, some stacked, some randomly dumped. Eighties stuff was written on one of them. He remembered and smiled. He’d been in his thirties. He’d just met her – no, no time for her now. He pushed her back again. Lifting the box (best for the tip), the bottom fell out and the contents spilled onto the floorboards. He picked up a sheet of paper and read it. A bucket list they would call it these days. He couldn’t remember what they’d called it in his days.

Dye hair green (tomorrow!)
see the new Fellini
watch sunset in Japan
see jungle in bloom
swim in the Pacific ocean
steal something off an Italian
triple jump on the moon
get fit
leave this place

And scribbled right at the bottom: holiday Valkenburg or Aachen? Looking at the pictures down by his feet it had been Aachen they’d settled on. He laughed out loud when he saw himself posing in front of the Dom with his black hair. He remembered the look of horror on Eric’s face when he showed up at work with green hair. He had had to dye it black in order to keep his job.

He sat down on the floorboards and picked up a note. Her handwriting:  We need to discuss jobs around the house! She had always wanted him to do some of the cooking and cleaning. He never had though. If only he had learnt how to prepare a few meals than his children would not have insisted he’d go to a ‘senior village’ where people would look after him. For goodness sake he’d only just retired. They didn’t want him to be lonely and they needed him to be healthy, he understood perfectly, and so he’d given in.

He looked back at the bucket list. Leave this place. He would, after a lifetime spending it in the house they bought when they found out she was pregnant. All their savings had been spend on renovating and decorating it instead of the trip of a lifetime to the Amazon. Weren’t they merely postponing it? He sighed, they’d never gone and now they couldn’t. He tried to get up, but his legs were stiff. Maybe he should settle down and rest, like the dust gathered once more on the memories around him. Or maybe he could ask his children to clear the loft out for him, maybe he would book a holiday and swim in the Pacific Ocean and then perhaps he could walk the Chinese Wall or see the Pyramids. The house was sold, he would leave this place. There was still so much to add to his list.

Toontje Lager – Zoveel te doen
written by: Bert Hermelink