Eyes Without A Face

[ahys with-out ay feys]: Idol’s memories of the video are painful ones. His contact lenses dried out during the shoot, and when he fell asleep on a flight to his next gig in Arizona, they fused to his eyes. He had to get his corneas scraped at a hospital and wear bandages on his eyes for three days.

 

The House God Has Forgotten Part 8: The Ghosts That Are Around Us

I walked out on my way to the locker room when I saw her picture there in a frame. A plant behind it kind of shaped like a heart and a little battery operated candle in a glass jar next to it. I stare at her picture every time I walk by it when I am on my way to the locker room alone.  I stop and I think about how it is a nice picture of her.

Then my eyes slowly look down at the little plastic candle and wonder to myself; “How long does this keep working until the battery goes out?”

Maybe that is a little strange to think about when you see a memorial, but it is what runs through my mind when I see it.

When I think about her, I think of how she was when I first met her. A little conversation about where she worked before (with economy) and that I welcomed her to The House That God Has Forgotten.

I think about how I would always joke with her and her lunch buddies as they would leave the locker room in their winter coats.

I think about how we got an e-mail that she died.

I don’t know, but if for some reason I die while working at The House That God Has Forgotten, please write more than 3 lines about me. I beg of you.

“Calandra has been at The House God Has Forgotten since day one. She watched you in the cameras, helped you come into work everyday and even spent time fighting her was through the corridor that is The Corridor God Has Forgotten (otherwise known as OBS). She has watched many come and even more go, but she has stuck by us until the very end. 
We will miss her American accent and her tattered grammar. How she butchered our language every now and then with a heavy meat cleaver like it was straight out of a horror film. 
She enjoyed talking to people, listening and trying her best to be a good friend to all that needed it in The House That God Has Forgotten.”

I think we all should have a little more than 3 lines to describe us, even though it maybe is hard sometimes. But I that barely knew her wrote more than three lines.

I walked further down the corridor and looked at the garden area no one ever uses and saw that the big tree is gone.

“When did they take that down? Is that a real tree?” I thought to myself.

I forgot to notice things anymore, because everything is changing faster than I can keep track of.

When has it become that after 8 years at one place I have become the dinosaur that rides the elevators?

Everyone is gone.

So many people that if you were to run into me on the street I would be like “who in the hell are you?”

And if you were new and ran into me on the street I would be like “who in the hell are you?”

There are people I live with (I say live with because I spend the most non sleeping hours with them) in The House That God Has Forgotten that I cannot forget. Those people that have made an impact that you never forget, the ones stories will be told that live deep in the walls.

“Remember when they did this?” people will say and everyone that has been there for awhile will nod their heads.

But then the people that have been there will also disappear and so will the legends that they left behind.

I am sitting here trying to give you an example of someone I really miss that has left The House That God Has Forgotten, but they have all been replaced by nice shiny new name tags. Their names engraved on them now, so you can no longer tell if they are totally new or have worked 20 years somewhere and are a memory there.

Everyone is just a blur these days.

Then their are the people I remember. The photos that hang on the wall in the break room, where someone will ask;

“Who is that guy?” with innocence in their eyes.

“He died.” someone will say in a low somber voice that still remember him walking down the corridor.

“Oh.” they reply looking at the ground.

Just talking about him does not let me forget. How safe I felt with him when he was by my side. I knew the other guy behind the door did not have a chance. How he was smart, and loved his kids.

Now he is someone I remember.

There are more people where they are gone, but there are no pictures on the wall anywhere.

The marine that always made me laugh.

The girl I talked to one day when she was feeling really bad over my lunch break. Trying to help her feel not so alone in the world.

The guy that made everyone laugh, collected vinyl records and was great. He would call me friend and give me a hug when I saw him.

They are all gone. It is them I remember. Now she will be someone I remember too.

But it shouldn’t have to go that far. A picture, a candle, a book to sign, or even the campaign to buy flowers at a funeral.

I wonder if people have the same problem at Huddinge. If only a few people remember Karen and even if we were not there, we all do.

I honestly wish I could tell you some great stories, but my mind is at a loss. It makes The House That God Has Forgotten a train station for lost souls to stay and buy a coffee on their way to somewhere else.

When I walked out the door today I noticed the Christmas tree was gone too. When did all of these things disappear?

More importantly… why do I know what happens when a tree comes and goes and not the people I work with?

It shouldn’t need to take a picture, a plant and a battery operated candle in a glass jar to remind us.

 

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