11:55 AM

Hello Young Man,
I see you floating, 
forever in mid-air, 
forever 11:55 AM.

I didn’t know you, and you are also still very much alive to me. 

I did not want to stick around.

How I wish and wished that I didn’t make the reflex move of turning to look as I heard somebody scream around you a split second before as you were making your final irreversible step forward.

That fraction of a second, a blip of a glance, is an eternity now.

As you stood there, contemplating Life or Not, the world moved along underneath you, with tram passengers wondering why their journey was stopped, trivial discussions with a policeman at the cordoned off street about just letting us get to our gym appointment just around the corner, wondering if they were going to charge us for a session, before we noticed You, both on top of the world as well as entirely at rock bottom. Someone else arrived trying to plead with the policeman about going past – she wouldn’t grasp what was going on at all until it was too late. 

Realising what was happening, my response was that of negation and moving away – I didn’t want to be a witness, nor did I feel like it was my position to be there with you at this most desperate of moments, as if I am stealing something so private, despite how public it may seem on the surface. I wanted to get away as quickly as I could, but things were going too fast for you, for us.

Either way, you were wrong to think nobody cared about you; if all these strangers around you already cared so much in those fleeting moments of trying to understand you, then just imagine… If only our collective empathy were available in cushion form.

Not that I blame you – life can be cruel and a thousand things could have brought you to this, and I am sure all those reasons were valid to you in that moment, and all I will ever be able to do is speculate – try and talk to that image of you floating in my head. Not knowing is maybe better for us all.

I disconnect your floating self from the horrendous sound of creaking metal from a car that came after. 

I don’t think that was you, so don’t worry (also don’t look down in case it was, better safe than sorry). A flash of Weegee’s most infamous picture floated past. But again, don’t worry, that’s not you, you’re still safely up in the air, defying gravity.

Take your time up there in limbo, young man, enjoy the view and don’t ever come down if you don’t feel like it. I’ll be on the lookout for you next time I pass by and give you a little wave. As long as you are floating up there, all will be fine.

And don’t worry, it will always be 11:55 AM, you have all the time in the world.

Take care, Young Man.

T.

Postscript: I went back to where you were that same night. I saw you still suspended up in the air; I nodded in acknowledgement.

A lone candle flame and a few hastily collected flowers hinted at your Act. I observed the flame, twisting in response to the displaced air caused by passers-by who had no clue. There was some peace in that. Them not knowing, me watching time pass by from across the street.

I AM THE ANTIDOTE/CURE!

The longer I am dandling around never ever having caught any variant of the Corona thingy, I am beginning to get more and more convinced that I, Tim, am in fact the Cure to this disease. Hundreds of warnings blared from my phone in the months when those things were being used; you know how those contact tracing warnings went… “You have been in close contact with an infected person”, “You have licked the armpit of an infected person”, “Why did you let an infected person spit in your mouth?”, etcetera, etcetera. 

But none of it was ever relevant to me. 

Everyone around me got infected and there I sat, all alone atop my ivory tower, impervious to all of your germs. 

I may not just be immune, I may in fact be the solution (I know, I know, I say that a lot – but one time it’s going to be true, right? That’s just basic math.)

It has dawned on me that the bat where Covid originated and myself may share some unique characteristics – maybe it’s a bit of a Spiderman scenario, but with a bat… If only there were a name for such a creature… Manbat? Chiropteraboy? We’ll have to think about that one… 

I don’t believe in reincarnation or anything, but I do remember sleeping upside down a few times after having been on a … errmmm…. “Spiritual journey” [Editor’s note: Drunk, he means Drunk…]

The thing is, now that I’ve come to this realisation, I feel a bit uneasy, because what if “They” find out? 

What would they want from me?

What if they could find a way to make a Timmy concentrate and use that instead of the vaccine? Of course I’m willing to help out, but ideally it should come with big fat check (like comically big, so I can slap people over the head with it) and not by being abducted in the back of an unmarked van. 

Or what if the ruthless Pharma companies find out that a concentrate of Timmy could put them out of business? What if it’s not just Covid? But all disease? The shareholders won’t have that, I know that much. They’d want to eliminate me, for sure! 

An unmarked van actually parked in front of my car today, just as I was parking.

“This is it”, I whispered to myself.

I grabbed hold of the nearest weapon I could find, which happened to be an ice scraper that still seemed to have some pigeon poop residue on it when a family of pigeons decided to let themselves go on my windshield last month, which in combination with the sun’s heat, quickly became hard as a rock.

A dark-haired man stepped out, fully dressed no less (which isn’t all that odd, but that’s just what you’d expect from a contract killer). He looked at me through the windshield. 

“Fuck! He has seen me.”

I casually opened my door after checking the rearview mirror, hoping in vain that maybe I could injure an oncoming cyclist so as to cause a scene, which would no doubt have created a scene. Sadly, no cyclists came to my rescue (selfish pricks). 

The contract killer was holding a cardboard box, probably containing the gun/poison/swarm of angry hornets that would ensure my demise. I held the ice scraper behind me back. 

“Excuse me…” he shouted.

“What the fuck you do want, you low-life degenerate?”

“Ermmm… Could you maybe take this package for your neighbour, they’re not home.”

“The fuck I will! GET AWAY FROM ME!”

At this point, I revealed my pigeon shit covered ice scraper and I could see in his reaction that his cover had been blown. He tried to pretend to be confused, but I wasn’t buying it. 

“YOU STAY AWAY!” 

I made a stabbing motion with the ice scraper and I could see a tiny fragment of pigeon excrement got loose and curve-balled into his murderous half-open mouth. (And that, my friends, is how the next pandemic started…)

I write this letter as a warning that should something happen to me or I would go missing, you know what has happened! 

In the meantime, I have asked the best scientist I know (me) to develop a few potions that will contain Extract of Timmy, which will help anyone defend themselves against infections (contents and bodily fluids TBD). Interested parties can write to the usual address (please include credit card details and CVC code).