Leon


Matilda taught me how to sleep. Before her, I used to 
close my eyes and pretend, and even then it was with Rusty 
racked up and ready at a nearby table and with my back 
rigid and stiff against a chair. Matilda even taught me 
how to snore, though I suppose that was more me than her. 
But Matilda taught me other things too - small things and 
large things and things that are neither small nor large 
nor important or at least, not important to the way the 
world works, and then I would teach her about Rusty and 
his other metallic friends and then she would pretend to 
learn. No, she wasn't pretending - she really wanted to 
know the trade, but I knew she was, at least, in the way 
that counts.

I know I'm not making much sense. This is all new to me - 
placing one word after another and one letter after 
another and one sentence after another and ink on paper 
and all that - new enough that I haven't forgotten it and 
I haven't forgotten her when I do it. Yes, Matilda taught 
me to write too. In fact, Matilda taught Leon until Leon 
became Leon. But I'm pretending too, at least some part of 
what I'll say here is not true, but most parts are, at 
least, in the way that counts.

I know now that Matilda needed me. Also that I needed her 
and also small things like how... But it seems I'm not 
supposed to go about this that way. I'm dead, and the dead 
should tell no tales. When I was alive, I never knew that 
about Matilda, only that after a while the world wasn't 
the same without her. I would look at her and see so many 
things that I didn't know how to put a word to. So many 
little things like her freckles, her smile, her toenails, 
her eyes, her smile, her pretty new... so many things that 
I don't know the words to. After a while and after she 
told me, I knew it was because I loved her. I never told 
her what she was to me but Matilda knows and sees 
everything, much like Leon saw and knew everything, at 
least, everything that counts.

I suppose you won't know everything about me and Matilda. 
They tell me that I can't tell you that. That's someone 
else's job and anyways I don't think I can do that well. 
Telling people things is not my thing and Matilda didn't 
change that about me. She changed me enough so that I 
could love her and I changed her enough so that she could 
smile. And then, let go. I suppose, that's what counts in 
the end, really: love. I think I gave her enough. She gave 
me more. 

--

Vysnu: http://vysnu.com/