Trasiency

The first book was closed in the middle and put back on the shelf in April. In May, the fourth book in a row, a Simone de Beauvoir got hidden unfinished behind other books. In June others got buried under magazines, in the depth of drawers, on top of the toilet sink, in the darkness of the wardrobe. Two were thrown behind the sofa and were found only six years later by Hubrecht de Groot, a meticulous insect eradicator.
In the Autumn, books ended up in the garbage bin, were flushed down page by page in the toilet and got stuck there with swear words and the toilet couldn't be used for two days. Some books were thrown out of the window in bright daylight, and landed on the head of perplexed pedestrians. By December only a few books were left in the flat, some cookbooks, travel guides, dictionaries and the Simon & Schuster Children's Guide to Insects and Spiders.
The new books that entered the house were very carefully chosen. Internet research was made before, bookstore keepers were asked if the certain book contained any disturbing content, and only a few books proved to be harmless.
In the winter, the movies followed the books. First it was only the sounds; in the awkward or heavy moment the movie was muted, and the characters were gawping voicelessly. That brought a relief for a short while, as any noises could be imagined leaving the wide-open mouths, noises of peace and eternity. But soon this was not enough, and the channel had to be changed. Later the television was switched off when the disturbing scenes were suspected, and by the arrival of the new Spring, it was not switched on anymore. The subscription bills were not paid and the sand piled up on top of the machine.
No more cinema tickets were bought.
And then, in the winter, the people faced the same fate as the movies.
But it was more difficult with the people. The material they contained was too messy, too random. Anything, anytime could be sounded by their voice machines, and there were no ways to switch them off or flush them down the toilet.
There were situations. Dinners were interrupted when the undesired content started streaming out from the noise holes of the counterparts, buses were left earlier than needed, excuses were constantly made as well as trips to the toilet with no return. People in cafes who audibly contained unwelcomed substance were asked to lower their voices. In one case a young architect who was complaining about his anxiety related indigestion was impolitely requested to shut his mouth. Phone conversations were ended in the middle. By then, the Ipod was in constant use; listening to unexpected conversations on the metro or in the supermarket could be avoided this way.
Still.
It was not enough.
There was no summary on the backs of the people about their content, and this was highly regretted. Anything could come up anytime. New conversational manners were invented, to keep the dialogue on the safe path. There were forbidden questions, questions that had anything to do with time, with longing or regret. Questions like: What do you think? or What are you waiting for? or Is that surely what you want? were not asked anymore.
Some questions were still allowed, such as: And how about the prices? or But what kind of music? or Did you like the ambience of that place?
But: nothing related to transiency or determination. Foreseeable illnesses. Ready made choices. Obligatory losses. Aging.
The sight of old people on the train could not be taken. Irritated lovers. An upset mother. A librarian with a stain on her white blouse. Anything that could remind one of how things can go wrong, how everything is written in advance. On how things could end. On how things will unavoidably end.
Trying to stop thinking made things worse. The toughts gained power by each attempt of pushing them away. They came back in dreams, and they came back in the dreamless hours. They came back on the metro, in the elevator, in front of the computer. They got louder and louder until there was no space left for anything else.
By meeting him, things got better for a while. Together books could be read and movies could be watched again.
But then love appeared and when love was returned by its object, the flat became too little for such strong sensations and the eyes were scintillating. And someone came across on the street and asked with annoyance,
are you still In love,
yeah, still in love,
after nine moths, the question was asked with disapproval and
still, still, still, was the answer,
oh, well, it will be over soon.
A smell on the pillow, a laughter; a laughter so wonderful that it had to be recorded and listened to over and over again.
The clicking on the inbox of emails, as if it would be done enough times, emails that had never been written would start arriving.
And the fears! The fears!
When love appeared, after a short uprising period, things got even worse.
Because of all that disturbing content! It was everywhere. A glance to the left. An old lady sitting in her pee on the bench, searching for her keys and wondering if she had ever had a lover and if this lover had ever had a name. A glance to the right, two acquaintances holding hands, absorbed by the power of their tenuous love thoughts.
Transiency it was that had to be hidden. The big book.
Step by step, things got under control. The exhibitions were previously visited and censored. The movies were carefully chosen. Invitations for parties were kept in secret.
A book closed, a walk to the bathroom, a glance to the mirror and a face getting older, loneliness growing in the stomach.
The sight of a young person, beauty looking dirty and empty.