Where Is The Edge

Prologue

May, 1996

I banged the television for the third time, with the intention that this way it would be fixed, for it was a piece of junk I found in an antique shop, and somehow I managed to make it work. It was small, it had gone out of fashion, I always wondered how many generations it had passed through before I got my hands on it.

I could imagine a family from the fifties enjoying a movie during dinner, or an elderly couple who bought it when it had just come out and kept it for years but finally decided to sell it to upgrade to a newer screen. Poor TV, I thought, it had done its best and just wanted to rest, but I wasn't letting it.

"The murder of successful businessman Peter Westerholt remains unresolved," a reporter said, holding his microphone, and the concern in his voice was palpable. Sometimes I had to settle with this device functioning more like a radio, but I rarely decided to turn it on anyway, so it didn't affect me at all.

I killed that man, it wasn't easy but it was worth all that planning so that by now I could enjoy a cup of tea while watching the same incompetent detectives update the case, saying they had no idea who it could have been. It never failed to steal a smile of satisfaction.

I decided to turn off the television. I thought I wanted to watch something else after struggling to get a good picture and sound, however, I didn't mind doing so when there was really nothing good to watch. I opted to continue with my reading, which was about two lonely women falling in a forbidden love, nothing more and nothing less than the masterpiece "The Price Of Salt", which I had read more than three times. That was the kind of book that no matter how many more there were, it was always my favorite to go to when I felt like spending a cozy evening. Listening to Fleetwood Mac's "Tango In The Night" with a cup of tea and a warm blanket while reading was an experience I was sure I would never tire of, which is why there was no point in buying a state-of-the-art television.

My watch struck ten o'clock at night; my bedtime, so I put up the divider I'd gotten at a book fair I'd attended before this whole tragedy happened, and headed to my room. I already had pajamas on, put them on right after I got home from work, brushed my teeth and washed my face, and went to sleep. The next day would be a bit of the same, although I rarely got bored of just cooking, reading, listening to music and doing as many things as I could think of to make the day go by unnoticed, a bit of the happiness I possessed was outside and what I liked about being a grown up was that spontaneity reigned in my environment, because I had decided to make it so. Once my working day was over, I was free to do whatever I wanted, of course something was missing, or to be more specific, someone, who used to do all of this with me. Oh, how I missed the good old days.

The idea of adult life used to terrify me, because other adults at the time used to poison me by telling me it would be hard as shit. I wasn't sure if I would think that way once I grew up a bit more, and get a job in the career I studied, it was easy to say because I lived in an apartment, walked everywhere or commuted via public transport if my destination was too far away, the biggest luxury I gave myself was buying a five dollar dress at a thrift shop, I didn't spend that much but I understood that one day I would have to have my own car and a bigger house, handle more expenses, I don't know.

After waking up, showering, brushing my teeth and putting on a knitted sweater along with baggy jeans and black tennis shoes, I grabbed my tote bag making sure I had my house keys, my wallet and all the essentials I needed every time I went out. I didn't prepare breakfast because I woke up with a tremendous desire to have a croissant for breakfast. I might as well look in my cookbook for the recipe, however, I didn't have enough time for that and I was hungry. I ate it while I continued reading my book at the table outside the shop. The air was delicious, the croissant was freshly baked and the orange juice felt freshly squeezed.