Dr. Jamshid Ibrahim
Senior Member
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2005
- Member Type
- Academic
- Native Language
- English
- Home Country
- Iraq
- Current Location
- Germany
The Party
When the party started, as usual he was nowhere because there was always something which stopped him from going somewhere. He slammed the door behind him and caught himself saying: Damn. Damn the whole world, after me the flood. Then he crept under the quilt, drew the woollen blanket over it, and stretched his hand to the radio which was always next to his pillow as part of his sleeping ritual, turned it on, closed his eyes and opened his mind. He didn’t listen to music as you might think. No, he loved listening to all kinds of analyses until he fell asleep, his mind started wandering or dreaming. He thought of the day, of the day before, the week, the month and the year before. He sometimes even went back as far as his memory could take him. Where his memory failed his mind made up for it with a picture of a child left alone with a mother, a child in wait of a mother’s stroking hands. He knew it must be true for whenever he saw a mother stroking her son’s hair he felt pain go through his entire body usually starting with his breath which became faster. Then fear streaked his heart, went down to his feet which were numb now. He could feel how he was losing weight.
Nothing changed. He found comfort in his room, in his bed under the quilt. This was his world. Some might say: He doesn't take one step outside his room. Wait next time he would say: I would go there and show everybody……But he didn’t as if something hostile was always around. He remembered how once a girl turned to him and said: You look as if somebody has done something to you. Has anybody said something wrong? He answered without changing his facial expression: No, there is nothing wrong. She was right there must have been something but how could he identify it let alone define it? Something you can put your finger on it and say: This is it. Whenever he wanted to go to a party something turned up which he couldn’t turn down. He said angrily: It is as if some higher power is always following me and wants to keep me in what is written for me. Going there always meant losing something. But isn’t life win and loss at the same time? He would think. At least he had now an excuse for not going.
One day when somebody spoke to him at a party he turned pale. He was embarrassed and wanted to excuse himself by saying: Sorry my mother died that is why I am pale. He knew that was a lie but he was good at making up his own stories. Later at a party he could go to, whenever he saw a girl looking at him, he went to her and said: Let me guess your first name must start with an M. They were amazed how could he even guess the first letter? When he lost interest in M he found another letter. He said to her: Let me guess your first name must start with an I. He was right again. There were only some letters of the alphabet which he thought the stroking hands he had always missed were hidden in. The letters didn’t change so often. He hoped he could go back to a consonant, a K or a B.
Jamshid
Bremen, 12 February 2008
When the party started, as usual he was nowhere because there was always something which stopped him from going somewhere. He slammed the door behind him and caught himself saying: Damn. Damn the whole world, after me the flood. Then he crept under the quilt, drew the woollen blanket over it, and stretched his hand to the radio which was always next to his pillow as part of his sleeping ritual, turned it on, closed his eyes and opened his mind. He didn’t listen to music as you might think. No, he loved listening to all kinds of analyses until he fell asleep, his mind started wandering or dreaming. He thought of the day, of the day before, the week, the month and the year before. He sometimes even went back as far as his memory could take him. Where his memory failed his mind made up for it with a picture of a child left alone with a mother, a child in wait of a mother’s stroking hands. He knew it must be true for whenever he saw a mother stroking her son’s hair he felt pain go through his entire body usually starting with his breath which became faster. Then fear streaked his heart, went down to his feet which were numb now. He could feel how he was losing weight.
Nothing changed. He found comfort in his room, in his bed under the quilt. This was his world. Some might say: He doesn't take one step outside his room. Wait next time he would say: I would go there and show everybody……But he didn’t as if something hostile was always around. He remembered how once a girl turned to him and said: You look as if somebody has done something to you. Has anybody said something wrong? He answered without changing his facial expression: No, there is nothing wrong. She was right there must have been something but how could he identify it let alone define it? Something you can put your finger on it and say: This is it. Whenever he wanted to go to a party something turned up which he couldn’t turn down. He said angrily: It is as if some higher power is always following me and wants to keep me in what is written for me. Going there always meant losing something. But isn’t life win and loss at the same time? He would think. At least he had now an excuse for not going.
One day when somebody spoke to him at a party he turned pale. He was embarrassed and wanted to excuse himself by saying: Sorry my mother died that is why I am pale. He knew that was a lie but he was good at making up his own stories. Later at a party he could go to, whenever he saw a girl looking at him, he went to her and said: Let me guess your first name must start with an M. They were amazed how could he even guess the first letter? When he lost interest in M he found another letter. He said to her: Let me guess your first name must start with an I. He was right again. There were only some letters of the alphabet which he thought the stroking hands he had always missed were hidden in. The letters didn’t change so often. He hoped he could go back to a consonant, a K or a B.
Jamshid
Bremen, 12 February 2008
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