Sadness, Beauty, Pathos
I will make a more complete post later, but for now, a hint as to the way things went with my day.
Wonderful lunch at my favorite Indian resturant of course. We both enjoyed it immensely.
Phone call from Dad at the end of meal -- Danger Will Robinson. He pressured me into stopping by at his office for him to meet D. Nerves were wracked. My brother showed up at the same moment we arrived. Family contact marred the day and set my emotions on edge. Bad omen.
Went to the bookstore. They were closed. The door was locked. It was dark. I saw the owner who I have known since I was a little girl pacing the back room on the phone. A sign in the window pierced me "...after 35 years...regretfully...retiring...it's been wonderful" etc. I almost started to cry. The death of another independent bookstore. The death of the past. The past being created with this store receeding from the present like a faint ghost who cannot stay being called away to another plane. I stood there stunned. Crushed. D. told me it was okay, but it wasn't. Not for me.
Somewhere along the line, tears came. We went to my secret place and sat on the bench and looked at the ducks, and swans, and I dried my eyes. Peace came to me.
We went to El Gordo chain bookstore and cafe. Making the selling of books like all things Amerikkkan: overpriced, overblown, corporate. Yay rah. Yee Haw.
Frozen cafe drinks were had. D. bought a Nick Cave CD we both wanted to hear, and he bought me an art magazine I wanted. We came home, tired, world-weary, and put on our CD and took to the couch entwined. Listened to this haunting music with D. wrapped around me, and me around him, seamlessly. It was beautiful and sad, like my life, like me and D., as I thought of him leaving tomorrow, and how fragile we both are, and how fragile this thing we have is. If we even have it. Maybe it has us. Maybe it will slip away like everything else I've ever held in my hands for a moment. More tears, during a sad song called "Love Letter". Longing in his voice, and in my heart, with this fresh raw boy in my arms. We both like two wounds bleeding in time, and then like two pillows resting softly against each other. Injury. Comfort. Beautiful sadness. Bittersweet beauty. Moment. Ephemeral and I knew it. Knew it as it was happening, and as it was passing from me. Knew that this would be a memory. A perfection in the past. Soon. Soon it was coming. Would be part of my past. Like the heady scent of an aging book I will never be able to take off the shelf in that bookstore ever again.
Wonderful lunch at my favorite Indian resturant of course. We both enjoyed it immensely.
Phone call from Dad at the end of meal -- Danger Will Robinson. He pressured me into stopping by at his office for him to meet D. Nerves were wracked. My brother showed up at the same moment we arrived. Family contact marred the day and set my emotions on edge. Bad omen.
Went to the bookstore. They were closed. The door was locked. It was dark. I saw the owner who I have known since I was a little girl pacing the back room on the phone. A sign in the window pierced me "...after 35 years...regretfully...retiring...it's been wonderful" etc. I almost started to cry. The death of another independent bookstore. The death of the past. The past being created with this store receeding from the present like a faint ghost who cannot stay being called away to another plane. I stood there stunned. Crushed. D. told me it was okay, but it wasn't. Not for me.
Somewhere along the line, tears came. We went to my secret place and sat on the bench and looked at the ducks, and swans, and I dried my eyes. Peace came to me.
We went to El Gordo chain bookstore and cafe. Making the selling of books like all things Amerikkkan: overpriced, overblown, corporate. Yay rah. Yee Haw.
Frozen cafe drinks were had. D. bought a Nick Cave CD we both wanted to hear, and he bought me an art magazine I wanted. We came home, tired, world-weary, and put on our CD and took to the couch entwined. Listened to this haunting music with D. wrapped around me, and me around him, seamlessly. It was beautiful and sad, like my life, like me and D., as I thought of him leaving tomorrow, and how fragile we both are, and how fragile this thing we have is. If we even have it. Maybe it has us. Maybe it will slip away like everything else I've ever held in my hands for a moment. More tears, during a sad song called "Love Letter". Longing in his voice, and in my heart, with this fresh raw boy in my arms. We both like two wounds bleeding in time, and then like two pillows resting softly against each other. Injury. Comfort. Beautiful sadness. Bittersweet beauty. Moment. Ephemeral and I knew it. Knew it as it was happening, and as it was passing from me. Knew that this would be a memory. A perfection in the past. Soon. Soon it was coming. Would be part of my past. Like the heady scent of an aging book I will never be able to take off the shelf in that bookstore ever again.
posted by scribe at 4/13/2006
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