Fragments: I will wait for you in the cold

Seeing her was not part of the plan, but there she was.

Emerald eyes sparkling, strawberry lips smiling, she came down the stairs.

She came to me like Spring, like a sunny day after months of wind and rain.

I could not turn and walk away.

“Borislav, what are you doing here?” She asked before kissing me on the cheek.

She was dressed for romance; I was dressed for a funeral.

“Did you come back for me?” She added jokingly, after kissing me.

I had not come back for her or for anyone, but I said “yes.”

“You are inviting me for a cup of coffee, I suppose. I would love to catch up with you.”

“Why not,” I replied, “but I have to see Anton first.”

“So you are the one he is expecting.”

“Yes. Is he in his office?”

“Yes, he is.” She looked into my eyes, probably wondering what I was really doing there. Then she kissed my other cheek.

“Go now,” she added, “but don’t be long. I will wait for you outside…

I will wait for you in the cold.”

 

The Beginning of a Ghostwriter’s Journey

I lose count of how many words I write per day. But that doesn’t matter much because not a single word I write is ever mine. As a ghostwriter, whatever I write will never have my name on it.

Oh well…

Now stuck in traffic, sitting in the backseat of an Uber cab, I think: “I’m a ghostwriter, therefore I don’t exist.” Then I remember what Roland Barthes once wrote: “The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author.”

I mourn.

It’s raining and I’m hungry. The cars are not moving. I take out my android and start scrolling down my Facebook homepage. I think of posting something, but I change my mind quickly. (I’m very picky about what I post on Social Media. In general, my posts are very neutral and without ‘character’. I try not to be very opinionated because I don’t want people to think I’m an idiot, or an asshole, or a pessimist… Yea, that’s me.)

“Just drop me off here,” I say suddenly.

“What? Are you sure?” The Uber driver turns to ask me, “it’s raining.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

I go out in the rain and walk towards nowhere. I eventually end up in a coffee shop and have my dinner there.

I am a ghostwriter. They see me, but they don’t know my name.