Sometimes he would get a kick out of providing a play-by-play of his own rather ordinary day.
Zoe used to love it. She was more than likely doing just about the same yet again today, high upon her throne at the Conservatory.
The format would always remain the same. You see it, you say it.
So he's got two eggs in a pan with butter popping all over and he salts and peppers them in the pan and lets the toast get dark and pulls out one of his new plates, bought them just because he was so tired of seeing the other ones… Zoe would have agreed… She was always so agreeable and also good when he was not so agreeable…
He shakes some large juice containers… Pours thick mango… Cranberry… Carrot juice… He made this perfection and then drank it. He did what savoring people do… He savored and gratefully… Gratitude was manifest, fullness of life in the witnessing of nourishment upon the good fruits of the earth.
It was a day just like any other, or so he had assumed. The yokes were golden. If the man had a dollar for every egg he had ever eaten… My goodness!
While eating, he thumbs through a fishing magazine he found online. Then it happens: the screen flashes; at first, large red banners, then, black words on a white screen.
UKRAINE UNDER SIEGE.
As with anyone, he usually flips about from page to page as a habit, just to be sure he's not missing out on anything happening with Facebook or Instagram or a few of his favorite newspapers.
But for now the morning was over. The eggs of course were still on the plate half eaten, juice half gone, it had actually happened in real life. For weeks people had been talking about the madness of the Russian dictator, so many times before having heard his nationalistic diatribes, the libido dominondi – the lust for power – which fueled much of his rhetoric for many years. As troops had been amassing the nearby border the international community waited to see whether he would actually attack Ukraine in an effort to destroy its government and reclaim it as Russian territory.
Today he did so. Commands were given and missiles struck the otherwise quiet and peaceful cities of Mariupol and Donetsk, first near the south, then more toward the north and east.
What on earth? What on earth…?
An hour later down at the station with coffee by the window, he found himself unable to stop turning back again and again to watch the screen in the corner that Anthony had turned on to 24 hour news. The place was still abuzz with activity and also a very strange tone, only a hush of murmurings heard here and there. No, the room was focused with shock and fear. After a few requests Anthony turned the volume up, making it an almost exclusive presentation to the entire room.
Volunteer college students who cared for disabled children at a school in Kiev were interviewed as cameras captured precious bundles of smiling, crying, bright and blank faced third-graders who were being lifted into a railway car for evacuation.
He sketched a tank. It's top was open and a man peered out looking through binoculars.
We should go over and kill that son of a bitch, someone said. A few people cleared their throats after that and one person got up to throw away their napkin. The news anchor promised the president would speak in the next 10 minutes.
Something like a pulse seemed to return to the room as though everyone agreed to check back in 10 minutes. He thought about moments… Moments.
What was the president doing right this moment? How many millions of people all around the world were receiving news of these horrendous acts of war? What was coming next?
The sun broke out and he watched the sky through the window for a moment while a cloud approached closely and then he watched it move further until it was completely eclipsing the light.
[This ends Book 2: Zoe's Flow. Please enjoy Book 3: Eclipse]
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