Eleanor Rigby

Eleanor Rigby

by Onu Oremun

Suppose this stoic society steadies and stabilizes. I won’t let this make me.  Mais, qu’est-ce que je peux faire? Imagination immobilizes the imminent escape. So where do all the lonely people belong?

I am no longer lying on my bed, but lying in the bottom of an old paddle boat.  Floating aimlessly along a slow moving river.  The sun is too bright.  Mes yeux sont fermés, but I smell the fresh dewy forest, and hear the gentle lapsing of water. The soothing bird songs in the distance. No aggravation, just relaxation.

BAM! Mon bateau heurte quelque chose. Water rushes in at a pace I can’t keep up with. Hot fear rushes through every vein and artery.  I look around for help, but, of course, I am alone.  The sudden sound of flapping wings grabs my attention upward.  Three birds silhouette the sun and I realize the only thing out of water is my head. My persistent thrashing and kicking doesn’t save me, so I sink like a feather , delicately… listless…into a dark cold world.

SWOSH! Un bras m’aide. I am sitting in the stern of my old friend, J. Ripper’s, boat. A man I hardly see.  He’s the loneliest person I know.

“Where did you come from?”  My teeth chatter uncontrollably.  Completely soaked as well, J. Ripper smiles and slowly curls his gnarled hands around each oar.

“If I tell you that, I’ll have to kill you. Hahaha.” His chuckle weighs for a moment in the air. The beaten sweater he wears heavily hangs off his long arms as he paddles.

“Haha ha…Aren’t you cold?”  I asked tightly hugging my body.

“No. I know Gustaf’s Theory.” He says matter-of-factly.  I recall him linking this theory with the ability to control body temperature.

Knowing J. Ripper, I respond with, “Oh.”

The boat continues. Nature takes over my senses and for another moment I forget everything. Donc, je regarde J. Ripper.  His life is in the bow of his boat.

“Are you afraid to die alone?“

“I won’t be alone.  There will be the animals and the trees. I don’t want anyone to be sad for me.  I don’t want anyone to be sad.”

“Oh.”  I nod and take everything in. This place.  This old man.  This life.

Je pense. Je pense. They belong nowhere, but should be everywhere.