Thee Random Words

08 – LOVE, FREEDOM, AUTHENTICITY - Part 1

Once upon a time, there were three sisters. Each born from the same mother, on the very same day, but as different as any three strangers can be. Their names were Ast, Frelsi and Sanngildi.

When the first sign of life sprung in her, their mother, Gaia, crossed the deepest rivers, the vastest meadows and fields, and climbed the highest mountains, where she prayed. Prayed to the creator of the universe, the ever-present force, for a blessing of the sprouting creation. To have a heart bursting with love as the spring buds bursting into life. To have a jolly spring in each step taken and be as free as the birds in the sky. To be true to oneself, to one’s deepest desires as the sun shines true every day, on a clear as well as a cloudy day.

So, the day came when, in the early hours of the day, the first convulsions announced the approaching arrival of a now fully developed creation.

Imagine Gaya’s surprise when, after hours of excruciating labour, three little creations instead of one were welcomed to the world, one identical to the other.

Indistinguishable in everything but in the way they announced their arrival.

The first to draw breath into this world announced herself with small, gentle whimpers which only ceased when she was placed on her mother’s bosom. She was therefore named Ast.

The second’s arrival was much more audible – shrieking from the top of her lungs until the umbilical cord was cut, then she simply cackled and contently closed her eyes as she was wrapped up in a blanket. She was therefore named Frelsi.

The last was the most cryptic of the three. A few long minutes had passed after her arrival into the world before a cacophony of sounds poured out of her mouth – from small, interrupted cries, to small, almost kitten-like whines, to full blown yelling when they attempted to dress her, and she only stopped her performance when her mother offered her a n****e. Then she sucked contently. She was therefore named Sanngildi.

As time went by, years chasing one another, distancing themselves more and more from the day the three sisters had been brought to life, Gaia began to wonder increasingly, what had been her reasons for naming her three daughters.

Namely, neither of them seemed to resemble in character to their name.

Ast, her first born, with every passing year spoke increasingly more, or only, of the material – what clothes, shoes, or jewellery she needed to wear, how much money she ought to earn, and how very and splendidly rich her future husband ought to be. Although the remainder of the household doubted Ast would ever have the time to find a husband while she was too busy chasing wealth.

Her second daughter, Frelsi, the older she became, the more rigid she became about imposing the rules of their household. Not a single day would pass without her reprimanding someone for their breach of those well-thought off rules. Her entire life was a revolving list of schedules and obligatory tasks. By the time a day drew to a close, she would crawl to bed exhausted from her daily unmalleable regime.

While her youngest, Sanngildi, only lived for other people’s approval. Her every waking hour was spent in deep contemplation on how she was perceived by others, if they liked her, admired her, and all her efforts directed into adopting all those en vogue trends that should guarantee general admiration. And day after day, she was becoming less herself. And day after day, she looked less and less like herself.

So much so that one day Gaia barred Sanngildi entrance into her house because she had mistaken her for a stranger.

Thus, Sanngildi found herself with the door shut in her face while the night shadows began to creep up the streets. She had no possibility of reaching her mother in any other way than knocking on the door, an action which had already proved fruitless. Her phone had been stolen earlier that day and everything had happened so quickly – one moment her handbag was hanging from her shoulder, and the next she felt the straps pulled away from her, and the perpetrator nowhere in sight. She could have reported nothing to the police other than being robbed, and unwilling to be judged for failing to perceive at least if her attacker had been a man or a woman, she chose not to report anything at all.

Her sisters were still away, so there was no possibility of having them admit her into the house. And no other idea seamed to occur to her. So, she sat on the stairs, her elbows on her knees, and her hands cupping her face while she pondered what would be her subsequent steps.

While sitting there, with the night distorting everyone’s sharp perception, hushed whispers began to appear more frequently as passers-by passed the sitting Sanngildi.

At first, Sanngildi paid no heed. After all, what did it have to do with her? But gradually, as she understood that the murmurs only started after the passers-by had reached her, did she finally understand.

They were gossiping about her!

Could there be anything more shameful? People seeing her in such a state and making all sorts of assumptions. What could they be thinking? Were they thinking that she was a bum, a vagabond with no home and no sense of direction? Did they disapprove of the way she looked? Did they think that she had no business sitting on those stairs, that it was disgraceful? Was someone going to call the police and have her arrested for loitering?

Such, and similar questions, threw Sanngildi into a state of utter despair. To be picked up by the police on the steps of her home? What shame! She would never be able to show her face again!

Hot tears sprung in her eyes, and she fled away from all that shame and all the prying eyes.

She ran and ran, hardly noticing her distressed appearance which unsettled more than left indifferent. Before long, word had spread in town that a balmy woman was running through town as if her life depended on it, and the police had issued a warning that the wretched soul should not be approached but rather avoided at all cost. It was the police, and the police only, who were sufficiently equipped to deal with such a menace.

Luckily, all of that had gone unperceived by Sanngildi. She was more concerned with her own grief, lack of any understanding of where she was to go, and as always – when misfortune strikes it strikes tenfold – heavy clouds rolled in the sky and before she had time to think properly, a thunderous rains began to pour down, soaking the unfortunate Sanngildi within minutes.

Oh, she wailed to herself, why has such misfortune befallen me, to be forced to roam the streets in such a humiliating state, peered at and judged by others.

Yet, in her complete emotional turmoil, she failed to notice that not a single person paid her any attention, all of them preoccupied with getting away from the downpour.

The longer she ran, the more frantic and incoherent her thoughts were becoming. Soon, she was no longer concerned with any stranger’s opinions in regards her appearance, but just one thought prevailed in her erratic mind – shelter.

Frantically, she scouted her surroundings but there was nothing that spoke of any appropriate shelter – all doors were firmly shut, windows dark and unwelcoming. And that one coffee shop from which light seeped into the thundering darkness, shone ominously, making Sanngildi certain that she would not be welcome there.

But no misfortune lasts for ever. And neither did Sanngildi’s.

Just as her despair had almost consumed her heart completely, a promising sight appeared before her blurry eyes – a bridge!

What better shelter could there be for a thoroughly soaked, dirty, desperate Sanngildi? She was hardly fit for a prince’s palace at that moment.

With a flicker of hope in her heart she ran towards the bridge. Ran with such strength and zeal as she had never known in herself before.

Oh, the happiness she felt when her eyes were finally met by dry air, and she was able to see clearly for the first time in a very long time.

‘Argh!’ Sanngildi yelled, alarmed. An unexpected sound made her realise that she was trespassing on an occupier of the space under the bridge.

On the other side where the bridge arch met the surface below it, a person was sitting on the ground, all wrapped up in rags, and a small fire crackling in a bucket next to that person.

‘Oh, I do beg your pardon,’ Sanngildi quickly recalled her manners. Whatever had that person thought of her ungracious exclamation?

‘’S o’ rite, lass,’ came an unconcerned, albeit slightly slurred response; a response which revealed the person to be a woman. ‘Bridge’s much yers ‘s my.’

‘Thank you,’ Sanngildi accepted the offering graciously and remained rooted where she had first encamped herself.

‘Wassa lass loike yerself doin’ ‘ere?’ the woman suddenly expressed an urge to know. ‘Yeh donna look da type.’

‘I, well,’ Sanngildi found herself startled by the question. She didn’t feel comfortable sharing her troubles with a complete stranger, in fact, out of fear of being judged by others. She had never done such a thing before.

‘’Ad a bad nite?’ the woman continued encouragingly.

‘Oh, yes, dreadful!’ Sanngildi almost felt relieved that the woman seemed to understand. And is it tends to happen to many who find themselves in a prickle, the prospect of unburdening oneself of one’s worries by generously dumping them on others, proved too tempting for Sanngildi as well. And before she could think twice about it, a flood of words ran out of her mouth, the tone of her voice full of eagerness to convey her misfortunes to the woman sitting opposite her on the ground under a bridge while the storm slowly began to die down.

‘Ad a ‘ard one, luv, deed’nah,’ the lady gave her agreement while she nodded her head vigorously.

Sanngildi was just about to nod, when the woman’s subsequent action left her wanting for words.

The woman rummaged through a big, dirty bad plunked on the ground right from her and pulled out a bottle of what strongly resembled the cheapest kind of vodka one could buy in a shop and took a generous swig. Then, remembering her sister in distress, extended the bottle to Sanngildi: ‘ere, ‘ave a go lass, eet’ll mack yeh feel be’er.’

‘Ahem,’ Sanngildi felt rather awkward at this offering. Not for being a prude, she liked a drink here and there, all in moderate limits, naturally, but it was the prospect of having a drink from the same bottle as that woman, who, even from a distance, reeked of dirt.

‘’eer,’ the woman pressed, making Sanngildi finally find her words.

‘Awfully kind of you,’ she commenced kindly, hoping not to offend the woman, ‘but I think I’d rather not. I haven’t eaten anything yet and it would go straight to my head.’

‘’O rite,’ the other took no offence but rather another generous slug.

‘I ‘haven’ eaten ‘swell bu’ ‘tis be’er,’ she continued as she swallowed. ‘S made of spuds, deed yeh know, vodka ees, ‘s like food really.’

Sanngildi did not quite agree with that statement. How could anyone consider vodka as an adequate replacement for actual food?! But when she took a better look at the battered woman, it seemed rather clear that alcohol was perhaps the woman’s main source of energy.

She was all skin and bone. Her face was sunken and her cheeks hollow. Her wrists were as thin as those of a pre-teen girl, still completely underdeveloped. And what she could see of her legs made her wonder how they were able to carry her anywhere. In spite of her preconceptions of good and right, she felt sorry for the woman who was also shaking perceptibly.

‘You ought to eat something,’ Sanngildi stated matter-of-factly, almost as if talking to a child. ‘Food gives you strength and it is crucial for our bodies to function properly.’

A silence enveloped them after this speech. The only sound was that of the woman sitting on the ground, taking a few more sips.

‘I go’ noffin’ ter live fer,’ the woman’s words were even more slurred now.

‘Surely, that cannot be true!’ exclaimed Sanngildi, surprised that such a detrimental thought had occurred to her night companion. ‘If anything, we owe it to our families to live.’

A derisive snort came as a reply.

‘I go’ no family,’ the woman chose to enlighten the know-it-all woman in front of her.

‘Oh…’ a sound of guilt tinted Sanngildi’s voice. ‘I’m so sorry, perhaps I’ve misspoken.’

‘I useta ‘ave one,’ the woman went on, disregarding the other’s apology completely. ‘Lon’ back, I ain’ go’ one now, ‘ee kick’d me oo’, yeh see.’

‘He kicked you out?!’ Sanngildi repeated, astonished.

‘Aye, af’er me bairn was born.’

‘What?!’ Now Sanngildi was no longer just astonished, she was outraged that a man could have thrown this poor woman out on the street, separating the mother and the child.

But the woman was now well lost in her thoughts and didn’t react to Sanngildi’s exclamations.

‘’Ee says, I ain’ fi’ moffer, ‘cause I drink tooh much. It wasn’a me faul’, honest, she was screemin’ tooh much, couldn’a stan’ ee’. I nee’ed a glass ter ‘elp meself ffrew da day.’

Sanngildi gasped. With every new sentence the story was becoming more dreadful.

‘I tol’ eem, yeh known fer ever I been drinkin’, since a young lass, I nee’ed one, bu’ yeh forc’d me ter ‘ave ‘er. I deedn’a wan’ ‘er. Bu’ no, yeh made me, heed me drinks when I was expec’in’, now I need one she’s no longer in me belly, I can’ stan’ wi’ou’. An’ ee’ jus’ chuk’d me ou’. Unfi’ Mam, ‘ee go’ ‘em ter say. So, drink's all I go’ lef’.’

The woman began to cry, without even realising it. The tears, perhaps unshed for many years, steamed freely down her cheeks while she took another swig.

As in a haze, Sanngildi started walking towards the wretched woman, and when she reached her, she sat down next to her, uncaring of the filth and the stench, and put her arm around the woman’s shoulders, pulling her closed to herself.

And they sat there, both crying, in that moment neither of them running away from their true selves.

*

Sanngildi, however, was not the only of her sisters that was going through an upheaval. The second of the three sisters, Frelsi, had been thrown into a turmoil of emotions as well.

Earlier in the day, she had rather abruptly, and completely unexpectedly, lost her job.

Her manager, Mrs Rettvis, had called her into the office towards the end of the working day. Frelsi had actually been pleased to be called – for she had been making an extra effort to uphold the company’s many rules and regulations.

But a cold shower had awaited her. The manager had not been alone in the office but had been accompanied by an HR lady.

‘Good afternoon, Frelsi,’ the HR lady started immediately. ‘We called you here because, unfortunately, we have some bad news. We are here to serve you your notice of termination on the grounds of gross misconduct.’

‘What?!’ Frelsi had yelled in spite of her usual composed self, completely shocked by the news. ‘I am being let go? There must be some mistake, I’m ever so careful to follow all the rules to a T.’

‘There is no mistake, I’m afraid,’ the HR lady had shattered her hopes. ‘We have been receiving alarming reports from other employees on account of your bullying them, harassing them, and in general creating a very negative working environment. Under such circumstances, I’m sure you can understand that we can no longer keep you as an employee?’

‘Bullying? Harassing?’ Frelsi had been astonished. ‘This cannot be, I’ve done no such thing.’

‘We would not have chosen this step had we not had proof,’ the manager cut in, sounding aloof. She had never liked Frelsi.

‘What proof?’ Frelsi continued, incredulous.

‘E-mails to your colleagues, warning them – although that is not your work obligation – that they are failing to adhere to the company rules, written in a very insensitive and bullying manner,’ the HR lady had commenced.

‘Then numerous confrontations in meetings on the same, coming to other employees’ offices unannounced for the same purpose, and the list goes on. It’s all stipulated in detail in the termination notice. The consequence of it all is that the employees have begun to threaten with leaving the company if we took no measures. You can understand that we cannot allow a toxic working environment to continue.’

Frelsi had been stunned. That people had perceived her well-meaning advice in such a distorted manner, had been greatly distressing for her. She had remained sitting in silence trying to process the information.

The manager, taking Frelsi’s silence as acceptance of her fate, had continued: ‘Because we want the work environment back to normal as soon as possible, we are giving you paid leave until the end of the termination period, effective immediately. Please, gather all your belongings before you leave today and hand over all your company belonging to Manna (eng. Human) here. She will accompany you to your office.’

As Frelsi’s silence had continued, the manager turned to the HR lady, ‘We are done here. You can go with her and see that she leaves the premises as soon as possible.’

Frelsi had hardly noticed what had ensued. Manna had accompanied, still deeply stunned Frelsi to her office, had helped her gather her things, had taken the company belonging from her, and had eventually seen her through the main entrance.

There, Frelsi stood now, her brain slowly coming out of the fog.

Soon, shock was replaced by a sense of humiliation – how will she be able to explain to her family that she had been so ungraciously fired, and for such an unthinkable reason? She, the one who had always been most precise in adhering to all and every rule, who had always aspired to act in accordance with all the norms and regulations, and whose actions had never succumbed to any weakness whatsoever. She had been accused of misconduct!

That thought caused all the previous sentiments of incredulity and remorse to be replaced by burning anger. How dare they?!

She was now incensed. How do they really dare?!

Her chest heaving from the growing rage, she took deep, perturbed breaths trying to calm herself and think what to do next. She needed a plan. A plan to prove to her employer what a great mistake they had made. And before she had a plan, she couldn’t go home. She had to show her family as well that she was in the right!

Comforted by this short-term plan, she set off down the street with decisive, confident strides.

But the endeavour was short-lived. As the first signs of an oncoming thunderstorm began to show themselves, she interrupted her progress by seeking shelter in the first bar that stood in her way.

It was very busy. The hour was such that the first, after-work drinkers had not yet quitted their posts, while the early, after dinner, drinkers had already arrived. There were just two chairs left at the bar.

With a confidence of a frequent visitor of such establishments, she strode forward. But before she took the vacant seat, she turned to the man on the right, and in turn to the man on the left, and enquired about the vacancy of the seat.

‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’

For it would have been bad manners had she simply appropriated the vacant seat.

Somewhat startled by an unexpected address, the two men both murmured a negative while they eyed her curiously. It was clear to both that she was out of her world.

As she took the seat. Frelsi herself had a similar thought. She was not accustomed to frequenting bars – she only ever went to a lounge bar not too far from their home when the eldest of the triplets, Ast, invited them for cocktails after a particularly successful deal.

‘Have you got cocktails?’ she braved a question when the waiter turned to her finally.

The waiter’s brows shot up at this question, half in amusement, half in exasperation. Rather than simply answering, he pointed to the other part of the bar where two mixologists were whipping up a couple of cocktails.

‘Oh!’ Frelsi felt embarrassed by an obviously redundant question. ‘Do beg your pardon. Then I’ll have an Appletini.’

This time, it was not just brows, it was a full, undisguised eyeroll. Accompanied by a snort on her right which she chose to ignore.

‘Lady, this is a cocktail bar, not a flashy, girly Insta parlour.’

‘Well, excuse me.’ Frelsi’s mood once again dropped, her anger resurfacing. She was not very pleased with people treating her benevolently while she always strived for politeness. ‘But the last time I checked Appletini was a cocktail. If your barkeeps can’t make them, then you should just have said so and proposed an alternative.’

The speech effectively stopped the waiter rolling his eyes which now began to flutter in surprise. Her right-sided adversary of a few minutes ago now became her admirer as he began to chortle, and looking at the waiter, laughingly said, ‘Burned!

’

Now embarrassed even more, the waiter completely lost his confidence and began to stutter before he was able to form a coherent sentence: ‘Apple cart.’

‘Yes, please,’ Frelsi graciously accepted.

‘I had you pegged down as a pushover,’ the voice on her right now addressed her willingly.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Frelsi wasn’t certain that the address had been meant for her.

But instead of repeating, the man on her right asked another question, ‘Are you always that old-fashionedly polite?’

‘I wasn’t aware that being polite has gone out of fashion,’ she replied, now sounding slightly irritated. What was with people lately? Rules meant nothing anymore to anyone.

The man merely laughed, ‘You’ve got a bit of spunk, I like it. It suits you better than that demurred approach you applied when you first got in.’

‘Thank you,’ she responded automatically, in spite of herself. After all, the rule of thanking someone when they paid her a compliment was ingrained in her brain.

He just grinned and shook his head.

After that, they both turned their attentions only to their drinks. Gingerly, Frelsi took a sip of her cocktail, which was a complete novelty for her. She was usually not so bold with her choices – she mainly opted for familiar, and only chose to try something new if it came highly recommended by one of her sisters, or her mother.

Surprised, she liked the taste and did not even mind that she had no idea of what was inside. Contently, she took another, and another sip until she had finished her cocktail and motioned to the waiter for another one.

When the waiter brought a replacement for her now empty glass, she felt it was her duty to compliment him on his choice, ‘This is really lovely, thank you, it was a very good choice.’

‘Tip’s the best way to express your gratitude,’ the waiter responded cheekily and winked.

Frelsi was somewhat taken aback by the brassiness. Everywhere she looked today there was a lack of decorum and manners. This thought reminded her again of her misfortunes of today. She took hurried gulps of her second cocktail and finished it quickly.

The effects were almost instantaneous. A slight buzzing in her ears, a pleasant fogginess in her head that shrouded her racing thoughts, and a sense of recklessness awakening in her heart.

‘I was fired today,’ she suddenly decided that confiding in her bar-neighbour on her right was just what she needed. She’d heard so many times of people confiding in strangers, but she had always considered it too rude. Until today.

‘Due to gross misconduct,’ she added for good measure.

The man on her right almost spit his drink at this revelation. He turned to stare at her, wide-eyed.

‘No way,’ was his best response at hearing this absurdity. There was no way this up-tight, rule-abiding woman had been let go on account of misconduct.

‘Oh, yes,’ she confirmed, now feeling quite pleased with herself. ‘Waiter, another one please.’

When her confidant remained gaping at her like a fish on dry land, she decided to volunteer more information, to convince him. Had she herself not been astonished when being told the reason? It was only natural that so should a stranger who only knew a fragment of the story.

‘They said that I am too harsh with enforcing the company rules and that I was creating a toxic working environment by reminding my now ex-co-workers, well, technically they are still my co-workers as I am as of today on paid leave during my termination period.’

‘Oooh, kay,’ the man was a bit bewildered by her story. He’d never heard of such a thing before – someone losing their job for following the rules too much. Though, she seemed the type. Even with the first signs of intoxication, she was still endeavouring to keep her back straight and her shoulders square. As if any one of the drinkers cared in the least about her perfect posture.

‘Then maybe you need to loosen up a bit more, not be so uptight,’ he felt called upon to give his opinion.

‘I am not uptight!’ Frelsi was indignant.

‘Sure,’ he responded mockingly.

‘You don’t believe me,’ she said accusingly.

‘Well, yeah,’ he now laughed. ‘You are in a bar full of drunks who are only concerned about one thing – getting as drunk as possible on a Friday evening – and you are being all polite not to hurt someone’s feelings. No one would even blink if you were a bit rowdier.’

‘I can be rowdy!’ Frelsi was desperate to convince. Mostly herself.

‘Yeah,’ her interlocutor smiled condescendingly. He was clearly not convinced.

‘It’s ok,’ he hurried as he saw her disappointed expression. ‘You just don’t have it in you.’

The man was still sticking to his original findings.

That obstinacy of his, the determination to make her admit to being that of what she had been accused at work, evoked something in her. Or perhaps it was the irrationality that is so often brought about by alcohol.

Before she could change her mind, she downed half of her third cocktail, and turning back to him. tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned, she leaned in and kissed him.

And that was no ordinary kiss. It was powerful, needy, her tongue penetrating decidedly his mouth as she deepened it. Her hands, acting on their own accord, flew into his hair, and as her fingers intertwined with his hair, she pulled him closer.

He responded eagerly once the first shock of surprise subsided.

Unfortunately, the thrill of doing something entirely outside of her usual behaviour id not last long. Soon, the euphoria was replaced by the unpleasant taste of the man’s mouth, savouring strongly of stale beer, and the smell of sweat that permeated the surroundings made her nauseous.

She broke the kiss quickly. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’