Thee Random Words

02 - CAROUSEL, ONOMATOPOEIA, SWAN

02 - CAROUSEL, ONOMATOPOEIA, SWAN

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Her sudden exclamation startled him, cutting him mid-sentence.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked, wide-eyed, stuttering a bit on the first word.

“Not this again!”

He could notice lines of anger appearing on her face. That was never a good sign, as anger was one of those sentiments he found least equipped to abate, his attempts usually contributing to the opposite – her anger flaming into rage that could last for days.

“Don’t give me that ridiculous ‘don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about’ look,” she barked at him. “You know very well what I mean, I’ve told you this so many times already.”

“But darling,” he started to protest half-heartedly. “I…”

“All I said was, that I wanted to go on the carousel,” she cut him uncaringly. “Did I ask for a lecture on the history of carousel? Did I ask you if you knew where it originates from?”

When he didn’t respond and remained staring at her with those infuriating large eyes, she demanded authoritatively: “Well, did I?”

“No, no, you didn’t,” he managed to find his voice again. “But it really is fascinating how some things develop from their early origins which seem to the modern man to have nothing in common with their present form.”

“Yes, quite,” she allowed as much to be true. “But we have talked about this several times, haven’t we? That nobody, including me, likes a know-it-all who doesn’t seem to be able to resist any opportunity to blow his own trumpet about his trivia knowledge.”

“It’s not bragging,” he defended himself. “There are so many things to be discovered, and other people find them interesting as well.”

“Oh, really!” her eyes narrowed on him. “The way Jack and Casey were interested in onomatopoeia?”

He flushed slightly, remembering the incident she had been referring to. “That was different.”

“And how was that different?” she challenged him. Her anger had cooled down somewhat at seeing him be uncomfortable. For some inexplicable reason, seeing him doubt himself perversely pleased her. He had always been the cleverer of the two, as well much more knowledgeable than her, on matters she had no idea of.

But now, she had the upper hand. Uncomfortable situations were not something he handled well while they were second nature to her. She had witnessed too many of them growing up, while their parents had been having a go at one another.

“We-ell,” he stammered again. “It was Jack who started the discussion.”

“Excuse me!” she raised an eyebrow incredulously. “It was Jack who started it? All he did, was say how funny swans sounded when they were calling out to their mates.”

“But swans do not call out!” he interjected, the need to correct a mistake stronger than his sense of the present situation.

“And there he goes again, Ladies and Gentlemen, the Professor,” she mocked. “The Professor who doesn’t seem to understand that the conversation was not about whether the swans’ sounds are called trumpets or cries or something else altogether, but rather about how endearing the sound was and what was its purpose. And furthermore, that it was completely inappropriate to lead the conversation in the direction of lecturing on different onomatopoeias of birds.”

“It’s trumpeting,” he whispered.

“What?” she snapped again, irritated by his interruption, and that yet again, he was muttering under his breath as if attempting to avoid her noticing.

“The sound of the swans is called trumpeting, not trumpets,” he clarified.

She looked at him blankly for a few moments, then her face began to morph into a tempest. She stood up abruptly, almost knocking down her chair.

“You. Are. Effing. Unbelievable!” she raised her voice, emphasising each word, effectively drawing the attention of practically every other person in the café. Unknowingly, she had grabbed the edge of the table so forcefully that her knuckles were turning white.

“Do you ever listen?! I am trying to explain you something so you don’t behave like a wanker in society, and you completely ignore me and go on talking rubbish.”

“Please,” he reached to grab her hand, but she jerked it away angrily. “You are making an unnecessary scene.”

“An unnecessary scene?” The words only made her anger flame up. “It wouldn’t be an unnecessary scene if only you were more amenable to keeping your mouth shut and not always having the need to be the smart guy.”

Sensing that she was about to lose the last remnants of her control, she grabbed her jacket and tossing it on, turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?” he asked gingerly, his voice agonised.

She turned back to face him, her eyes narrowed into slits, rapid breathing indicating her fury. “I am going on the blo.ody ‘marry-go-round’, or as you prefer to call it, the carousel. You know, the one that originates from a knights’ game in the Middle Ages. Luckily for you, there are no more spears in play nowadays, so you’re safe.”

Permitting no more interruptions, or offering any further explanation, she stormed out.

He kept his gaze on the table. He hated drawing attention of complete strangers, and just the thought of people looking at him, judging him, gossiping about him, made him alarmingly anxious, making his old tick of tapping his foot on the floor reappear. And when his breathing became irregular and difficult, he bolted up and frantically motioned to the waiter to pay the bill.

He reached the door just in time as the anxiety was making his windpipes close up, almost cutting his breathing. The crisp outside air splashed his face, and as he quickened his step, making the air seem even colder, his anxiety began to give way and he could breathe much more easily.

He needed movement. Whenever his body found itself in the grip of anxiety, movement helped. If he did not move, he could go into a complete nervous breakdown; profusely sweating, his body shaking uncontrollably, his eyelids closing and opening on its own accord, laboured breathing to the point of blocking out almost all the air.

He broke into a run, running blindly without actually noticing his surroundings. He ran for a while until he felt his body tiring, and he plumped himself down on the ground. He welcomed the cold that seeped from the soil, abating the last remnants of his anxiety.

Feeling more in control of himself, he took a tentative look around. He did not recognise the surroundings. They had not been walking here previously. Unbeknownst to him, he had stumbled upon a charming park with beautiful, autumnal trees which were carpeting the soil around them with the falling leaves.

One tree in particular caught his attention. A large, dominating gingko tree with vibrant, yellow-coloured leaves. He loved yellow. It reminded him of the sun and its warmth. And as the tree stood there, its yellow leaves were brightening the monochrome autumn day.

Trees were clever, he thought to himself. Perhaps cleverer than people. Instinctively they knew when to adapt to the changing circumstances to survive and have a long and prosperous life. Not fighting that change, simply accepting it as part of the life cycle. They did not weep after they had discarded their leaves, but rather took comfort in knowing that by discarding that which no longer served them, they preserved their essence and kept themselves strong for the growth in the spring.

Unlike him. He hated change. He struggled with changes. Changes had to be introduced gradually, easing him into it. It was the unknown that came with changes which was most unsettling. Which is why it brought him comfort to research things, to get to understand them better. It helped him accept the change.

Like her. She had been a gargantuan change. Their meeting had been chanced. She had started to work in the Uni library he had not frequented often during his studies. But one day he needed to find some rare books for one of the mid-term papers. He was drawn to her immediately because she was so different from any other person he had known. She had an air of a person not caring about anything in the least. Something he had always wanted, but quite to the contrary, he had always cared too much.

She immediately noticed his interest in her. He had glanced one too many times at her as she was helping him find the books. Unembarrassed, she gave a laugh and asked him for a cup of coffee.

From that first cup of coffee, he wanted her more and more, even though she had brought disorder into his life. While his days were planned up to the last waking minute, she made a habit of making decisions on the spur of the moment. Nevertheless, there was an ever-present attraction that kept him firmly planted in her life.

Such had been her decision to go on the carousel. A spur of the moment.

He had planned the day minutely, and she had agreed to follow the plan.

Knowing her, he should have expected her to deviate from the plan. She was too wild spirited to keep to his meticulous scheduling. It was making her anxious, she had once explained. Just as her propensity to cause drama was fuelling his anxiety.

What had transpired today, was nothing novel. It was their established practice. And after they had both settled down, they had adhered to his schedule.

He might as well do that. Continue with the plans he had arranged, and sooner or later she would join him.

Sauntering down the roads, in the direction of the natural history museum, he spotted her waiting in front of the entrance. As he approached her, she met him halfway, and standing next to him, she interlaced her fingers with his. Resting her head on his shoulder, she spoke: “Funny thing, they had swans on the merry-go-round, not just horses. So, naturally, I rode a swan.”

He smiled at her masked attempt of apology for her behaviour. She never apologies with explicit words, it was simply not her way. As on cue, he responded readily: “That sounds lovely.”

“But do try to listen when I’m explaining something to you,” she added in an accustomed way.

He smiled again, letting her have the last word.

***

“Son of a…” were the first words that crossed my mind when my friend, U.H.N.K., had sent me her words. The subsequent reaction was laughing. If someone had given me those words and told me to have a guess, who among my acquaintances would have chosen them, U.H.N.K. would have been my one and only guess. Because no one else would propose using the word onomatopoeia.

Being outside of the box in more ways than one is something that describes my friend perfectly. Which is probably why she brings out the “wild side of me” whenever we are together or talk on the phone. Hysterical laughter guaranteed.

Hopefully, we shall share many more opportunities to include silly, rarely used words in our many, stimulating conversations.