The Metronome

We sat in front of each other.

On the coffee table between us

A metronome.

The room full of rustic furniture

Leather upholstery, you can smell the age.

The room ever so slightly lit

By a few shimmering sun rays

Playfully agitated by the rustling leaves

Of an old oak tree.

Some of the light refracted onto

The various glass and crystals

Forming soft and comforting rainbow spectra,

Or unsettling yet interesting spider-like light fractals

That move frantically with every little vibration.

She sat on her old green velvet arm chair.

Age was kind to her, life however was not.

Distinctive cuts on her lips and cheeks

That speak volumes.

I keep my curiosity at bay and button my lip,

For the point of our meeting is indeed about scars,

That are mine, but unlike hers, they are hidden,

And demand healing.

Composed and upright, legs crossed with a clipboard on her lap.

A flowery dress she wore, whimsically formal she gave an

Aura of openness almost motherly,

Although she kept to her profession.

She lifted her vision from the papers she was scribbling on

And took a look at her silver watch bracelet

As she fixed her spectacles sitting

A tad too low on her nose.

I shift my sight to the grandfather clock, ever so softly ticking.

The sound of the clock was so toned down you could hear

The wind moving the grass outside better.

Fourteen seconds till the session starts.

Undoing her pose she leaned forwards towards the metronome.

Her shoes slipped gently on the Persian carpet as she did so

Making a little swishing noise, and the chair creaked a bit as well.

She placed her thumb on the pendulum and paused.

Six seconds.

Birds chirped outside filling the void of time there was left.

The dust particles aloft in the air lazily suspended.

The clock struck 5 but no bells cheered the hour.

She flicked the pendulum and sat back to her original position.

'Begin' she indicated with a gentle nod with her bundled hair

Accentuating the movement.

I took some time to measure the ticks of the musical timer.

I inhaled softly and affixed my breath to the tempo.

Today it was slower than usual.

'In my world I feel

Alone and wary; I flee

To the distance.

My heart is heartless

No blood rushes through it now

Tougher than bedrock.

The cosmos I built

Celestial bodies at war

The end is in sight.

And no ear heeds me

There is no space for my voice

As their truth blinds them.

So i keep my peace

Aid their world with diligent

Love and attention.

The aid given helps

Back to balance with hopes mend

Empathy is key.

Sympathy or less

I am repaid; bitter woe

I shell to myself.

Rage flares within me

Why am I devoid of aid

Friends were are you now?

Rain on sunny days

The moon is ever present

Eclipsing my life.'

I stop. My mind is engulfed in a tempestuous spiral hurricane of emotion.

My heart pounding in my chest like a steam train.

I take a few breaths and I try to stop the temptation to look at the time.

But i give in in a synapse moment and take a look. Half of the time is left.

I look over to the other side of the table. I look at her, she was attentive.

Once more she reaches for the metronome and this time stops it and takes it.

She fixes to an even slower tempo, as it would typically happen as the session progresses.

However this was even slower to what I was used to.

She puts it back in place and like a musical director she indicates

With gentle gesture of her hand to stay calm and carry on.

She expressed a sense of compassion with a comforting smile

And slow battering of the eye lids both embezzled with hints of makeup

Enough to emphases her elegant femininity.

'Can't run anywhere,

Because nowhere is home now,

I see in grey-scale.

Devil mind and Angel heart,

Lost siblings of my poor soul.

Longing to belong,

The Harlequin cries, applause

From the amused crowd.

Is tails not part of the coin?

Be known, no mask can hide heads.

Childlike guardians

Scared to learn, to fight, to grow.

Maggots have consumed

Roots of love, bark of wisdom,

Leafs of joy. A husk remains.'

As the confession ensued my heart was feeling as if being clenched.

My vision blurred as incessantly filled up with tears.

I lost my posture, my head bowed down looking at my open hands

Cupped in a manner as if like I am holding a perished animal.

It took me a few moments to realize that the metronome has now stopped.

I attempted to meet her glance, still sniffling in distress.

The ticking device ran out of thread to run on signifying the end of part.

I was allowed to continue but I knew my limits and she acknowledges them.

After all, the metronome was really my idea all along.

It helps me in each session, to react, to think, and finally to listen.

Self-engineered structure of expression. A fair standard of compromise.

As I regained my composure, she set aside her papers and took off her glasses.

She uncrossed her legs to a more graceful pose with knees level and together.

A sizable cloud darkened the sky, momentarily

Snuffing out the little incoming light of the sun, darkening the room.

It was time to conclude. She had her head tilted to the right.

She had her gaze affixed to the baroque styled skirting

At the bottom of the wall for a brief moment.

She blinked her eyes and without mover her head she moved her gaze

To a painting hanging on the same wall.

Monet, The Garden Bridge. She looked at it and cracked a smile as if the

Painting said something humorous. And she turned to face me.

'You grown, you know that?

I'm truly overjoyed now!

New dawning has come!

Don't you see my love?

Roads are opening for you,

To do anything.

It is time for you to leave,

To awake, smell the coffee.

Not long now, at all!

You are questioning logic

That you are fond off.

"Why?" Would you ask, right?

What is different today?

The table has turned.

My spell is braking, goodnight;

It is time for us to part.

Light has broken through,

Strong and pure enlightenment.

My work here is done.

You are amazing.

Sickness can indeed be cured.

You have cheated death.

Very long ago, you thought,

To live, you gave birth to me.

Through force of pure will.

You conjured me in yourself.

Two souls in a body.

Death's scythe can't cut us.

The time was yours, but not mine.

Death knows this very well.

None shall die before their time.

My summon was vital, dear.

It is my time now.

Brought up by you, to help you.

You loved us and lived.

I thank you, my dear

You have healed, claim your vessel.

Death admits defeat.

I will go to a nice place.

I will miss you. I love you.’

In my astonishment I could not say a word.

What is all this? Today felt strange right from the start.

The clouds parted and the sun shined trough. It was very bright.

All so bright, unnatural. Then, like a searchlight the beam moved!

What on earth is happening! It was scanning the room.

Then it found the metronome and it stopped on it.

Sudden urgent knocks violently hit the door, jolting me almost falling over my chair.

Then a voice, shouting though the door with a serious tone, almost like an officer.

But what he said was very particular, not something a police would say.

'It's your idea, awake!

Awake now! The metronome.

It's your idea, awake!'

The commanding voice kept on going, the knocks also ensued.

The room started to shake. Every item in there started to levitate.

The metronome hovered to me still lit by the spot light.

Opposite of me she kept her smile. And then she said:

'Adjust your time now.

Any length, any tempo.

It's is your idea.

It's up to you, how you live.

Remember, back track, and act.'

Then a flood of memories just flashed in front of me.

Twenty years of precious life loving memories, the perfect life.

It was me and my daughter, my friend, my close acquaintance, my teacher, my lover.

We went through thick and thin. Through all of the ups and downs of life.

To this point I brought her up to revive me, to be ultimately my saviour.

I now understand what I have done. And now my subconscious is knocking.

I took one long gaze at her. One last look. I smiled with tears rolling my cheeks.

I reached for the metronome, I caressed the pendulum. And I moved it to 80 beats per second.

Andante. To move on.

I turn the metronome around to find the clock key on the back.

There was written: Property of Death and then our names one of which it was scratched.

Then quite magically my name was rewritten and hers was then gently crossed off.

I gave the key several twists. I stopped. I decided to undo it a bit.

I uttered 'I don’t'...'

I raised my view to her but instead a tall caped figure stood in her position.

I knew who he was. And I gave him what was his.

He flicked the metronome.

The heart monitor was indicating 80 beats per minute.