Memoir - Week 12
Over the course of a month, Erin and I met up
regularly before we reached that dreaded day. The day Erin’s study came to an
end and she had to return home to the US. We shared a bitter-sweet last dinner
together at Belluci’s in Manuka. At the table, after what we both agreed to be
the best fried calamari we’d ever singularly eaten, I presented Erin with a
black and white card depicting an elegant, romantic couple on the front. I
covered almost every square inch of the inside of that card with my thoughts
and emotions. Part of what I wrote expressed my sorrow for her having to leave:
“…it doesn’t feel right because our flower was just starting to bloom…”
But I ended my blue-inked smothering with a
borrowed quote: “The fulfilment in life lies in the beauty of the future”,
because I wanted to leave Erin with a positive feeling, and for her to realise
I didn’t believe that her leaving spelt the end for us.
After sips of wine and with moistened eyes, Erin
then reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a mini-wad of handwritten
notes on faint-ruled note paper in tatty condition. She handed me the little
wad. I unfolded it and read it silently, filling up with emotions. Her words
were different to mine. But the two of us had said exactly the same thing to
one another. Although neither of us actually used the word or phrase itself, this
was love, and we now couldn’t bear the coming separation and distance that
would soon engulf us.
By the time Erin was on the plane and in the air
the next day, I was in bed. Fully awake. Couldn’t sleep. Erin’s scent lingered
on the spare pillow and on my bed sheets. I didn’t wash the bed linen until a
week and a half later for fear of washing her away from my life completely. I
pictured her high up in the sky sitting in her metal vessel. The further away
the jumbo jet stole her, the emptier I became but simultaneously our experience
together gained more definition and prominence.
How could we ever
make this work? You can’t let this go.
No comments:
Post a Comment