There are only so many times you can fold a piece of paper in half, no matter the size and no matter how hard you try. And there are only so many times you can try and fix something by folding over the problems and trying to hide them before the folds are forced and it just doesn’t work anymore.
Alex and Peter had forced their relationship till the edges had frayed and the paper became soft and teared easily, almost disintegrating at a touch. Their little square ball of paper; pieces falling to the ground as if someone was sitting there, rubbing their thumb over and over it, watching the tiny, dirty scraps float down and land in an untidy pile on their polished timber floor.
It was Peter who noticed first, who realised the normally sharp, crisp edges were blurring and the straight clean lines were becoming rounded, messy and uneven. He noticed that Alex’s shoes were worn at the toe and that she hadn’t bothered to get new ones, or even polish them at least. How she had hung her shirt in the closet with only the last two buttons done up, not bothering to button it all the way up to the top and straighten out the creases.
How can she live with herself, he thought, She’s a mess.
Alex was happy. Happier than she’d been in over seven years. There was a time when she felt like this always. As if she was six again, and swinging higher and higher till her feet touched the leaves in the tree above her.
Bare feet all day long, she thought to herself, and kicked her shoes off, watching them land against the white walls and leave a small black mark… she didn’t even wince.
Peter was furious. He noticed it straight away as he walked through the door, placed his keys in the small wooden bowl they had ordered from India, and his wallet on top of his neatly stacked pile of decorating magazines. A small black mark… a scuff… about two centimetres long about 12 centimetres up from his skirting boards. He followed what he imagined would have been the flight of the object that made the mark backwards through the air and his face burned a deep red when his eyes fell on a cheap pair of sandals.
Alex, he called. He could hear her whistling.
Alex…
He was seething inside and burning outside, his fists clenched tight by his sides.
Alex…
His shoulders were rising and falling with each of his strained breaths, his chest heaving.
Alex… your shoes…
Alex was sitting on her couch, the one she’d bought from an old antique dealer in her hometown. The one that Peter had made her steam clean several times because he could still smell the musk of the old grey woman who sold it to them in the fabric.
It stinks, he had said, Get rid of it.
I will not get rid of it.
Well, at least get it cleaned again, that woman was unhealthy. I feel dirty just thinking about her.
Alex was staring at her newly painted toenails, watching the sun’s reflection in their shine. Behind her feet she could see the tall ceilings and halogen lights and when she looked ahead she saw the bottom of his coffee table. She smiled when she realised her niece had stuck a sweet to the bottom of the table, and decided to let it stay there.
Peter stormed into the room. He stared at Alex.
Turn yourself around, he ordered, I can’t talk to you when you’re upside down. What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a child.
Alex stared at the grumpy man in the doorway. He definitely looked funnier upside down, and she began to laugh.
Alex, get down from there, please, we need to talk about the walls…and your shoes, and… well your general attitude basically. There’s something very wrong happening here, can’t you see.
Alex just stared at his red face, his close set eyes and his sparse hair… He looked even more like a pig than usual today and at this thought she burst out in a fit of laughter, falling off the lounge and rolling over the rug, knocking his precious coffee table over and cracking it straight through the centre.
Alex and Peter were both very still, their mouths had fallen open and they had both fallen silent. It was Alex who broke out of her shock first.
Bah! She laughed and rolled over onto her back.
Right, that’s it. You’re insane, Peter stormed out of the room, only to return seconds later with, And clean up that mess for God’s sake, which only brought more laughter, more rolling and more happy tears pooling on their designer woolen rug.
Alex pulled herself together and sat up against the wall. She stared at the table, at its broken top, at the knots and whorls in the timber. She could sense the warmth of the wood from where she sat. She could feel it smiling, swelling with happiness at the memory of playfulness. Alex wriggled her toes in the deep pile of the rug and shut her eyes. She was swinging again, higher and higher. Holding on tight and leaning back as she rushed through the air. Through her closed eyelids her world was pink and safe and when she opened her eyes the sky seemed to catch her and cradle her in its arms. Sometimes she would let go and fly through the air, landing softly in the long grass, staining her knees green. Her mother would laugh when she came inside, and pull the loose blades of grass from her hair and give her a cuddle.
You think you can fly, don’t you Al?
Alex would nod and her mother would hold her hands tight.
You can fly Alex, you can do anything you want to do, remember that.
