Run down and running late, Ana walks out of her front door with the postman coming towards her. He is delivering letters to her house and she is leaving to go to work. She attempts to sidestep him and he is doing the same, they shadow each other, there’s no way past. With avoidant eye contact and movements in sync, they both go forward, looking stiff as they again block the way. The third move will, of course, allow for them each to go about the day, as it would be ridiculous to get chequered in once more. In unison they say the words:
“Sorry”.
At last, they are free, if a little bit red in the cheeks, the morning is not the time to manoeuvre in a silly dance with a stranger.
Ana walks down the street and further down by the bus-stop sees a nameless man that she once had an all-nighter with. He is all blown up now, Alcohol having become his dominant ideology, overriding the biology of his once boyish looks. She remembers the one-night they got together and feels a surge of shame, as she recalls how everything fell into a dry sorry-fest. To avoid awkwardness, she crosses the other side of the road whilst pretending to look at an intrigue on her phone, sending a cyclist hurtling off his bike. Dizzied and embarrassed he looks up at her with his head on the pavement and in an American accent says:
“Sorry”.
She isn’t sorry but says it too, adding a customary “you ok” in for good measure. All this commotion signals the attention of the one-night dude, who with eyes widened clearly recognises her and quickly diverts his gaze to the floor. Ana swears she can hear his brain shout out two very pitiful sounding syllables.
As she leaves the scene she imagines all the sorry people in the world and all of the terrible things they have done, like knocking arms with each other whilst holding the handrail on the bus. Those who accidentally-on-purpose signal the shopkeepers attention, despite not being next in line. There are the dinner party guests who snatch for the same bottle of wine in tandem, giving jerky eyebrow movements and a smiling sorry behind red wine teeth. And the middle England park walkers, letting their dog's noses wander loosely near strangers shoes, apologetic in their anxious gaits.
Of course, there are other sorry-full things with much wider repercussions, like clumsily putting a crumby buttered knife into a relatives jam-jar and ruining others future scone experiences. Or reading a friend’s treasured book in front of them, whilst ignoring the bookmark and finger folding the very first triangle on a new page.
Ana’s mind then begins to forage into wider regretful territories like why fear has always been more powerful than the desire for freedom?
She also wonders whether anyone feels the need to apologise for society degenerating into polite anxious hysteria?
Of course, she realises that historically there has always been slaves and today's variety just happen to be the ambitious executive, morally castrated by their employers, terrified by their own originality, suckering their way through life by imitation, believing their obedience the only way to win human favour. Ana believes strongly there should be a ceremonious, national apology about this, especially when taking into account her student loan debt, bleak house and general downhill struggle.
To stop blacker thoughts penetrating her mind, Ana summons up one of her most treasured romance stories, and with it comes a rush of passionate fury that becomes suddenly blocked by a boulder within her, as she sees as a revelation that - are not the fantasies of romantic love just based on dependence? With all her twisted-up positions and girly noises that she has locked herself into, why have those who have known her most intimately not thought to apologise for playing her dumb? After sitting through all those fattening family barbecues and endless cotton-wool conversations, propping one another up in a tranquillised vacuum, why has there been yet no flowers or thank-you cards? Surely her softened-face and agreeable voice; playing the pretty woman in love deserves getting on one knee for, not as that kind of proposal but to express liability.
As a matter-of-fact Ana also couldn’t remember a time when her lovers were reproachful for being addicted to applause as well as to alcohol, and this was way more regretful than some of the other things that people were happy to own their part in.
Ana wondered what the root was of all these fake sorrys and why the most important ones just got left to their own devices.
As she turns the corner Ana sees the number 55 bus at the lights, and there out of the greasy window is the one-night dude, and again they lock eyes in what seems like a last flaky goodbye. As the bus finally falls away, Ana prays to God and asks for her being to disappear into nothingness. Then with a tightening breath and a quickening pace she then asks Him if he can "please take that back”, as she doesn’t really mean it and gives thanks for all the things that she cannot think of right now that she is eternally grateful for. She then pulls out her phone and texts her boss that she's running five minutes late and asks him if he would like a Latte with Almond Milk.