Lethologica - The inability to recall a precise word for something

The grayscales of the world seemed to have reduced to only one; the pale color of the sky stretched over the buildings and the street. It made the red of the piled signs advertising for a karaoke bar look less red and the yellow lamps of the closed Chinese restaurant less yellow. Not even the rain managed to pass through that veil, but it splashed down not any less violent, and it soaked his hat and his scarf and any texture that it managed to reach. Even though the street was far from being deserted, he was not recognized; the gap, which hat and scarf left, was too narrow for anyone to see through. Let alone allow his feelings to pass though.

The electric cabling cut the sky into stale gray pieces, maybe it would waver and crash. Some elongated shop signs pointed accusingly at it.

And he walked.


“Jjong, come on, run faster! Damn, you’re slow; don’t you see I’m already soaking wet?”


There was no shelter from the rain, but he wasn’t searching for it, either. Maybe, he thought, I don’t even deserve to be protected from it. After all it was the rain from the same clouds that had shed water over them only one hour before. But they hadn’t wanted the rain, then.


“There’s a pavilion there! What do you mean you can’t see it? Gosh, you’re such a . It’s just behind that tree… Good, now move your legs.”


He suddenly wondered how all vegetation had managed to disappear in that desert of concrete. If the flowers still lived under the tar of the streets, pressing their fragile petals against the wall above them, in a futile attempt to break through. It struck him as sickly beautiful that idea, as unhealthy.


“What? No. No. You will catch a cold. Take your jacket back. I don’t want it, I— fine. Whatever. And… thanks.”


After having had that thought about flowers being locked up beneath the ground, he felt like scrunching them, hurting them with every step he took.

Where to? In the direction where the flowers rotted before his feet touched the ground. And where the dim melodies, which seeped from rundown bars and restaurants, played the soundtrack for his wandering mind.


“It’s nice like this, isn’t it? I mean, how the rain is falling only a few feet away, but we’re here all safe and dry. That pavilion is really a lifesaver. I hope the rain lasts a bit longer... Why are you so quiet? If you don’t say something, I might fall asleep with my head on you lap. Do you want to stay sitting like this for hours just because you have me sleeping on you? And the music isn’t really keeping me awake, either. Do you only have ballads on your Ipod? But this is a really nice one, I like it. It’s so soothing and… romantic.”


From one instant to the next, the buildings in this area didn’t seem tall enough to hold the sky anymore; it drew nearer by every passing second. He was suddenly sure he needed to go somewhere where the rooftops would keep it at bay. Also somewhere where the little light the streetlamps offered wasn’t soaked up by the rough surface of the concrete walls, but where it was reflected back at him. Where it could sting his eyes.


“I love you.”


The people on the pavement were clad in black now with dark umbrellas creating the atmosphere of a funeral.

Is this a funeral?, he contemplated. Maybe something similar. Because funerals mean endings and this certainly is one.
His fingers trailed along one of the enormous glass facades of the countless skyscrapers. Water drops flowed over the window like small torrents. He caught them in their fall. Because they greatly resembled the tears that he hadn’t even witnessed. But he was sure they had been there.


“Be quiet. You don’t understand, so don’t answer so carelessly. What I mean is: I’m in love with you.”


He placed both hands against the windowpane; the glass served as a mirror. In the reflection he couldn’t make out his own features, but he saw someone else. The familiar face of his friend who he had fled from.  Water droplets were still sliding down like tears, over the image of that boy, over the high cheekbones and over the soft chin.
One line of a song they used to sing together kept replaying in his head. There is more of you inside me than myself.
Because that was true, in the most unromantic sense. He didn’t want to turn away again.


“No. No, don’t go. Please. Listen, I’m sorry. Just don’t leave now. Please, Jjong, I—“


It seemed almost impossible to detach his hands from the glass. He was stuck there. Because his heart was stuck and also his thoughts.
Stuck on the question why he hadn’t realized it sooner, why he hadn’t seen it coming.  But the walls of his mind had been as hard and cold as the skyscrapers’ facades: they hadn’t let any unwelcome idea inside.
His hands slipped. He turned around and looked at the sky. The buildings were almost touching at their tips where they pressed into the clouds. He wondered how the rain managed to slip through that small crack. But then, it also succeeded in passing between his hat and scarf, falling right into his eyes.  At least he could pretend he was crying, he thought.

And how he wished he could just reverse gravity. Not that of the world, but his own. So that maybe his feelings would also revert. Wasn’t the difference between “I love you” and “I’m in love with you” fractional? Three words, seven letters.

One thousand buildings around him, which forced the thought onto him that he was in desperate need of those seven letters and that he would have to search for them no matter what.
 

The darkness of the approaching night swallowed the sky and with it clouds and rain. During dusk he was perfectly anonymous; he blended right in with the cement and concrete. A chameleon in an urban jungle.

After the rain, vibrant colors had splashed down onto the earth, they reflected in the wet street. Passionate red and playful green of the traffic lights, sincere blue of the last brim of brightness at the horizon. He was sure they were his friend’s colors, which he was now accused of not having noticed. His brilliant character was obvious in every shade.
Yet he wanted to scream at the zooming cars that he had noticed, he had appreciated, he had loved. But he hadn’t desired.
He passed the roadway without wasting a glance, the cars couldn’t hit him.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? he wondered. The world might be thrown out of joint. But he’d rather face that than the emotions that were currently directed at him.
His steps slowed down until he finally came to a halt in front of a stonewall. Behind the bricks an ancient building rose up.

One’s body is like a temple, he had read that once somewhere. And there it was, at the center of the street encased by stones.  His body was indeed a temple, which was suddenly worshipped by someone. He would want the gods there to grant his friend’s every wish, but there were those that couldn’t be fulfilled. Like letting himself be touched, or kissed. The temptation to just break the stonewall down was huge, because he wanted nothing more than to give in. But his own feelings didn’t allow him to.
On the contrary, he would have to layer even more bricks and seal off his temple. He needed to create a barrier, because if he didn’t every simple touch would be accompanied by the seven letters that he lacked.
Still, no matter how often he read the inscription between the temple’s pillars, he couldn’t find the missing letters.


It was the utter darkness that led him to the nearest place where artificial light was glowing. Steps dug into the ground and an elevator was shining like a science-fictional time capsule. The entrance to the subway. There was one certain place where he could settle his feelings with himself, he was sure, but he still needed to find it.

The map of the subway-system was huge. Glowing neon lines on black plastic intertwining like snakes, coiling and circling. The name of the city was written in bold letters above it: Soul.
His gaze wandered over the names of the subway-lines. None of them made sense to him, they were complicated terms he didn’t understand.
Only one word flashed in front of his eyes as he spotted it. Lacuna. The line, which was indicated with that term, was drawn in a color that had been unknown to him before. There was no expression he could find for it.

He stepped inside the elevator. There was no button. It zoomed downwards through its shaft, the acid yellow color liquefying around him. It will work into my skin and burn it, he thought. Hopefully it will bore its way into my chest.
And maybe into his vocal chords, too, because he wouldn’t be able to speak often to his friend anymore. Or into his fingertips, because there wouldn’t be many occasions to touch him now.
Could acid burn seven letters into his skin?
The elevator arrived, the doors sprang open, the liquid solidified again.

Among the innumerable signs in the subway system he looked for the one with the color that he couldn’t name. Old newspapers were fluttering inside the tunnel and collecting at his feet. He was all alone. The signs showed him the way.
Right when he stepped into the train, followed by the blowing newspapers, the doors closed behind him. Only a single light was burning over one of the seats, so he sat down on it.

Those newspapers were still there, and they began moving on their own. They crawled up the walls while the train was rushing through the pitch-black tunnel. Like wallpaper they covered his surroundings. For the first time, he started to read the phrases that were printed on them. Thousands over thousands of words, and he was still in search of only seven letters. Yet he couldn’t find them. Because when he looked closer, there was in fact only one word written again and again in different sizes and fonts: the name of his friend.

The train gradually slowed down and the light above his head was flickering. The opening of the doors seemed to rob the lamp of its last ounce of strength, and so it died. I was completely dark now. Stepping through the doors and onto the platform, he couldn’t read the name anymore.

After he had left the subway system, he made his way to the bank of the river.

Its water was on fire. The lighting of the bridge and the surrounding skyscrapers had ignited the small waves.
Now flames were at his ankles and there was almost no ground left beneath his feet. The flowers under the pavement had all withered.

Here was the last place he could search for the missing letters, he knew that.
His attention was pulled to the opposite riverbank. A crowd seemed to have formed there; it was visible even in the darkness.
They should step back, he thought. Don’t they see the blazing flames?
Those were his flames, they should scorch only his skin. But the crowd didn’t back away; they were fearless. Suddenly he was reminded of that certain courageous gaze he knew so well. And at once the idea exploded in his mind that this person might be standing among the people just a hundred feet away from him. Panic was rising up.

What if his friend had been there all along? Walking behind him between the skyscrapers, following him to the temple, sitting inside the same train.  Maybe he would have just needed to turn around.
His mind was flowing out of his head, extinguishing the fire.

He needed to reach the other side of the river. But as he looked up, all bridges had vanished, sunk to the bottom. There was no means to reach him.

But it was now as he buried his face in his palm that the water surface stilled and that it became clear to him. That by searching for something untraceable, he had found something else.

He would never be able to fit those original seven letters into his feelings; he would never say “I’m in love with you.”
The water’s surface was so smooth and velvet, it looked like sand, so he knelt down. He lifted his finger as if to write, but let it sink down the next instant. There was no use writing it down, because the current would pull the meaning of the words with it.

Now that he had finally found those letters that he had been in search of all along without knowing, he wanted to handle them with care.
So he stood up and turned around, walking back home.


And he whispered,
“I’m sorry.”