Perfect Moment

by HelluvaGirl

Do you remember this?

She turns up the volume.


The funeral home is full of familiar faces. People looking around, recognising each other, coming up and speaking in low voices.

One of the girls, his friend’s wife, stands in front of me and says:

There was a woman. He did this because of her. It was complicated, they say. Nobody has seen her, though. I wonder if she’s here.

The girl examines my face as I nod slowly.


It’s the worst day for the living to attend a funeral. 45 degrees in the sun. My feet are swelling in the heels. I turn away from the crowd as the priest tells the sermon at the grave. I walk several steps farther from everyone, expecting a movement of air to save me. The skin is melting. I trust my lipstick, though.

A very welcome but too tender a breeze entangles in my loose beige dress. I feel a touch of a hand on my shoulder.

An elderly woman extends a white flower.

Lay it one the grave.

She looks at me smiling curiously but with a touch of forgiveness.

I nod obediently and slowly make my way towards the thick crowd.


The old Passat of 1998 that’s seen an Apocalypse is piercing the thick and sweaty heat of the day. All four windows are open.

There are four of us inside. The cult-funky-jazz-group-leader-turned-social-rebel at the front seat, whose trumpeter I dated in high school. The sweet-and-handsome-award-winning-documentary-photog who escorted me throughout the funeral. And Mrs. Nielsen. We are all from the same little town.

How about this one? I’ve done their photoshoot. And helped them move on their tour with this very oldie. Cool guys.

I stretch my arm outside the window and close my eyelids as the photographer turns up the volume. The wind messes with my hair and flutters the dress. My very soul is melting.

In moments like these, you feel like it’s all been done. It’s all possible. You can jump from the cliff, accomplish everything or flee to a place that has been longingly inviting you for ages while you were busy with the small things. The time is right and the people are, too.

What if we drive to Denmark, right now? Just go, leave everything…

As Mrs. Nielsen asks the question, it only seems reasonable to drop things and leave without a single doubt, at this perfect moment where the four of us share maybe a little more than we think.

We are alive and we have a car, and we are free to change the course of life at any moment.

I smile at the thought as the photog steps on the accelerator.