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Law in Contemporary Society
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Confessions-- By KatherineOk - 22 May 2025 (version 2)MARIA DID NOT KNOW WHAT TIME SHE GOT IN BED.At one point, she turned the light on again and opened a book, one that was tucked half-heartedly under a pillow. She had not read past two pages. Most likely, she read the same words, over and over, sharply reminding herself to snap back to the journey of Hans Castorp. Because it would be good, at this time in her life, to read about Hans Castorp, his charmless life, the grim journey with sentences that trigger drools and scenes that howl of stagnancy. Her eyes felt thick. She thought of many things. “It is remarkable how a man cannot summarize his thoughts in even the most general sort of way without betraying himself completely, without putting his whole self into it, quite unawares, presenting as if in allegory the basic themes and problems of his life.” This was a lengthy line Maria once read in an English exercise book. It clung to her like a burr. Though Maria was now twenty-five years old and no longer in school, she recalled the line – truly, the fact it was by the preeminent, Thomas Mann – when last Friday, John smiled while proclaiming his great interest in the Nobel Prize winner. At that time Maria laughed for no reason at all – she laughed at nothing, realizing while laughing that there was nothing. She felt slightly idiotic but not ashamed. Sometimes, when she met others, at parties, dinners, coffees – Maria felt a feeling like this: punctured by a spirit that was pointing, wagging a finger, at her very core, through her spine, announcing, “This is me! This is you!” It would make her senses drunk, and it would be a bit frightening, but there was a whispered sense of urgency, from someone, something, and even a thought of holiness to the interaction. Timing was everything, and bodies would be nothing. This was possibly why Maria was enraptured with such delight, such fear when she went to the New York Philharmonic last year, to see Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 9. And oh, this might be why, too, Maria can only point to the why, the rattling metallic ball inside her chest, when she sits with words or listens to symphonies or prays to Christ. During the fourth movement, Maria hardly thought to loosen her fists. There was a terrible feeling of being wound-up with every push and swell of the strings, but she sat in the dark balcony. Every time she thought that this was it -- this was where something -- no more waiting -- the world would end -- the moment passed. Something, someone, went through her. It could have been the indefatigable French horns or the weak little violins. And, just when she thought it was over, something was back. Up her soul rose. Now, it was next morning. In the morning it was raining. You could hear some cars driving by the back of the house, splashing up mud when they crossed over a small divot. It was only March, but spring had come early. Maria walked past a couple of avenues. What remained unclear was what aspect of that morning had made her walk in this wet hanging dampness. It was Sunday. She looked to the sky and saw small shadows of birds – crowds of them – flying a little further to the south. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes. Soon she saw Colm. He was with his sister Beth. Colm was a physician in training. His expression was quite hard but fantastically earnest. Beth was a writer. She had light hair and wore a white dress and had polished nails. Maria had known the pair since she was little. Their parents were friends for a period of time. Now they were not but somehow the three of them had kept in somewhat casual touch and she would see them at times to eat dinner or drink cocktails. Colm and Beth were sitting on wicker chairs despite the rain. They were under a canopy. "Hi," Maria called. Colm and Beth turned. Colm had a smile that crinkled half-up and half-down in a way that made him look quite winsome but also displeased and humorless. It went like that just now. How long has it been? A year? The pair sat up. "Oh, Maria! How are you?" Colm said. "Why, fine!" Maria said. Colm smiled his crinkled smile again. Beth smiled too, and Maria put her hand on Beth's chair. Maria's stature sort of went to a drunken contrapposto. "Well, I haven't seen you two in so long! How are you?" Maria asked again, more specifically towards Colm. "How is school?" Colm blinked quickly, and Maria noticed Beth uncrossing her legs. "Well, I have news!" he announced. "Oh, yes?" said Maria, in a pinched voice. Maria knew of this news. The truth was Maria was awfully kept up on the news. Colm had left the medical field to start his training in seminary. It was not so much a shock but rather a confirmation – yes, that was it, confirmation of reality. And yet, here she was! Standing with her fingers tracing the woven back of Beth's chair. Maria was attracted to extreme personalities. Extremely bad, extremely good -- the common denominator was provocation. The provoking thing about Colm were his personal beliefs. They were not reckless, nor they were cruel, but through conviction they were ravishing. Maria did not know whether to agree or disagree half the time in their youth. He would speak in evenings with an unshaken strength. Opposaition felt impossible and agreement felt frightening. He often spoke of universal love. And to him, belief was not about feeling, it was about discipline -- this was something Colm once told Maria. God was not there. People want to be told what to do in a way that makes them feel free. We should all be free. She looked at Colm with a steady glance, trying to make out the root of this earnestness. But to think of Colm and his thoughts set her senses ablaze with fear. It was difficult to not immediately abandon the question of who and what and where Colm had been. Maria's perception stirred, and she felt a sort of despair. She was always strangely possessive over him, and she knew this. “Turns out we don’t know Colm very well, Maria,” Beth said suddenly, with a defiantly flashing smile, towards the two of them. “He’s always up to these things. But how could we have expected this? I’ve been everywhere and seen and done everything but somehow this snuck up on me.” They didn’t say anymore really after that. +++ Later Maria found herself in a narrow bar just off 2nd, seated on a velvet stool whose edge was worn smooth. She had not intended to come here, not exactly, but her feet had conspired with her mind’s inertia and brought her, without much discussion, into this damp place. There was the faint smell of citrus and varnish. At any rate Maria ordered a drink she didn’t especially like and sat near the corner of the bar, where she could see everything without appearing to look. The stools were all taken, and the people who filled them spoke in alternating registers of laughter and imperceptible notes of wistfulness. And it so appeared that Maria could tell who was cheerful by nature and who only had the scent of personal satisfaction. The distinction was in the gestures – subtle habits of movement, rocking back and forth, ecstatic hovering. To her right, a man in a wool coat was rattling something to a woman who watched him with the curious expression of someone being interviewed for a job she had not applied for. The woman, in a black slip dress and gold hoops, nodded in small, precise motions. He had a popular face, with an expression that leapt out of advertisements and television screens. Maria thought, as she sometimes tried to in such moments, that the whole scene resembled something architectural. Evidently this felt like off-Broadway. Maria looked down into her glass. An ice cube cracked. After her drink, she went on, planning to cut across Main. Maria was just stepping into the street when it happened. A sharp crash that made the night snap open. She became aware of a screaming sound, and the words “Oh, my God!” repeated over and over. The pavement trembled a little, and Maria found herself crouching on the ground. Her hands were getting dirty. Somewhere behind her, tiny pieces of glass had sprayed through the air. These pieces sparkled on the ground. A car alarm wailed. Women softly screamed in a staggered sort of way, as if uncertain whether the moment required performance or retreat. Maria’s hands were still pressed against the wet pavement, the texture of it was bumpy. This was perhaps her first time being this close to the street. Her patent leather shoe scraped against the brick and her knees were tucked under her chest. The first thought that came to Maria, oddly, was not fear, but embarrassment and confusion of what she was exactly doing. She felt, momentarily, like a character in someone else’s dream. The bar she had just left now bled light onto the street in fractured shapes. Maria looked behind her. One of the windows had been broken entirely. A street pole had come down at a sharp angle through the glass, slanting like a snapped mast into the darkened lounge, wires flicking lazily in the dust. You could see where it had struck the marble top of the bar—there was a smear of soot and something darker. Chairs were askew, with crumbled wood and stone. A man staggered past her holding his ear. Within minutes, someone had begun to explain what had happened. The bar was still about five yards away from Maria. She was still on the ground. A man in a coat shouted over his shoulder that there had been an accident. ‘Freak accident,’ he clarified. A street pole had collapsed and crashed into the front window of the bar. When Maria got home, she heard on the radio that the pole was engineered incorrectly, and its structure was unsupported, leading to its collapse. One person had been badly crushed – a woman, she may never walk again. Her fiancé had tried to push her out of the way, but the pole just fell across her legs. The city government was looking into what other factors may have led to its collapse but for now it was a plain tragedy. Lots of people talked on the segment about how sudden it all was. Later, a call from Colm. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “Yes, I’m all right,” Maria said, slowly. “Nothing happened to me, I left the bar a few moments before it happened. I don’t know how I managed to not be there.” Maria pushed aside a curtain and put her hand down on a piano. She moved her hand, and the faint sheen of her handprint – sweat – remained. Throwing open the window she talked on the phone in darkness.You are entitled to restrict access to your paper if you want to. But we all derive immense benefit from reading one another's work, and I hope you won't feel the need unless the subject matter is personal and its disclosure would be harmful or undesirable. To restrict access to your paper simply delete the "#" character on the next two lines:
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