Month: January 2009 (Page 1 of 4)

I can’t see her face. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, how hard I screw my eyes closed, how much I beg and beg and beg my mind to comply. I haev to admit that there has been a long time in which I’ve not wanted to have her cluttering up my thoughts, but right now, even though I know I should not, I want to see her face.

It’s getting colder. The gauges are telling me that it won’t be long now; less than five minutes and the only thing of interest left is whether the batteries will outlast the air supply. Will I suffocate or freeze to death? At least the view is good. Still all I seem to be able to do is think about her. Staring death in the face, no hope at all of rescue and all I can think of is that hotel room, the last time we made love. I can’t remember her face, but I can remember the smile she had as I slid inside her; I can still hear what she whispered into my ear as our bodies touched, all of me inside her. I can feel the air getting thinner and all I can remember is how happy we both were that day.

There was no one moving on the street when I came out of the house. That’s hardly unusual at three in the morning, but I had rather a greater sense of lonliness than normal that night. The bag over my shoulder felt heavy even though there was little in it; the weight was certainly imagined. I locked the front door and then reached into the bag to make sure that the package was still there and still whole. My hand brushed against the Colt as I pulled my hand out again, it’s cold steel body poking out slightly from the hand pocket inside the bag where I had hoped it would be easy to extract if necessity demanded.

I looked up and down the street, trying very hard to not look as though I were looking up and down the street, and then set off into the dark morning. There is something quite magical about that time of day, for me. It is as though the world is off-duty, and one can see it as it really is, not polluted by people or things. It is just quietly being, all alone, like a theatre without a show or audience.

“Morning, Virgil.”

Paul had been awake since sunrise and had already rebuilt the fire started on breakfast and made a pot of coffee. His older brother was rubbing his eyes and groaning, clearly stiffened by sleeping on the cold March ground.

“I’m pleased that you didn’t try to tell me is was good, brother. How is it that you are not suffering the effects of last night’s bourbon, Paul?”

“Why I didn’t partake of any of it, Virg. You know I don’t hold wi’drinkin’. Anyway, you want coffee?”

Virgil shook his head as he creaked into a sitting position, running his hands through his hair trying to flatten it down. He grunted a couple of times, then nodded to the offer of coffee as he started to pull on his boots.

“You bin awake since sun-up then, Paul?”

Paul nodded as he poured the coffee and passed it to Virgil

“Thanks.”, Virgil took a long gulp and then settled the tin mug between his palms to warm his hands, “We have a long way to ride today little brother, eat up and then we need to be on our way.”

“Okay, Virg you bet.”

“You’re in a bad way then, how’d you do that?”

Henry tried to remember that this well-meaning stranger had no idea that this was the fourteenth time he had heard that question since leaving the house. The problem with British society as far as Henry could tell was that there was no reason to talk to strangers unless they were injured or obviously foreigners. He had commuted in the Thames Valley for five years, on and off, and at the beginning he had tried to engage strangers on trains and platforms in daily chit chat. He had quickly learned that one did not speak to one’s fellow traveller except to to express disdainful solidarity over the issues of delays and overcrowding.

Now that he was attempting to thread his way through commuter crowds on crutches, he fell foul of the fact that there was a lot of standing around for lifts and for gates to be held open, and these pauses allowed normal people to repeatedly ask the same pedestrian question;

“How did you end up like that?” or “Hurt yourself have you?”

Wankers.

“You need to actually do some work, when you’re at work, John. You know, you’ve got to stop making up excuses for just surfing the Net all day and actually do your work.”

John nodded and smiled. It looked like his strategy of purposeful deriliction of duty was working quite well and soon his well-meaning manager, Tom, was not going to be able to keep his temper about this and there would be an erruption that led to a firing.

“Okay, well I’m glad that we understand each other. I know that it’s hard to concentrate, so just don’t open up any non-work websites. Be strict with yourself and that way there is no temptation to spend hours reading blogs or posting on web fora. I promise you that you’ll find your day goes a lot quicker if you are busy with work as well.”

“No problem, Tom, and you’re right of course.”

John turned and slouched out of the office and back towards his cube, a soft, barely detectable smile on his face. Soon he would be free of this place and without ever having had to be anything but bone idle.

“The thing is, right, that it don’t seem to matter what I say she still comes at me. I mean day an’night, pal. She’s insatiable!”

“Am I s’posed to have pity on ya? I mean seriously, ‘ave you ‘eard yourself, you prick? You know I’ve not been gettin’ any since Deb left last year, an’ now you want to bend my ear about your old lady hankerin’ after yer cock?”

“Oh, I’m sorry mate, it’s jus’it’s been preyin’ on mi, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah. So, anyway, what’s the problem? I mean you’re not tellin’ me that you can’t get it up or nuffin’ yeah? I mean seriously, you an’ Mish ‘ave bin living together fer six years and she’s still after you in that way and you aren’t ‘appy about that. What’s up wiv ya?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s any problems, ya know, down there, but I get tired. I mean a couple o’nights without the full eight hours in the name of love, and I’m on board, but every night? I’m genuinely knackered, bruv.”

“Well, I can relate to that, but I can’t ‘elp thinkin’ that if it were to change, you know?”

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought since the 20th of January and I think that I’ve worked it out. What have I worked out, you ask? I’ve worked out why I like Barack Obama.

Sure we have some political opinions in common, we’re both educated Liberals with a belief in personal responsibility and straight talking, and overall he seems like a decent guy, but it’s more than that…

For the first time in a very long time I can point at him and say, ‘That’s the kind of person I want running my country.’. Why do I want someone like Barack Obama running my country? It’s really very simple, he has no problem telling truth to power (whether you see that as Americans or Corporate America or Old Money America, they are all getting the same rap), he has no problem with the politics of realism, and most important of all he has no problem reminding the people that he serves that while he can inspire and set the tone and direction of his country, without the people’s support and engagement in the day to day running of his country he cannot succeed. He has as much as said that he will work tirelessly to fulfill his office if everyone else will accept that in order for their great democracy to work they all need to be involved, engaged and working (for at least some small portion of their time) towards the common good.

There is no one in British politics at the moment (or at least no one making enough noise for me to have noticed) who is prepared to offer to lead on the basis of the challenge of ‘get involved’, no one reminding us, the electorate that politicians work for us, not for their corporate friends, or their social agenda, or their religion, or even for their own advancement; they work for you and me. Sure it is reasonable for them to expect to be well (though not over exuberantly) paid for their hard work, and for that work to lead to other pastures once they leave public life, but the first priority of any public servant should be obvious – the clue is in the name.

I am sure that President Obama is no saint, that he would love a Nobel Prize or to leave office and be an envoy for the UN in four or, fate-willing, eight years time, that he has ambition of his own, but for the first time in a long, long time I really believe that there is a person in the Oval Office who sees the truth that putting his or her ambition aside for the greater good of their constituency is the surest route to affecting change. If Obama truly embraces his duty and is the President of the People then he cannot be manipulated into inaction or pandering, as he has nothing to lose but his office, and the Office really is greater than the man.

I hope I am right about him, and I hope I am right to have faith in the American People that they will see (if I am right) that their prosperity, health and freedom is his mission day to day, week to week and judge him on that rather than anything else. If that can happen, if a good man truly can become President of the United States then maybe, just maybe a good man (or woman) really can come to the fore and lead us in Britain into an age where the good of the many and the rewards of the just and the caring is the bounty of all and far outweighs the greed for power and money of the few.

( X-Posted from my politics and V-log blog, Britvox )