Mohsen came with much more white hairs. Now is his turn to get age and be forgotten in the local highway; as it happened to his fathers, brothers and sisters from 120 years ago, the time that we stepped into a local highway toward freedom.
Coffee and cigarettes is not only the name of a movie but also it is how people communicate in local highway. We were in the same cafe with the same owner, same people and the same bullshits but more awful for both of us. We were in a bubble; a bubble full of intellectual anxieties about Eco and Walter Benyamin, show-off about sexual freedom and drugs by human-shaped books like MP3 sounds out of computer speakers covered by a layer of smoke.
We rolled up to explode the bubble and enter again in our local highway. He is obviously happier in his car and I am more comfortable when he is happy. Once he told me he is spending most of his time in his car because it is the only place that he can be on his own as he wants.
500% increment in the price of petrol made local highways 500% less crowded and we were both happy for that. He was arguing that now you can see real archetypes in the local highways, the car-human pairs that must be in the local highways to define their identities.
And I like his argument. When I was looking around with his warm voice, I could have managed to see properly from the other side of the sunset to the stars bridge and I understood no one knows who is asleep and who is awake. Someone wants the sun to laugh and someone else wishes the rain. Someone closes the window and someone else again knocks the door.
I realized that all of us in the local highways have thousands of stories to tell, about our debts and needs, about our happiness and cries regardless if we are poor or rich, Persian or European and I think our portion in this juncture, more or less, is a basket full of smile for a momentary sadness or vice versa.
Mohsen and I on that time-space coordinate were traveling together in a local highway thinking how we can convert the cars into drops of rain although both of us believed that the global highway is going to end in a desert near no mans land.
It was our last meeting. She was going to another local highway and I in another one the day after. We were in her sister's house. She was not home but her 5 years old son, Bahador, was sleeping in the smallest room. It was midnight and I had a flower fully naked in front of mine.
We slept together and made love very slowly. It took long long time in silence. Before going to bathroom she said thank you and I said the same. We had nothing else to say. She slept immidiately and I started another night crawling. I couldn't have gone out because I didn't have the key so I went to the smallest room to take a look to Bahador's dream.
I think Bahador was dreaming a flower with three different faces. The first one was a 24 years old girl with a nice body and smile, a girl that you really feel responsibility to take care of her. But the first face was so sleepy and as far as it slept, a silly 8 years old boy woke up and made Bahador mad. He really wanted to punch his face but he didn't because he was really afraid of his shouting so he just ate his anger and the boy's crap. But at some point he started vomiting. Third face came after vomiting; when Bahador saw a miserable girl in his age crying so so painful but in her silence. The girl couldn't find any one to play with. Once she found another Bahodor and she forced herself to love him. But another Bahodor didn't want to play. That's why after that she lost her confidence. She became like a black cat attacking every Bahadors who want to play with her, a flower who had a great talent to find drawbacks in butterflies and saying NO.
I was sure that Bahador felt sorry for her but he had to leave her to play with me in his dream. We went together to a park. He was running so freely just like a bird. All of a sudden he stopped and looked to the floor. Then he turned back and gazed at me with a couple of eyes full of questions.
- Ali, are dogs getting married?
I didn't know how to answer. He understood. He changed the topic and started running again.
- Uncle Ali, I am going to my headquarter. Are you coming with me?
- No, I have to go back to your aunt. If she wakes up and can't find me she is gonna be sad and worried.
He looked at me again and to the floor as well. I turned back and left the park to enter the local highway ending to his aunt. He run like a bullet toward his headquarter, the place that no one can enter except him. He knew that so he pretended that he believed my justification.
When I entered the room she woke up. I looked at her naked body and felt effectively satisfied thinking that I was inside it twice that night.
- Ali, could you hear that?
- Someone is crying so far in space and time.
- It was just the wind
I kissed her and she just needed that to sleep again. I followed her nice neck to reach to the window and see how trees were dancing in Tehran's summer breeze.
I took an airbus for 6 hours in an aerial highway and I ended into 20 Centigrade less tempreture. Yannis was alone in the office.
We went to OVT to have a pint. It seemed that it was years between our pints. I really missed his company.
It is raining now and I am in another local highway, with black boots and a leather jacket.
After a long procedure, I've decided to finish posting in this blog with a poem which will not be posted here but in another blog. I think I've gathered enough principles to be a system freak.
That's how system freaks finish a local highway, when there is no reason for not starting a new local highway.
This is the last post of this blog.