Coda

Oedipus shakes with anger. He cannot let go of her things, Cannot let go. Cannot. Rooting through boxes in the hope of finding her. Over and over again.  He asks for help and then denies it. Stares at the empty rooms and knows that in a matter of days, he will no longer have his power. Pets her mink coats. Over and over again.

She never gave him what he wanted. That is why he shouted at her to stay alive. Couldn't let her go. It would mean that he would never have it. He will never have it. She is gone. And with her departure, love and its promise went, too. He is still a five year old boy. Staring at her in the hope she sees him. She doesn't see anyone.

He screams at me, thinking I am like her. Thinking I am her. Accuses me of taking things he wanted. I don't want anything. I don't need anything. But just in case, I take a scarf. A pair of long, black gloves. A photo.

In a matter of days, I lose the scarf. But, I don't lose her. She is with me. My little girl now. Sitting on top of my head. I take her everywhere.  He could, too. His anger blurs everything. Losing sight of the accidental gifts. He wants to punish her. Punish us. The air is silent now. No one will talk to him.  His mouth will stop working. His heart will dry up.  Beaten by his anger into a big black heap of despair.