Slippy roads

Noah

I love rain.

I haven't always liked it, it's a rather recent thing. I thought, during a -alas- long time of my life, that it was dull, and annoying.

It ruined pretty outfits, made us all wet, sad and somehow all the same. It was before the Fall. Before I realized how 'being seen as same as the others' was a calming and appreciable thing. How looking like everyone else, hurrying to find an umbrella when the first drops hit our heads, looking up at the sky with a rather exasperated look, made us feel...normal.

And being 'normal', no matter what the old me, afraid of average, who did everything to not to be like the others, would say, was great.

The energetic pop music shifts into a softer, slower melody. The transition was so clean that all the dancers almost automatically started moving more slowly, less chaotically and more sensually, moving in beat with the romantic slow that has just started playing.

The flashing lights that the disco ball were reflecting all around the underground club slow down too, and even if the loud chatters don't actually lower, the atmosphere becomes calmer. Hotter, too I notice.

I like this kind of vibe.
It's still festive, but not as overwhelmingly chaotic way that makes you instantly drunk and full the moment you enter the club, even if you didn't touch a glass of any drink or any food other than your lower lip's skin you anxiously bit before convincing yourself to step in.

I didn't bring anyone with me, and didn't have to courage to ask someone out, so I stay where I am and dance alone.

It takes me back to the long and dark time when I thought I wouldn't be able to dance ever again. It wasn't even a passion, and it's still not, but I mean, how would you feel if someone took away something that always had been there, that you took for granted and would have stayed for the rest of your life ?

Bad, and I would be pretty certain that my assumption would be correct.

Because that's how I felt when I Fell.
I call it the Fall, not because I actually fell -I crashed, more than anything, actually, but as a biblical reference to the Fallen angel, to the despair, worth the name of a Fall with a big F, he might have experienced when his whole world collapsed. He went from Heaven, where everything was white, bright, sweet...Perfect, to Hell, where it was the exact opposite. Dark, dull, lonely. Painful.

And oh, how he might have felt lonely down there.

I'm not a worshipper of Satan, as I'm not Christian as well, but somehow I feel bad for him, Prince of Hell, Devourer of Worlds, Dark King of Destruction.

When I had this car crash that costed me my legs' motor controls, several scars and too much breakdowns for them to be counted, I lost hope in everything.
Months of re-education. Months of desperation. Months where I thought I'd love my mind. Everything u thought was normal, basic human capacities, became some kind of an unachievable goal. Walking by myself. Going wherever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, without asking for somebody to help me. All those got taken away from me.

Everybody started looking at me with pity. Whenever I entered a room, they would stare at my wheelchair, or at the pinkish scar that runs over my nose, or at both. I couldn't go anywhere without a kid pointing at me like I'm an anomaly.

And perhaps I am.

I don't call it the Fall because it felt like falling. I call it the Fall because the landing felt like I fell from plane without parachute, broke several bones landing on the top of a twelve floors building, and then fell straight to the ground again just when I thought i'd be safe.

That's how it felt.
I stop dancing for a moment* and stare into the void.

I look at my non-existent watch, and decide it's time to head back home. The subway doesn't have a wheelchair access here, and I'm not gonna miss that last bus.

*What I call 'dancing' here is moving my arms, and what god wants of my hips, waving my body with the music.