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.