I’ve reread the works you sent me over the years,
Sporadic as they were.
I must admit I misinterpreted them at the time; misunderstood you (and still do, most likely).
They were cryptic
And I was never as good at puzzles as you were.
I was never as good as you at a lot of things.
I am writing again – a long short story in the works which I have kept to myself. There is a scene in which a woman waits alone for something to happen. I will not say what because it is irrelevant.
I’ve never known that feeling until now: scared and waiting, sitting on the stairs until I am called upon. Holding my breath and listening for trouble with every irregular creak or strange noise.
I used to fill that gap with you who would calm me down, and it made me think of all the times you needed me in your own moments
But I did not answer or I was too scared I would not be of comfort.
And for that I am sorry.
I was never good in those situations. Never found the words to assuage; was too irritated to truly listen.
Dependence was never my strong suit.
I thought of calling you when the inevitable happened. Talk about trying to
The habit of a lifetime.
When I wrote this
last night a couple of nights ago, I stopped and closed my phone and my eyes and decided to sleep on it before sharing. But this post and the previous must have unlocked some truths in my mind.
I remember telling you a while back – I could not for the life of me recall an old colleague’s name. It went on for over a year and I would think of it at least once a week. There were even periods of time when I would try to recall it each day. But all I could hear was another colleague’s name and I knew it was not that, though they both seemed attached to one another in my mind. But as soon as I closed my eyes
last night, my mind turned to that illusive name and it felt so close – on the tip of my tongue. And then it tumbled out and it didn’t sound right but it was and I had blissfully remembered that name after a year or more of wondering.
And it was similar to that other colleague’s name; both ended in “bi” –
Korean for “rain”, as though the memory had simply been washed away like a delicate flower and had needed time to regrow again.
It is strange not sharing this with you, banal as it is. It was always the little things though, remember?