She took a book from the shelf and came back downstairs. In the living room, everyone was watching Jamie Oliver cooking something delicious. At least, that's how it looked from where she was standing. She sat at the kitchen table, lit up a cigarette and opened the book. For five or ten minutes, everything was the same. Then mom entered:

"You're smoking, again. You said you'd quit."

"Oh, mom, don't start again with the theory. I didn't quit. I was just on a very short break."

"But, you know how bad it is for your health."

"I know, mom, all these facts. They are everywhere."

"So?"

"So what? I'm smoking now. That's that."

"Promise me you'll smoke less."

"Oh, mom, don't start again. Ok, I'll try."

Her mom left the kitchen in a hurry to catch the end of Jamie Oliver's show. She remained at the kitchen table with the book opened. She didn't feel like reading. She wanted to do something different that afternoon. Closing her eyes, she started browsing her mind for an activity that could entertain her for a few hours, maybe even get her out of the house that was pressing against her shoulders every minute. Going to the mall, some window shopping popped up.

"Mom, I'm going out. I won't be long."

"Where are you going now?"

"To the mall."

Her mom returned to her show and didn't ask any more questions. She was focused on the cooking and couldn't process other information. She wanted to tell her mom a few things, but gave up quickly when she saw that no one was interested.

A few moments later she went to her room, took a shower and put on some clothes she found lying around. Luckily, they were clean. She grabbed her purse and left. She reached the bus station, thinking of calling someone to join her, but her phone wasn't in the bag. The bus came after five long minutes. She got on and sat on an empty chair by the window...They were moving slowly. The bus stopped at a station, more passengers got on. '4 got on the bus, 2 validated. Validate now!' said the electronic display from behind the driver's seat. Of course, this was inaccurate. More passengers got on. Who knows how many validated!? Not being a life and death matter, she focused again on the outside. More grey blocks of flats.

"Trying to change some things. This could be an objective to consider. Then the question is what things to change. One moment you make a list of four or five or six aspects important to you, the next minute you draw up another list with million other entries. Then you change your mind again. And you continue spinning 90, 180, 360 degrees with the speed of light with no result. Then you give up, you don't decide to begin, you leave everything as is. But nothing is the same, whether you want it or not, the circumstances are changed. You open the blank page and start writing what crosses your mind. Suddenly, a quarter of a page is filled out with nothing in particular, only with words that do not serve any purpose or anyone, just hanging on the white background. They do not even comfort the writer or the reader, whoever he/she is. You never know that. And it is not important. Maybe nobody should read, they do not mean anything to anyone anyway. Just a few lines left for a while there and meant to be erased a while later."

"What the fuck is this? You were supposed to write a paragraph on the war in Afghanistan."

"Shut your mouth! Let me think for a few minutes."

John ran through the park that morning. He was wearing his training suit and his sports shoes. His watch on his wrist, counting the seconds to the end of the race. It was getting harder and harder every time. He would stop more often for deep breaths in the fresh air, he would look at the watch every five minutes. Two more minutes. The end. He sat down on a bench in front of the lake and watched the ducks.

"What am I doing?" articulated John.

"Jogging!?" came an answer from nowhere.

"Oh, sorry. I wasn't asking you."

"Maybe you should see a doctor."

"Thanks for the tip."

The conversation ended with the person giving him a piercing look and John started walking home. It was 8 o'clock. Monday. He wasn't hurrying and he wanted to have a coffee somewhere, away from the terribly white kitchen of his. There was a small bar in his neighbourhood and it was empty and open. Of course, the coffee tasted and almost looked like the boiled water it was made of, but he drank it anyway. Luckily the view to Central Park was filling in the blanks left by the drink. After twenty minutes, he got up and left.

"Hey, stop! You have to pay for the coffee!"

"Oh, sorry. You know it tasted awful. Here you are."

"Still, you can't leave without paying."

"Bye."

He couldn't help thinking of the new week, of work, of every little thing that formed his life. He couldn't help feeling distracted, reviewing in his mind pictures he saw in a travelling agency, documentaries on TV or that book at the bookshop. Nothing was related to what he was actually doing each and every day. "Where was that agency?" Trying to remember the place, his flashbacks indicated a corner of a street and a blue building, he bumped on a border. Suddenly, his face was warm and red. His nose hurt. He was alive. He got up and looked into a window on the right. He called an ambulance and went to the hospital, then home. No work, no jogging, no activity, just rest, the eyes fixed on the only white wall of the living room, inert, for twenty-four hours.

"Sometimes, when I am walking down a street, I usually watch the architecture of the houses or the colour of their facade and I think of our house and how I would like it to be."
"Really, is that what you do? I don't give a damn about it. I just walk on without any interest in anything. Maybe just the destination and the shortest route there."
Their conversation continued as they were waiting for the green light. It was 8 o'clock in the morning and they were both going to work. Suddenly, they saw someone running like a professional athlete on the tram tracks. He was wearing the uniform every man wore to work, black suit and tie. No shoes, though.
"What is he doing?"
"I have no idea. Let's turn on the radio and listen to the news."
"I doubt they'll comment on this. The green light's on. Let's follow him."
"Are you nuts? I'll be late for work the third time this week. I can't afford that."
However, they followed the runner with their eyes, almost crossing the other lane when a horn scratched their ears.
"Pay attention to the road!"
"I was following him. Didn't you say that?"
They took a deep breath and calmed down, but didn't stop watching the runner. Their car was moving slowly on the road, disturbing the traffic. The other cars were passing by, with the drivers half out of the window trying to make themselves heard by the two persons that seemed to be focused on anything else but the road. They went on, after that man, until the next junction. He stopped in the middle of the road and rested for two minutes.
"Hey, are you alright?"
"Yes, I have just quit my job and I have felt like running a little."
"Congratulations. What are you going to do next?"
"I don't know... I really don't."
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yes."
"Wow, maybe I should do that too."
"Run in your suit, barefooted?"
"No, not that. Quit my job, not go to work anymore, do something else, never see their faces ever again."
"I'm worried now. Are you alright? You seem like hundreds of miles away from here. Where are you?"
"I can't tell you now. Ask me again during lunch break."

He wasn't thinking about where he was going. He just jumped into his car and started driving. His feelings were unfolding one by one in his heart, transforming into thoughts in his mind. The question that he kept on repeating was why? He could not understand why everything happened. It was probably an answer that he would never receive. He saw the "have a nice trip" sign on the right and thought he should go on to the next town to see what was going on there. He had heard there was a concert in the main square and he decided to attend. He didn't particularly enjoy rock music, but this time it was the best medicine for him. He reached the centre of the city, he parked his car and headed for the mass of people in front. Suddenly, there she was standing in the crowd with a bottle of water in her hand. She was dressed in a short skirt and a white t-shirt. Her legs were slim and shone in the dim light of the lightpole. He went directly to her and stood right next to her.
"Nice music, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Are you a fan?"
"No, I just needed a breath of fresh air and the footsteps brought me here."

They played the game of cat and mouse. You know, when you meet someone, it's that staying alert that tires you until the end of the day. You listen, you look, you taste. What if everything is perfect? You know perfect doesn't exist. There has to be a flaw. But what if you can't help yourself and be completely honest? You do that when you become sure. But what if you are panic stricken as well? You do things, you say things you shouldn't say, you realise when it is too late what your mistakes are. Well, then you try again, nothing is as it should be, because when two broken hearts meet, it's difficult to connect and listen to each other's beat at the same time. All the bullshit goes on, you cannot take it, you cannot stop it. Each heart with its own bullshit. All this time, each heart follows its details trying to make up a story of its own for its own peace of mind. Each looks, listens, beats faster or slower. And when they find their details, they stop. One cannot wait anymore, the other just starts beating. Strange. Why should things happen when you want them? Well, they just don't. They take their time, they wait, and they act when they want to. But one heart disappears, while the other answers certain questions that seemed stupid at the time they were asked. One heart thinks of the reason for which it made those choices. Knowing that life was somewhere else, then moving to that particular place. All these seemed non-sense at the time, without the prospects of finding answers to them. Then, going to work seemed a journey of initiation every time, taking too long and crossing a whole town. But that particular street and that particular building on the left always caught the attention. When memories come back, together with other such bits of surreal information, the heart starts beating faster and faster. It starts believing that it has sorted out the most important mystery of life. But how could it tell such a thing? It seems like something taken from a surrealist novel, where nothing makes any sense. Just pieces put together like a puzzle where everything fits together perfectly. The hearts beat together, feel each other. One goes on its way and the other one is torn to even more pieces than it was before. One phone call in the middle of the night was enough to ruin everything. One asked for it, the other one gave it without a blink of an eye. Then, there remains the question: Who won the game of cat and mouse? Wondering, celebrating.

John was watching TV when the phone rang. He reached to the receiver, but it was on the other side of the table. He leaned back on the couch, resting his head on the cushion. The phone kept on ringing, screeching his eardrum deeper and deeper. Finally he picked it up and said "hello". His mother tried to greet him, but she seemed to be drowning, barely able to inhale.

"What's the matter, mom?" John was up and ready to leave. He was looking all over the place for the car keys. He started lifting the vase, the books, the plates from the coffee table. The shelves were full of books and pictures. The hanger was in the hall, he wanted to search the pockets as well.

"Your father...he had a...stroke. We're at the hospital." she answered after two minutes.

"I'll be right there. I just have to find my keys."

"I can't talk to the doctors. Your father..."

"Mom, everything will be alright. He will be fine. I'm on my way."

The keys were hiding behind the vase on the coffee table. He remembered throwing them there last night when he came home from the party. He only wanted to close his eyes and wake up the next morning. She was there, dancing with that guy. They separated two years ago, so he shouldn't have felt the need to throw a punch. He turned his eyes away and ordered a beer. He focused on that the three hours he stayed there.

He grabbed the keys and ran out to the car. In a blink of an eye he was at the hospital. The camera from the stoplight took a snapshot of him crossing the red light. He almost heard it. He entered the hospital and looked for his mother. She was sitting on a chair with her napkins between her fingers. She raised her eyes and saw him standing there.

"Don't worry. I'm here now."

John was travelling by train to the meeting in Connecticut. He was forced by his manager to attend because their company had to be represented. His presentation had been already written by their accounting office, something about financial statements. They knew he didn't know very much about it, so they had written it as a speech to be read from pieces of paper scattered all over the desk. The requirements didn't state that the speaker should be an accountant. Nobody wanted to go; Lisa had to visit her parents, Mitch had tickets to the game. John knew he was being set up with this, but he played their game anyway. New places and new faces would help him order the agenda that was unfolding in his mind. The rent, the bills, the job, Jeanie. Not necessarily in that order. Mostly Jeanie. She would pop up in front of his eyes during meetings, when he would work at the computer, passing by the TV. Her figure would remain for a longer time there, silent and spectacular. He always enjoyed watching her wash the dishes or vacuuming. He would study her handling the tubes or the plates; she would always care not to break anything. 'Again, Jeanie. Stop this nonsense.' John filled his lungs with air and watched the cornfields through the train window. He remembered that he had packed a small sandwich before he left home that morning. He stood up and took it from the bag. He sat down again and started eating. Each bite would stop in his throat. He had to drink water to help the pieces reach their final destination. There, they felt like small rocks bouncing on the pavement when cars passed by. After a few minutes, everything calmed down as if nothing ever happened. Great, next bite. After one hour, he threw the napkin into the bin and dragged the file with presentation from his suitcase. Suddenly a drop of blood poured on the small desk in front. 'Shit', shouted John, forgetting that he had neighbours on the right and on the left. They were reading peacefully their newspaper. One of them was listening to music, he could see his feet tapping the rhythm. He began reading the presentation, accounts, calculations, numbers all over. 'How can this be interesting to anyone? Whatever. I just have to read them, that's all.'

The quest ended that moment when they shook hands. It was a simple touch of fingers, saying "nice to meet you". That sealed the soul search everyone does during a lifetime. A constant movement from place to place, until you find what you are looking for. And you're always waiting for things to pop up and strike you in  the eye. But that moment the waiting seemed to have stopped. You stop and wonder, is it really happening? You cannot believe what is going on, you question everything, you suspect all sorts of things. You cannot enjoy the fucking moment because you are concerned with these stupid questions. Then, something happens and changes everything. You see yourself thrown into the fucking waiting game all over again. But this time, you know what you are waiting for. You feel a big ball rolling over and over in your chest, scratching the edges of your thorax. Suddenly, you have to inhale deeper and deeper. This ball stops rolling from time to time, to start again harder and harder. You turn on the radio, maybe it'll calm it down. But, no. It doesn't work. Because the ball brought its friend, the small nail in the stomach, stinging and stinging and stinging. And you are again waiting for the antidote to clear all this out. To collect all these tools that you have swallowed all at once and take them away. But, they keep on living inside your body, a constant reminder that you are alive, that life has not ended yet.

John woke up that morning, set on finishing the project he was working on. Lidia was away at the conference in Connecticut, he was alone with a lot of time to kill. He poured some coffee into his cup and went to the drawing board. After five minutes, his doorbell rang. There was Chris.

“Hi, John. How are you?”

“Chris, what are you doing here? I thought you were visiting your parents this weekend.”

“Well, I've changed my mind. I've come to take you out for a walk through Central Park. Look at the sky. Not a trace of clouds at all. What do you say?”

“Ok, I can’t focus on my sketch anyway. Let's go.”

They put on their jackets and left. Central Park was only 10 minutes away on foot. When they entered the park, it was already full of people jogging, roller-skating, reading, laughing. There was a constant buzz everywhere you turned. Suddenly, John saw some children running around, exchanging coloured chalk. He stopped to look at what they were doing, having short flashbacks from his second grade.

“What are you doing here?”

“There's a competition of asphalt drawings. It's the 1^st of June today, remember?”

“Of course. What are you drawing?”

“We're making the picture of a farm, but we don't know how to draw the horse. Will you help us?”

“Sure, give me a piece of brown chalk, please.”

John sat on his knees and showed them everything step by step. He looked at the children's faces, they were listening carefully to what he was saying, trying to copy each of his moves. They were involved into something important, trying to win the competition. John remembered his colleagues from the office, his unfinished project. These children made his heart beat faster, his mind focus on the basic rules of drawing and a simple manner to explain them how everything was done. He left them there working on their little project and looked for Chris. His mind was still thinking of those second graders arguing over the pieces of chalk.

The night was coming quickly and they couldn't find the way to the cottage. The forest was too thick for them to approach, they had to stick to the path. The branches were cracking behind them, some birds were fluttering their wings on the right. The owl cried once. John looked up to the canopies. The leaves were moving, the branches were waving, the forest was loud. Lidia couldn't utter anything. She checked her watch and the rucksack for a sandwich. Nothing left.
"John, we don't have any sandwiches left", said Lidia, already picturing herself eating flies and bugs living on the forest floor.
"Don't worry, we'll reach the cottage in no time. We don't need food"
John tried to keep it together, at least one of them should. He had to find the marks and the way back.
"Lidia, give me the map."
Lidia was thinking of the warm soup she was going to eat in half an hour, maybe, and the hot cocoa she longed for.
"Lidia, Lidia. Give me the map!!!"
John's words seemed to scratch Lidia's ears like a sharp nail. She covered them with her hands, trying to keep the sound out. She bent down.
"Lidia, what's wrong with you? We're close. Just give me the damn map."
John saw her eyes moving from one side to another like small particles. Lidia sat on the cold ground, her hands on her ears. 

He had been staring at the sign in front for over half an hour. He had been travelling for over two weeks, alone, in the mountains. The sun was up in the sky, burning everything that didn’t have the brown colour. Luckily, he had a hat on, so he was safe from insolation. His bottle had enough water to last him for two more hours. “Stop. End of road.” How can that be? The map clearly showed that it connected the two small villages in that area. Could he be lost? He couldn’t. He had his compass and it pointed the right direction. Suddenly, a figure appeared from the other side.

“Joan”, said Chris.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”, but the figure did not listen to him and moved on.

“Joan, wait. Where are you going?”, shouted Chris, taking a hasty step towards it.