©Rachel C
I feel like, at this point, maybe I should start being objective. That’s what my friend did when she learned her father had cancer. Shortly before his surgery, she stopped being herself for a few days and just looked at the world objectively. I always say I want to do that, and, somehow that is also what I want to write. I want to be able to sit at the train station and watch the sunrise and talk about how I am doing exactly that. I don’t really know how to explain it, I guess...maybe I am writing for all the wrong reasons. Maybe that is why I cannot be objective—or, maybe I was never meant to be.
I have seen both the sunrise and the sunset from inside the terminals at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. The first time it was while waiting to fly home for Thanksgiving, the second, to fly home for good. Somehow, I think, the sunset brought a kind of closure to the order that I wasn’t expecting, and that I was wishing I had. I don’t know if it is because I am bad at closure, or if it is because nothing has truly ended, but this second move (the move back) has seemed eerily indecisive, and conclusive without conclusion. Or, maybe it is just because no one really said goodbye. But, maybe it wasn’t appropriate.
My friend, as she hugged me at the El station, having helped me roll the last traces of my possessions across the street, said that she would see me “soon.” I replied, “I hope so”; but I know I will not. And she knows I will not. But, it is worth dreaming about.
Erin was the first I said a final goodbye to, and, excluding the friend who helped me to the El, the only. She left on Friday, at some point in the early afternoon. She knocked, and I answered. She seemed sad, which was surprisingly good to see, and she hugged me. The night before I had encountered a very small field mouse under my refrigerator; Erin lived down the hall, and I ran to her door after I saw him scurry back under the cover of the fridge. She laughed, how could I be afraid of a tiny mouse? I wasn’t afraid, I protested. I was shocked—jumpy—surprised that he had made an appearance at all. She decidedly named him Hans, after much deliberation of his gender, and many jokes ensued. Hans became the “International Mouse of Mystery”, with mice-girls all across Europe. We seem to have vivid imaginations. We found that in common, Erin and I.
She brought me over the rest of her food. I hadn’t properly eaten in a while, so she brought me what she could. (I realize now I’ve left the egg nog in the refrigerator.) I actually left a peanut for Hans, despite my reluctance to see him again. And she came, sometime on Friday, to say goodbye before she boarded her train home. I met Erin in my math class. Another thing we found in common, which of course was our loath for math. And there was our love of political humor, and our moderate backgrounds. She and I spoke well, easily, and we understood each other. Both of us with an innate passion for the written word, both of us an interest in discussing it; and, both of us must be sad to see me go.
I lied before, when I said Erin was the only to say goodbye after the friend who helped me to the El. There was Michelle. Saturday night, after Erin’s food had run dry, along with my throat for lack of drinking water, Michelle practically forced me on a train toward her house. She made me dinner, which was something I hadn’t really had in a while, and she washed some of my clothes. She gave me a place to sleep, and I gave her someone to take care of.
She and I met in my English class. I was writing my paper on globalization and the violent resistance in the Middle East; she wanted to write hers on cultural synthesis (it actually ended up being about South America). We found common ground in our interest with the region, mine being passionate and new, her’s being studied and certain. The day I told her about my troubles, we decided to go for coffee—I needed to tell someone. She told me, later, in a note on the inside of a Christmas card, that she had prayed the night before for someone she could bring Christ to. I can’t say for sure if that is what she has done, but something has been left with me.
Sunday night, when we parted, she hugged me, asking if I had everything taken care of. I told her yes, I had it under control, I was cool; but, I lied. She watched me walk away from behind the glass door. I carried a plate of food she’d put in my hand as I wandered back toward my room. There was a police car, driving along the sidewalks, keeping an eye on the campus over the holiday break. I thought, no wonder the sidewalks are so wide. I thought he would ask for my ID, but he turned near Lincoln Hall, and I kept walking. Later, brought to tears with stress and anxiety, I remembered what Michelle said in her card. I couldn’t deny that she’d given me something, and I was grateful.
Sunday night wasn’t easy. It was full of disastrous confusion and difficulty. I didn’t have enough room for everything, and ended up having to leave some things behind. I was nervous, and I couldn’t keep my stomach still. I spent the night in my roommate’s abandoned bed, having packed all I could, and all the while I felt sick and strained. I felt like I could do no more, but as if I could never stop.
The plans were made weeks before, and I had thought we would all make them work. I don’t know if I was the one in the wrong or if it was someone else, but nothing happened the way I expected. I never enjoy when things go awry. Our plan was for Nicolette to take the train into Chicago, and meet me to help with my bags. We were going to say goodbye at the airport, the classic tear-filled so-long at the gate. But, she decided sometime this morning that it would be better to never say goodbye than to spend the time on the train alone. I don’t know that I blame her, but I can say that I feel a little empty.
Ashley baked me cookies, but I never got to eat them. She was going to meet us at the station, ride along to say goodbye. She couldn’t get a ride. She never said goodbye.
Early this afternoon, after checking out from my room, and turning in my key, I called Jill in desperation. Maybe to stop myself from sobbing, mostly to hear the voice of someone I trusted. She drove from her house to where I was sitting, at the time unsure if I would make the trip to O’Hare alone. She sat with me, talked with me, she took some of my things so that my bags would be lighter. I met Jill by making a joke about my brother’s attempt at suicide nearly a year before. She wasn’t sure to laugh, but I told her it was all right. Sure, I said, it was scary the night he tried, but the next morning we all just knew he was stupid, and he knew it too. The next class, she sat next to me. I can’t say how many classes went by before I finally told her to look me up, or she I, but it was a sort of promise.
I cannot explain Jill, she is impossible to classify, as I often consider myself. What I can say is that no one has truly understood me, without me ever having to say a word, like Jill does. She and I are on the same level, I like to say; she and I are the same. Maybe not exactly, but to the point where it doesn’t matter one way or the other. We’re devoted to keeping it that way. I don’t know if the distance will affect our relationship, but I pray that it doesn’t. I don’t think I have the will to give it up. I guess I am all-for long-term relationships.
Jill walked me to the El, pulling behind her one of my bags. She left me there, at the turnstile, where she had to turn around and walk back to her car alone. She hugged me, I resisted tears, and she mumbled “see you soon”. “I hope so,” I replied, but both of us know our hopes are false. Both of us know it will not be soon.I caught the train, and since then, it has been only myself. I am not terribly upset that I was alone today at the airport, or that those friends never gave a firm goodbye, but I do wish I didn’t feel so empty looking back on the day. Maybe my pleas for closure are useless, or maybe closure is just what I need, and something I don’t think I’ll be getting anywhere but the sunset.
December 18, 2006
Author's Note: I feel like this is mildly raw, which I am not used to. The way I sat down and wrote it, and the way it came about is not like me, or my style, at all; but, I feel like it works somehow. Maybe I am wrong. I couldn't tell you, at this point.
I have seen both the sunrise and the sunset from inside the terminals at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. The first time it was while waiting to fly home for Thanksgiving, the second, to fly home for good. Somehow, I think, the sunset brought a kind of closure to the order that I wasn’t expecting, and that I was wishing I had. I don’t know if it is because I am bad at closure, or if it is because nothing has truly ended, but this second move (the move back) has seemed eerily indecisive, and conclusive without conclusion. Or, maybe it is just because no one really said goodbye. But, maybe it wasn’t appropriate.
My friend, as she hugged me at the El station, having helped me roll the last traces of my possessions across the street, said that she would see me “soon.” I replied, “I hope so”; but I know I will not. And she knows I will not. But, it is worth dreaming about.
Erin was the first I said a final goodbye to, and, excluding the friend who helped me to the El, the only. She left on Friday, at some point in the early afternoon. She knocked, and I answered. She seemed sad, which was surprisingly good to see, and she hugged me. The night before I had encountered a very small field mouse under my refrigerator; Erin lived down the hall, and I ran to her door after I saw him scurry back under the cover of the fridge. She laughed, how could I be afraid of a tiny mouse? I wasn’t afraid, I protested. I was shocked—jumpy—surprised that he had made an appearance at all. She decidedly named him Hans, after much deliberation of his gender, and many jokes ensued. Hans became the “International Mouse of Mystery”, with mice-girls all across Europe. We seem to have vivid imaginations. We found that in common, Erin and I.
She brought me over the rest of her food. I hadn’t properly eaten in a while, so she brought me what she could. (I realize now I’ve left the egg nog in the refrigerator.) I actually left a peanut for Hans, despite my reluctance to see him again. And she came, sometime on Friday, to say goodbye before she boarded her train home. I met Erin in my math class. Another thing we found in common, which of course was our loath for math. And there was our love of political humor, and our moderate backgrounds. She and I spoke well, easily, and we understood each other. Both of us with an innate passion for the written word, both of us an interest in discussing it; and, both of us must be sad to see me go.
I lied before, when I said Erin was the only to say goodbye after the friend who helped me to the El. There was Michelle. Saturday night, after Erin’s food had run dry, along with my throat for lack of drinking water, Michelle practically forced me on a train toward her house. She made me dinner, which was something I hadn’t really had in a while, and she washed some of my clothes. She gave me a place to sleep, and I gave her someone to take care of.
She and I met in my English class. I was writing my paper on globalization and the violent resistance in the Middle East; she wanted to write hers on cultural synthesis (it actually ended up being about South America). We found common ground in our interest with the region, mine being passionate and new, her’s being studied and certain. The day I told her about my troubles, we decided to go for coffee—I needed to tell someone. She told me, later, in a note on the inside of a Christmas card, that she had prayed the night before for someone she could bring Christ to. I can’t say for sure if that is what she has done, but something has been left with me.
Sunday night, when we parted, she hugged me, asking if I had everything taken care of. I told her yes, I had it under control, I was cool; but, I lied. She watched me walk away from behind the glass door. I carried a plate of food she’d put in my hand as I wandered back toward my room. There was a police car, driving along the sidewalks, keeping an eye on the campus over the holiday break. I thought, no wonder the sidewalks are so wide. I thought he would ask for my ID, but he turned near Lincoln Hall, and I kept walking. Later, brought to tears with stress and anxiety, I remembered what Michelle said in her card. I couldn’t deny that she’d given me something, and I was grateful.
Sunday night wasn’t easy. It was full of disastrous confusion and difficulty. I didn’t have enough room for everything, and ended up having to leave some things behind. I was nervous, and I couldn’t keep my stomach still. I spent the night in my roommate’s abandoned bed, having packed all I could, and all the while I felt sick and strained. I felt like I could do no more, but as if I could never stop.
The plans were made weeks before, and I had thought we would all make them work. I don’t know if I was the one in the wrong or if it was someone else, but nothing happened the way I expected. I never enjoy when things go awry. Our plan was for Nicolette to take the train into Chicago, and meet me to help with my bags. We were going to say goodbye at the airport, the classic tear-filled so-long at the gate. But, she decided sometime this morning that it would be better to never say goodbye than to spend the time on the train alone. I don’t know that I blame her, but I can say that I feel a little empty.
Ashley baked me cookies, but I never got to eat them. She was going to meet us at the station, ride along to say goodbye. She couldn’t get a ride. She never said goodbye.
Early this afternoon, after checking out from my room, and turning in my key, I called Jill in desperation. Maybe to stop myself from sobbing, mostly to hear the voice of someone I trusted. She drove from her house to where I was sitting, at the time unsure if I would make the trip to O’Hare alone. She sat with me, talked with me, she took some of my things so that my bags would be lighter. I met Jill by making a joke about my brother’s attempt at suicide nearly a year before. She wasn’t sure to laugh, but I told her it was all right. Sure, I said, it was scary the night he tried, but the next morning we all just knew he was stupid, and he knew it too. The next class, she sat next to me. I can’t say how many classes went by before I finally told her to look me up, or she I, but it was a sort of promise.
I cannot explain Jill, she is impossible to classify, as I often consider myself. What I can say is that no one has truly understood me, without me ever having to say a word, like Jill does. She and I are on the same level, I like to say; she and I are the same. Maybe not exactly, but to the point where it doesn’t matter one way or the other. We’re devoted to keeping it that way. I don’t know if the distance will affect our relationship, but I pray that it doesn’t. I don’t think I have the will to give it up. I guess I am all-for long-term relationships.
Jill walked me to the El, pulling behind her one of my bags. She left me there, at the turnstile, where she had to turn around and walk back to her car alone. She hugged me, I resisted tears, and she mumbled “see you soon”. “I hope so,” I replied, but both of us know our hopes are false. Both of us know it will not be soon.I caught the train, and since then, it has been only myself. I am not terribly upset that I was alone today at the airport, or that those friends never gave a firm goodbye, but I do wish I didn’t feel so empty looking back on the day. Maybe my pleas for closure are useless, or maybe closure is just what I need, and something I don’t think I’ll be getting anywhere but the sunset.
December 18, 2006
Author's Note: I feel like this is mildly raw, which I am not used to. The way I sat down and wrote it, and the way it came about is not like me, or my style, at all; but, I feel like it works somehow. Maybe I am wrong. I couldn't tell you, at this point.
2 comments:
Whenever I think about people who I feel I've lost a connection with, for some reason or another, I always remember something Mr. Jordan said in my ninth grade Psychology class, "You get married to somebody for the first time, you're married for life. That first person is in your life from then on, whether you get divorced, have other marriages, whatever. A friend of mine, who is ninety-two years old, told me her first husband came by the other day, after an absence of thirty years, wondering if they could patch things up."
Or this quote, from Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull, "If our friendship depends on things like space and time, then when we finally overcome space and time, we've destroyed our own brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left is Here. Overcome time, and all we have left is Now. And in the middle of Here and Now, don't you think that we might see each other once or twice?"
I don't think you'll really be able to go the rest of your life without seeing these people again. I just recently re-established contact with the first friend I ever had, who I haven't seen since I was eleven.
If nothing else, they'll be alive and well in your thoughts and dreams until then.
I remember these people from my own life. I keep in touch with the only true one of the bunch...and I always will. The others were "filler" as I now know. Interesting how we collect these individuals throughout our lifetime.
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