CAKE | 08 — Proof of life

If we don't leave enough we become complacent. We seize seeing things for what they truly are. We seize being astonished. Without even noticing we become oblivious to other sensibilities. And we end up depriving ourselves of potential, wonder and change. We wither. From within. Where it hurts the most. Leaving is seeking the least of all possible mistakes. And it is arriving at a place vaster than you have ever imagined. Ultimately it is returning as the other – or reverting to the self you had left behind and bringing it back to life.

She stepped outside onto the cobbled side street. The crisp cold air left her skin tingling. She zipped up her light down jacket and put her hands and the oversized key chain in the pockets. She would have rather stayed inside. But she needed to leave. Now standing in front of the apartment house, she wasn't sure where to go. Down the street red and orange lights bounced up and down, moving toward her. Otherwise there was no sign of life; the neighborhood was quiet. By November the city retreats inward. The sky turns grey, the stratus clouds weigh down heavily upon the rooftops, as if about to cover the earth in a blanket of dense vapor, forcing people to seek shelter in their homes, to wait it out in their apartments. Outside the rain knocks on their windows and gusty winds blow up leaves, the debris of summer. The lights turned out to be children, each one bundled up, with rosy cheeks, holding on to their wobbling lanterns, marching by and singing loudly as if contesting the oncoming winter.

When she met H two years ago on a foggy day in October the first thing that attracted her was his calm disposition. His face radiated what she was not familiar with in men. Decency. His dark eyes were radiant and tender. There was no trace of rigor. They reminded her of her cat's expression when it jumped on her lap to join her on the couch, ready to be stroked to sleep. The cat died the year before and she had been on her own again until he appeared around the corner, his navy coat buttoned, with the collar up, smiling at her through his dark eyes. He moved in three months later. Four months later they were married. Suddenly her life contained dinners at a kitchen table, joint grocery store runs in the evening, laundry days and movie nights. And business functions she had to accompany him to, dreaded by them both. Neither of them was a big talker. Sometimes they would spend days in silence, interspersed only with innocuous I love yous. In the evenings his head was usually buried in a report or illuminated by a computer screen. While her mind was routinely spinning, observing his unconcerned demeanor or the way he would sip his drink in between turning pages, his glass leaving wet marks on the coaster, the rings of Saturn. 

She walked down the street into the direction from where the children came. Some of the parents were lagging behind, passing her by without acknowledging her presence. It was only 6 pm. The sky was clear but pitch black. The rain storm had passed by but had taken the daylight with it. The wind picked up again, determined to shake off the last remaining leaves off the trees. She tried to put her hair behind her ears, but it was futile. Strands of hair were all over her face. She looked up at the moon, uncanny and unusually big, glowing in the darkened sky. Reflecting in the puddles on the street and making the wet leaves on the sidewalk shine like pieces of copper. The streets were empty. Not one car driving by, though that was not unusual on a Sunday night. Still, the eery quietness didn't feel right. As if a disaster had struck the city and somehow she had missed it. Nothing stirred outside. While inside people continued on with their lives. The lit windows in the massive apartment house across the street looked like buttons on a dashboard in the cockpit of a plane. Going on and off and on again. When she peered in to ask if the pilots needed anything, she would see the buttons flicker alarmingly. The cockpit was loud during night flights, the engines sucked out all silence. She stopped working only a few months into the relationship. H maintained there was no financial need for her to roam the globe wasting her time in airport lounges and generic hotels, heeled in cheap blue pumps.

When he began working even longer hours, she knew. It was usually a dinner with a client or a pressing presentation. He knew just as well but adhered to their unspoken agreement. Pretending to care about her feelings instead of admitting the real reason for staying away. That he could not bear another silent evening, another home cooked dinner, another trivial question about the latest utility bill or next week's dinner with what's their name. Another look into her detached face. Maybe she was wrong. He might still be trying to hold on to the impression she gave off at their beginning. Or deluding himself that this state of unbearable lightness was a common side effect of marriage. He fell in love with a woman at home in the world, confident and at ease. Which she never was. She was an anxious flight attendant looking for a place of her own. Yet she fell harder. She fell for a man far away from his home and found herself disconnected from all life sustaining measures.

She walked seven blocks, crossing into another city district with the houses gradually gaining in value and posture. Most were from the turn of the century, white and decorated with elaborate stucco fixtures. Their high ceilings and colossal windows purported inclusion. She enjoyed peeking in on the rich and elegant lives led in there. But the tall wooden three panel doors – the handle almost comically small for their size – formed a solid barrier. To her these doors always looked intimidating. Her gynecologist had an office in one of the buildings nearby. She felt small standing in front of it but walking into the magnificent entry hall lined by mirrors on both sides always left her feeling even more insignificant and misplaced. She still enjoyed seeing him. His honesty and sense of humor were refreshing. 

He assumed she would get pregnant quickly. She did not. They never talked about it unless it concerned future purchases or his upcoming promotion. We will need a bigger couch once we have kids. If I get relocated to the Tokyo office we will look for an apartment in Ginza. Raising kids was scary enough but raising them in a sprawling arrangement of glass facades, concrete walls and vacant faces seemed inconceivable to her. She's been to Japan several times, usually just overnight. Only once did she have three days to spare in Tokyo before having to return to Hamburg. The city was as exhilarating as it was frightening and she never seized to feel out of place. As if she had landed on another earth with a whole different set of rules she would never fully comprehend or be able to follow. In restaurants she never knew what exactly she was ordering or what she was ultimately served. The very first time she arrived in the city, she stepped out of the subway station, pulling her carry-on behind her, wondering which way to turn, weaving in between throngs of uniformed men and a few women, kawaii girls and small boys bent from oversized backpacks and their gym bags fastened across their chest, glamorous looking young women in maxi skirts and high heels and with designer purses dangling off their wrists. She wished she could have just faded into their pattern.

She took a left turn up the street and walked onto a bridge. Underneath her feet was the murky canal leading to the Alster Lake. Water splashed off the walls of the building to the left, leaving dark molds of moss along its bricks. In the summer the lake was covered with SUP boards, kayaks and other boats, causing traffic jams under the narrow bridges. Now it was deserted. The rowing club house to the right was boarded up, the deck devoid of any paddles or canoes. The bar at the small marina was closed during the week but even on weekends only a few brave souls dared to face the chilly winds coming from the lake and sneaking inside through the cracks in the windows. She leaned over the railing and watched rain drops drown in the water. It had started raining again. And for a moment she forgot to remember something important. 

They drove over two hours to reach the lake, up and down mountains, passing through the woods, riding the Tail of the Dragon. It was their only summer vacation. His company held a conference nearby and she tagged along so they could spend a few days together at the National Park. When they arrived the huge parking lot was empty except for three cars, one of them belonging to the woman cleaning the public restrooms at the shore. The marina seemed abandoned. The weather forecast was disheartening but she insisted they try and rent kayaks anyway. They left their cellphones in the rental car and walked the long deck to the boathouse. Inside at a rack near the counter she spotted a key chain made out of red foam that she purchased and attached to the car key to prevent it from dropping to the bottom of the lake. Except for some cash that’s all they had on them. The two locals working the boat rental were unperturbed. The bearded one asked whether they also wanted to rent life jackets. They weren't mandatory. The taller one quipped that they'd start looking for their kayaks the next morning if they didn't return them by the end of the day, should they decide against the jackets. They didn't give them any instructions, just handed over the paddles and led them to their kayaks. They were the only ones on the water. No other soul around. They passed a couple of locked floating cabins and empty pontoon boats. It was so quiet. The only thing disturbing the placid lake were their paddles, drawing lines in the flat surface. Until dark clouds began forming in the distance around them. She could hear thunder coming closer, roaring. A lightning struck somewhere above the mountain behind them. The rain would not pass the lake after all. She kept on paddling, her shoulders and neck quickly getting tense. She was in the middle of the lake when she felt the first drops on her face. He was far away in front of her. By the time it started pouring rain she arrived at a shore of a small island and tried holding on to branches, scratching her palms bloody by grabbing them and breaking off some of them in the process. He was not far away on the other side, attempting to do the same. They could only hear each other when they shouted. There was no way for them to go onshore, the bank was covered with trees and other prickly growth. She tried to stay dry by cowering under the branches but once her shorts were dripping wet and the shirt underneath the life jacket was soaked through she realized how ridiculous that idea was. All of a sudden she felt relieved and her whole body relaxed into a state of acceptance. Yet the puddles inside her red kayak kept getting bigger. There was no way the weather would turn. No way it would clear up once they passed the island or headed toward the dam. They had to return to the marina. H pressed on first. She followed behind. Smiling brightly. Almost giddy with joy. So unlike her – in a storm nonetheless. Rain was dripping down her face, her hair was stuck to her cheekbones and neck, her black shorts were glued to her wet legs. And yet, she never felt this happy in her entire life. The torrential rain drowned out all the world; the fog enveloped her. And the air smelled amazing. She didn't want to go back. Like a child she wished she could stay just a little longer. He was way ahead of her, already approaching the marina when she turned her kayak around and stopped. With her paddle and elbows resting on her thighs, she just sat there, breathing heavily, taking in the sight. Her scratched hands pulsing, stretched out in front of her body, she was trying to hold on. Trying to at least take a mental image of this glorious setting. After all, there would be no photos. No proof that she has ever been here. Nothing but her memory to remind her of the moment she felt utterly in place. Alone, out on some goddamn lake, in the middle of nowhere, in a storm, soaking wet. Alive.