K was walking down Runeberginkatu. He was drunk, after a party. He left it early. It was just too much for him. Too much fun. Too much people dancing and drinking. He never really learned how to deal with other people’s happiness. And he was never happy, what means he just never learned to deal with his own happiness as well. Drinking only led him to talking to much. Most of it crap. And to doing stupid things. Mostly concerning only himself, but not always. That night he simply wasn’t on the mood to risk doing something stupid that might involve someone else.
Nights were getting colder but, probably due to the drinks, he couldn’t really feel it that time. Maybe he was simply getting used to it. That was a optimist view. One that he certainly couldn’t allow himself to have. Down Runeberg K got to the Opera House. You know it already. You know what it means, don’t you? K was confronted with a choice. Turn left would mean getting home, to the warmth o his bed, in which he probably would sleep as soon as he lied down (which was a new and rewarding experience). But it also meant loneliness. Well, not exactly loneliness, to be honest, loneliness was common, loneliness was good. Going home would mean have to deal with the demons he created himself, with memories and lost hopes, and stuff like that. And he didn’t want that. If it was his only option it would have been better to stay at the party, drinking and numbing his senses like everybody else. But it wasn’t his only option. If he went the other way he would get to the stone church. To the lioness. He hadn’t been there since he met her. He didn’t really know why. Maybe he couldn’t choose when to go there, he could only climb the church’s walls when the statues wanted him to. That night he felt them calling him.
Climbing the walls half-drunk proved itself way harder than he had expected at first. The cold – for him – wind didn’t help any bit as well. It took him time, and when he got there he was feeling cold, his lips were probably blue, and his arms and legs ached terribly. He didn’t want to think about getting back down. He just stood there for a while, watching the city from above. Taking deep breaths. He didn’t feel drunk anymore. It was surprising how places grew on him. How in a short amount of time some places became dear, became meaningful. He hoped that the Lioness would reach him again this time. She didn’t so he went looking for her. He found lots of statues, lots of gargoyles. All of them were really made of stone and none were a Lioness. He couldn’t understand, he felt the magic up there calling him. He felt disappointed. He took a leak on one of the roof’s edges, as most of people need when they are getting sober, and took care that no one was down there. Then he lied on the roof, protecting himself from the wind. He closed his eyes, almost unconsciously. And he drifted away.
But not for long. Through his eyelids K could sense a light. At first he thought the moon had left her hideout on the clouds. But it was too bright, usually it wasn’t supposed to be that bright. And it was only getting brighter. He had to fight his laziness to open his eyes. He was so tired he could probably had fallen asleep right there. But he didn’t. Instead he opened his eyes. And as he did so, he thought he was dreaming, for what he saw was impossible. It was an angel.
Most of people don’t know this, but you can tell which angel you are actually looking at by the color of its eyes. Though, K didn’t need that much to know which one was that. It was the Angel of Fate, that was obvious. It had long hair, fair features, and, even though angels are not supposed to have sexes, K would have said it was a woman. Apparently he wasn’t able to meet real women, only mythical ones. Probably metaphorical ones. That’s supposed to be a kind of madness, isn’t it? Just like talking about yourself in the third person.
As the angel descended, her great bright wings became smaller, she became more real. K said nothing. He simply stood there gazing at her, trying to find out if it was real or a dream. Silly boy, indeed, to think dreams are not real. And sillier still to think angels are somewhat more unlikely than statues coming to life. Her tap-dancer shoes touched the roof with a gentle sound. Almost too gentle. It didn’t go well with the face she was wearing. As if she was bringing bad news. “But fuck, of course she is bringing bad news, she’s the fucking angel of fate” thought K. And he was right.
K wasn’t able to speak the language of the angels, so they had to speak in English. Most of what she said was known to him already: “It doesn’t matter how many good things come across you, you’ll always be sad” the angel said, and “you’ll travel, many things you’ll see, but your needs will never be satisfied, for you are one of those who need what they want and need to want always, as a famished monster.” Some others were new, and K didn’t believe them. Because we never believe when someone tells something about us that we don’t agree with. Even when this someone is actually an angel. K knew that very well, most of his life people didn’t believe in what he said about them. Even when they knew he was a good observer. But that’s just how things are, right? K had to interrupt the angel as she was saying what he thought as bullshit – and was actually true, as most of the things about ourselves we don’t believe in – and tried to get her into a conversation. He was good at it. In no time he was telling her all of his problems. If you can’t trust an angel to hear your confession, who else would you trust?
The boy even get to the point where he was telling the angel about his philosophies, about how he believed the world to really be. Some of it were shit, like when he told her that “If you are an ugly guy like me, it’s better not to be nice, ‘coz if you’re nice no one will ever want to fuck you, they’ll want to be your friends instead”, and that left her speechless, and shocked with how stupid he could be. The rest of it was just as shitty, but she could understand how that made sense to him, like when he tried to justify her predictions. At least the ones he believed in. It was a question of choice. We would never be able to cope with being something else than what he wanted to be. And sadness was the only one that really felt as a choice. And how he wanted not to be simply loved, as everybody wanted, but to be adored, remembered. Well, there’s more to that than it, of course. But most of it is useless. Most of it you’ll read, or listen, or realize, in the near future, certainly.
The angel gave him a hand to get back down. She even gave him her phone number, in case he needed someone to talk to. Most of conversation in heaven was so boring. And maybe next time they could meet at a café or some other place a little bit warmer.
K then walked up Mannerheimtie singing Bowie’s Rock N Roll Suicide: “Ah, you’re not alone”.
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