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Notes10/24/2020
ScentBubble
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ScentBubble
8
The Gate
It was late, very late. The small town where he lived had almost completely come to rest. Vehicle noises here and there, hardly audible.
Slowly he walked through the gate, set off. The further he moved away from it now, the greater the silence around him became.
Autumn had long since arrived and the nights were getting cool. He closed his jacket and pulled up his collar, raised his shoulders a little. Took a deep breath. It must have rained. The air was clean, it smelled like mother earth. The scent he had put on - he always did that when he visited this place, he only did it for himself - was in perfect harmony with what was happening and what was to happen. The top note - cypress, but above all grapefruit - which always made him smile, lifted him up, gave him strength on days like these, receded more and more into the background. Vetiver began to control what was happening, dark and earthy, sucking him into this place. The aquatic note harmonized in unsurpassable perfection with the rain-soaked, woody, heavy air that surrounded him. Even if he couldn't have heard the fallen leaves rustling, he would still have felt it, with every breath he took.
Step by step by step. Moonlight. Shadows. Silence. The night calmed him down, gave him security. Security for what he wanted to do - had to do
The way - he didn't need to see it, he knew it already. He had walked it many times. Alone. He had to walk it alone.
Schematically she was recognizable, the silhouette, everything towering over everything. He stopped one last time, took a deep breath. He continued his way, step by step, until he stood right in front of her.
He had reached the instrument.
The big bass guitar stood in front of him.
Momentarily his time travel into the past began. He stood in the rehearsal room of his band, right in front of his 412 box. The tubes of his rectifier were pumping, giving everything; doing what was expected of them. He felt every single touch of the guitar directly in the pit of his stomach. And the smell was there again - a smell he had only been able to perceive in rehearsal rooms before. Overturned beer bottles, cold cigarette smoke, dust, plastic, wood. Hard to put into a few words, but every rock musician - scent friend or not - was able to describe it all of a sudden. The bass player, his buddy, his friend, stood diagonally in front of him, as he always did. Tall, calm, eyes closed, completely at one with the music.
He smiled - how long had it been?
Over eight years. My God, how quickly time had passed
EIGHT. YEARS.
More than eight years ago, he was ripped out of life by a terrible car accident. Single-car accident. Game drive.
His family had had a very special gravestone made for him, one that did justice to him. An oversized bass guitar, bigger than all the other gravestones around it.
He could no longer recognize them for a long time. Tears smeared his eyes. He had crouched down and heard himself sobbing. But it was the only way to bear it, the only way to live his grief. He could be sure that he was alone with her as long as he wanted it, needed it
Time went by, he didn't know how much. It was completely indifferent to him - like many other things when he was in that place. Absolutely indifferent. Only the moment counted
Finally the tears dried up. The breath calmed down. He slowly straightened up, stood still, took a deep breath and raised his hand to say goodbye. He made his way back.
Step by step by step.
For Schulle. I miss you, my friend. Every day more.
Slowly he walked through the gate, set off. The further he moved away from it now, the greater the silence around him became.
Autumn had long since arrived and the nights were getting cool. He closed his jacket and pulled up his collar, raised his shoulders a little. Took a deep breath. It must have rained. The air was clean, it smelled like mother earth. The scent he had put on - he always did that when he visited this place, he only did it for himself - was in perfect harmony with what was happening and what was to happen. The top note - cypress, but above all grapefruit - which always made him smile, lifted him up, gave him strength on days like these, receded more and more into the background. Vetiver began to control what was happening, dark and earthy, sucking him into this place. The aquatic note harmonized in unsurpassable perfection with the rain-soaked, woody, heavy air that surrounded him. Even if he couldn't have heard the fallen leaves rustling, he would still have felt it, with every breath he took.
Step by step by step. Moonlight. Shadows. Silence. The night calmed him down, gave him security. Security for what he wanted to do - had to do
The way - he didn't need to see it, he knew it already. He had walked it many times. Alone. He had to walk it alone.
Schematically she was recognizable, the silhouette, everything towering over everything. He stopped one last time, took a deep breath. He continued his way, step by step, until he stood right in front of her.
He had reached the instrument.
The big bass guitar stood in front of him.
Momentarily his time travel into the past began. He stood in the rehearsal room of his band, right in front of his 412 box. The tubes of his rectifier were pumping, giving everything; doing what was expected of them. He felt every single touch of the guitar directly in the pit of his stomach. And the smell was there again - a smell he had only been able to perceive in rehearsal rooms before. Overturned beer bottles, cold cigarette smoke, dust, plastic, wood. Hard to put into a few words, but every rock musician - scent friend or not - was able to describe it all of a sudden. The bass player, his buddy, his friend, stood diagonally in front of him, as he always did. Tall, calm, eyes closed, completely at one with the music.
He smiled - how long had it been?
Over eight years. My God, how quickly time had passed
EIGHT. YEARS.
More than eight years ago, he was ripped out of life by a terrible car accident. Single-car accident. Game drive.
His family had had a very special gravestone made for him, one that did justice to him. An oversized bass guitar, bigger than all the other gravestones around it.
He could no longer recognize them for a long time. Tears smeared his eyes. He had crouched down and heard himself sobbing. But it was the only way to bear it, the only way to live his grief. He could be sure that he was alone with her as long as he wanted it, needed it
Time went by, he didn't know how much. It was completely indifferent to him - like many other things when he was in that place. Absolutely indifferent. Only the moment counted
Finally the tears dried up. The breath calmed down. He slowly straightened up, stood still, took a deep breath and raised his hand to say goodbye. He made his way back.
Step by step by step.
For Schulle. I miss you, my friend. Every day more.
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