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I’m sure that my parents are exchanging confused glances, yet Mom’s voice is level when she asks, ‘Are you pregnant, my love?’
Luuk
Gordon
Have you seen the news?
The text comes with an article about a code-red storm hitting my homeland. Amsterdam was hit pretty badly, and sadly, there have been casualties. I click on the article and scan quickly. Roofs have been blown away, and trees fell in Vondelpark and all over the city, causing all sorts of damage. Then my eyes snag on the name of one of the three people that were killed.
In Oud-Zuid, close to the exit to the A10, Johan van den Elder [45] was killed on the spot in his car.
My jaw drops, first from the shock: this is someone we’ve worked with on several occasions; then, because it’s such a stupid accident: what kind of emergency will make someone go out on the highway during a code-red storm? And then it dawns on me—the person connected to Johan, those blue eyes I haven’t seen in months.
‘Shit…’ I tell the screen that went black from being idle for too long.
When was the last message Corrie and I exchanged? A couple of days ago, after I sent her a meme and she replied with a LOL emoji, which of course turned into ‘How you’re doing?’ and proper texting, my intention all along. I have to restrain myself from overdoing it and becoming annoying, but if I was given free rein, I’d do it several times a day, checking my phone every other minute for a reply.
‘Self-torturing at its best,’ Dad would call it, and he would be right.
Only he doesn’t know. He has enough on his shoulders as it is after the diagnosis. Struggling to hold on to the existing memories is a daily battle, no need to burden him with another futile endeavour and cause more stress for his love-stricken son. Any sane person would point out—with good reason—that obsessing over someone you’ve met a handful of times is pointless, especially when they’re taken. So I scribble songs that will most probably never see the light of day as I rehash our moments.
But now she’s free…
The thought makes me instantly feel like a monster. True, I was never a huge fan of Johan, with his bull-in-a-China-shop behavior, complete with jokes that were more derogatory than funny, but he was good at what he did. What a fucked-up way to go…and what a shock it must be for Corrie. How helpless she must have felt at her inability to prevent the accident. Just like Dad could do nothing to stop Mom’s cancer, besides being there for her, watching her fading away, much like his memories are fading now. But Corrie didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye.
A sudden panic of What could have happened if takes over. What if Corrie had been in the car? The thought sends shivers down my spine, together with another crazy thought: was she in the car as well? Has she escaped death by a hairbreadth? And now the text of condolences I was going to send is an emergency.
Me
I’ve just read what happened.
Me
My most sincere condolences.
Me
How are you doing?
I don’t expect her to reply right away, especially given the situation, so I’m almost unprepared for the three dancing dots on my screen that make me hold my breath.
Corrie
Thank you, doing sort of okay.
Corrie
Which is good enough, all things considered.
Me
I can’t imagine how hard it must be, Corrie.
Me
You are in my thoughts.
Corrie
