the Grey - Chapter II - Reawakening pt.1
Light filtered gently through the shutters of the balcony breaking into thin beams. The dim glow barely outlined the contours of the chest of drawers to the right, on top of it a wide rectangular mirror, almost reaching the ceiling, slightly tilted upward. Fragments of light reflected on it. Slowly moving.
With half-closed eyes. Familiar shapes appeared at the edge of consciousness. A sweet sensation, the torpor ready to vanish with the first vigilant thought. Resting on his right side, he observed the abstract pattern of those thin beams; the cool sheet draped over his knees following the contours of hips and legs.
Silence. Even his breathing imperceptible. Mind wandering confused between the memories of a just-finished dream. Weak memories, quickly fading. Trying to return to it, slip back, uncover the ending of an interrupted story. He wanted it. Made just a bit more effort, and realizing it was gone, he let go. Placidly, he continued to watch those thin beams, postponing the thought of having to get up for a little longer. After all, what duty was there? He was on vacation; laziness was his due. He brushed away the urgency of a task remembered too late.
A distant, indistinct voice from outside pierced the silence, momentarily capturing his attention. Annoyed, he let it fade turning inward again toward the quiet familiarity of the room. He clung briefly to the fragile peace before the external noises began again their relentless advance, breaking through the comforting illusion of half-sleep, growing louder, multiplying, more insistent. He struggled to push them away, failed once more, and accepted defeat with quiet resignation, his face impassive as the world firmly greeted him good morning.
A long groan accompanied his stretch and eye rub.
He needed music to pull himself out of the quicksand, to activate the brain's motor centers still clinging to the sweet torpor of sleep. The CD in the player was just the one he needed. He reached for the remote on the bedside table; the stereo’s LCD screen glowed green. The disc spun faster, and he selected track seven.
Good morning, world! What better way to wake up than with Creeping Death, with Lars Ulrich smashing the drums like a madman?
His gaze shifted to the window.
Stupid sheep. Waking me up with your pointless racket. And to say what, exactly? Nothing but nonsense or trivialities. Stupid, noisy sheep, meant to be mere numbers. I dare anyone to bring me even one who could enrich me, not merely echo my own thoughts, but truly offer something valuable. Spiritually impoverished creatures, forever bleating complaints over nothing. Enough of this. Time now for the second verse.
He set his feet on the floor, feeling the warm parquet until he found his slippers, slid them on, and rose. Walking toward the chest of drawers, he stepped on his precious golden blades of light before leaving the room.
His parents' bedroom empty on the left. A step further, his brother’s room was also empty. He wasn’t sure, but judging by the noise, it must have been late morning.
Breakfast.
He descended the stairs to the kitchen, where his mother was busy with morning chores.
Three large french doors overlooked the garden, green, lively, brilliant, divided by a long terracotta path shaded by a pergola entwined with light wisteria vines. The lawn sparkled in the sunlight; hedges swayed in a gentle breeze. Rose bushes by the tuff wall stretched toward the warm sun. The refracted light on the dewdrops scattered over dark green leaves hardened by the summer sun took on rainbow hues. Millions of colorful confetti celebrating the morning. The wisteria tendrils moved gracefully, dangling beyond the pergola like soft fingers playing in the air, reaching for the pointed leaves of the cycads in the center. Full and spiraled around their spiked trunks, their bright green crowns danced in a calm rhythm.
A sparrow flew away with a flutter of wings, a brown streak against the blue sky. And suddenly, he felt the underlying sensation that captured him. Seeing these details blend together, radiant with shared life. A wondrous dance. Nothing truly still. Everything breathing. Living. Shining with shimmering light. The sense of being able to step inside, explore beyond the shapes, and observe their harmonious movements. Patterns within patterns within patterns. A symphony that had always played together.
“Good morning, sweetheart! Well awake? Want breakfast? The milk’s in the fridge.”
A sense of irritation washed over him as his mother’s words distracted him from his thoughts. He replied with a low grunt, approached the fridge, and grabbed the milk bottle. His mother had placed the cup, spoon, and sugar on the marble table. He sat, exhaled slowly, relaxing his shoulders, and turned toward the garden to continue his precious thoughts. Disappointment overtook him when he noticed that the magnificent sense of grandeur he’d felt earlier had vanished. Now, his eyes saw only a simple garden lit by morning light. That fleeting magic gone.
He sipped the milk slowly, noticing the irritation dissipating quickly, replaced by the pleasure of the milk’s sweetness. A distant voice called his name. The irritation poking again in.
He ignored it, still at the table. His mother re-entered the kitchen, carrying bundles of vegetables from the pantry.
“Luca, they’re calling you.”
“Yes, I’m going.”
He finished drinking, then climbed off the stool and headed toward the back gate.
His name echoed loudly, the first syllable stretching in the air.
Eh, I’m coming.
He passed by the pool, the water calm, smooth as glass. then veered to avoid the hedge shielding the property from prying eyes and saw Carlo behind the gate, a towel draped over his neck.
“Hurry up, we’re late. Coming to the beach?” Carlo asked excitedly. “What’s up? Just woke up? Come on, move!”
“What do you want?” Luca stopped a meter from the white gate, observing Carlo through the metal bars.
“Wanna come to the beach?”
“I don’t know. Is there a lot of people?”
“Not really, it’s Monday. Come on, let’s take a dip.”
“I don’t know… I was planning on swimming here.” He glanced at the pool. “And I just woke up.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he felt the truth rise in his throat. “I just don’t want to.”
Annoyed, without reason. Or perhaps because he’d been asked to share the beach with those who had woken him up.
“Come on, everyone’s there!”
Everyone? Who’s everyone? And why should I care? What difference does it make if everyone is at the beach? How does this make it more appealing? What’s the value in joining this damned beach crowd? To immerse myself in the aggregation? To get lost in it? To become everyone with everyone else?
“I don’t care.”
“Hey, she’s there too. She came to my place earlier and told me to drag you down even by force!” Carlo continued enthusiastically, as if Luca hadn’t spoken. “So quit whining and come, you jerk!”
Luca’s upper lip curled involuntarily. Frustrated. Why had she gone to him?
“Bullshit!” He exploded angrily, glaring at his friend.
He was surprised by the depth of his anger. Where did it come from? The thought of her at Carlo’s door. True, they were neighbors. But why stop to talk, why refer to him? She. The faceless crowd. The mass of flesh drifting mindlessly along the slide of entropy, never questioning why, never pondering the origins of the conveyor belt they were on. A gray veil covering the horizon. Unbearable. Yet, amidst the background noise, there she was. A radiant flame. Shining above all else. Pointing to something? Signifying something.
“Alright, wait a sec. I’ll grab my towel.”
He opened the gate to let Carlo wait on the threshold and headed back inside.
It had taken just the moment to picture her in his mind. The mere thought of her quickened his steps on the way back. To touch her skin, inhale her scent, feel her warmth, a slight smile appeared as he passed through the kitchen. Yes, that warmth he felt every time he was near her. It was a new and pleasant sensation, delightful to surrender to, to drop every defense around her. To embrace the fear of vulnerability, to abandon the certainties that defined him. To let the wall that separated him from the rest of the world crumble and not care about what he truly was, because that’s what she sought, her seeking him, no one else. To feel exposed and lean on her, eyes half-closed, trusting she wouldn’t pull away. Finally finding someone who matched his puzzle piece. Perhaps that was happiness.
Strange. Happiness? Feeling attached to someone, trusting someone, especially if they matched your physical preferences, was happiness? No. Happiness couldn’t be something so simple.
His thoughts broke off as he recognized his room. He’d left the stereo on, now playing the second CD. He turned it off, mentally noted the thought as interesting, resolving to revisit it later. He opened the top drawer and took out his beach towel.
So, it must be around eleven am. Feeling a bit off, but not too much. Once it’s noon or half past, I’ll come back up and take a dip in the pool. Then I might…
“You.”
He turned sharply, scanning the room with wide, fearful eyes. The external noises had stopped suddenly, leaving only the powerful thudding of his heart pounding in his ears. Fast. Accelerating.
What was that? Whose voice was that?
He shut his eyes tightly, slowly lowering himself onto his knees. He scanned the dimly lit room’s details. He couldn’t make out anything unusual.
Yet.
Yet, it was as though someone else were in the room, someone watching him. A familiar presence, as if he were gazing at himself through a mirror. A cold vertigo rose from the base of his neck into his eyes.
He felt his soul stretching, as though it were being pulled and sliding out of his body. Suddenly, he became aware of the entire room, every part of it, as if seeing it from above, like a blueprint, yet his eyes still fixed on the same diffuse point before him. Every detail stood out sharply, distinctly. The shadow of the chest of drawers stretched under the bed. The cylindrical black feet. The dust giving a textured appearance to the light-colored parquet. A pair of ants exploring the floor near the window. The steel handle of the wardrobe protruding smoothly into the warm, humid air, which he could feel circulating away through the door, brushing past his temples, replaced by new, fresh one, slipping around his ankles, and flowing under the bed, where gray dust lay lazily. The sheet rested lightly, rising from the floor onto the mattress. Every fold of the sheet was like a stormy sea sculpted in marble. Each wave followed by a shadow with defined edges, layer upon layer, one within another. He followed their paths, understood them, all at once. It was all there in his mind. A strong glow filled him, a weighty, tangible awareness, concrete. The knowing itself felt like an object, projected in three dimensions. It appeared as a singular entity in which everything was contained. His heart pounded hard, as though ready to burst from his chest. The unease strangled his breath, as if his primitive senses were lost. New ones emerged, deeper, overwhelming, uncontrollable.
He observed himself and realized he was known, recognized, but not as if looking at himself. He was aware of himself from the outside, not the inside. He looked, scared, frozen in the fear of recognizing something terrible. An eternal moment of silence. Startled, he realized to like himself, frozen in that moment. Curious, he pushed to delve into that thought.
From a distance, Carlo’s voice rang out, his name echoing in the air.
He shook his head, the moment lost. He returned to observing the room, perceiving it now as he always had—a picture before his eyes. His hearing returned to normal. He strained to ignore the pounding of his heart in the ears and focused on the external noises. The familiar flat hum returned like a soft carpet. He exhaled, his tense shoulders dropping into rest. The fear slowly abandoned him.
The sound of that voice.
Deep and warm. Pointing at him. Yes, that was what he felt. It wasn’t a call but more as if it had said, “There, that one.” It could have been a trick of the mind, yes. The shock faded, his heart no longer racing. He turned his neck as if investigating. Then he realized there was no one in the room but him and his strange confusion.
How weird.
He straightened slowly, his legs steady. He fixed his gaze on a point on the wall and didn’t divert it. He could have moved his eyes, but shifting his focus felt like an enormous burden he didn’t want to bear. He stared at that point and thought about his heart, observing it slow down, return to a regular rhythm. His thoughts vague, something about going to the beach.
“Luca!” Carlo’s shout came from afar.
He forced away the laziness from his eyes, finding the effort much less daunting than he’d imagined.
“Bullshit.”
He shook his head, turned and quickly descended the stairs, draping the towel over his shoulders. At a brisk pace, he headed toward the back garden.
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