He sits across from me, balding with shoots of wayward gray looking all the much like a baby egret. I watch him scratch his head and I smile at the habit we have all grown accustomed, a comfort, these habits, a sanctuary in the familiar. I ask him what he knows in age that he wishes he had known then. Vertical he says. I would have spent less time seeing more and spent more time seeing deeper, forgetting quantity, forsaking the horizontal wanderlust as if what mattered could be ledgered in passports and postcards. And, he added with another unconscious scratch, figured out how to love a woman more than I did, to mine the depths of her need, her core, such to know her, to know her and only her and in that knowing, in that depth, perhaps have discovered the love she proclaimed never to have for me; and, in that way, given Ceru what his own son will never have, two parents. But I suppose one parent is better than none. I nodded and he says no more but just looks at me until I nod again and we both go back to wherever we were before, sitting side by side, two worlds apart.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
677. Vertical
He sits across from me, balding with shoots of wayward gray looking all the much like a baby egret. I watch him scratch his head and I smile at the habit we have all grown accustomed, a comfort, these habits, a sanctuary in the familiar. I ask him what he knows in age that he wishes he had known then. Vertical he says. I would have spent less time seeing more and spent more time seeing deeper, forgetting quantity, forsaking the horizontal wanderlust as if what mattered could be ledgered in passports and postcards. And, he added with another unconscious scratch, figured out how to love a woman more than I did, to mine the depths of her need, her core, such to know her, to know her and only her and in that knowing, in that depth, perhaps have discovered the love she proclaimed never to have for me; and, in that way, given Ceru what his own son will never have, two parents. But I suppose one parent is better than none. I nodded and he says no more but just looks at me until I nod again and we both go back to wherever we were before, sitting side by side, two worlds apart.
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Side by side, yet worlds apart. See deeper, not more. Learn to love better, deeper. And even if you can do these things, there is still the same sentence: side by side, yet worlds apart. Half full, half empty. What's the difference, really?
Badger, I wish I had answers. Hell, I just wish I had the questions most of the time. :-D
Reading this, I wonder why not more writers make use of the virtues of present tense so easily observed within this chapter. The energy, aura, prevails in a manner quite different, slightly more patent, as though a greater privilege has been granted, a more intimate perspective alloted. Kyra's perspective, as and when. But it is more than that, it is the manner in which she approaches, the smile she emits at the familiarity of his head scratching, the way in which the question follows without an introductory sharing of what made her ask as there might be in a narrative of something already transpired, happening instead in real time, immediately, as these things do, through association perhaps, or from nowhere in particular, a thought born, occuring in the moment. To ask such a question, to receive such an answer. Not only does it say much of the both of them individually, but it indicates, for our exploration and insight once more the nature of their relationship. The depth of respect, confidence, affection, of friendship. Von's words, though of regret, so beautiful and touching in sentiment, for this to be what he would wish to change and not one of the things that those reading perhaps would have guessed were one invited to do so before hearing the answer affirms the love and admiration long since kindled for this remarkable Hynerian. As emotionally awakening as the song mentioned, I sit, hands holding heart when not on the keyboard, melting within. Exquisitely poignant.
What is not written is that Von is reading at the time Kyra asks the question, and what is on his mind, for he is rereading a favorite work, is how much he has forgotten, how much on first reading was only on the surface, how much of the depths of the story he never plumbed, in haste to go, to move on, to read more, and it occurs to him his whole life has been this way, wanting to experience as much as possible and only in later years understanding, in the insight of rereading, the price paid going horizontal rather than vertical.
This chapter was also influence by something I read recently and I can't for the life of me remember where I read it or exactly how it was worded but it said something to the effect that we should all be lucky to have one, just one true friend in our lifetime. I've been thinking about that ever since--to how many other things this applies and I think to the appeal of The English Patient, what the pull is, and I wonder if this is not it, this need, to know love, to know a singular absolutely, to be alive if only for a moment in time, but to be alive in that moment, much like our nurse in 1944 who many years later still celebrates a period in her life of less than 24 hours, I wonder, if perhaps, this is it, this need that Von recognizes now.
To me, this has been one of your most influential posts.
Autumn, not often am I speechless. Take a picture. :-D
What a wonderful chapter!
"a sanctuary in the familiar" - it spoke to me of comfort zones and how they rob us of having more. Sometimes we find a rut that fits and fail to experience... well, MORE.
There is one man that (by the grace of God) I will love and be loved by, for life. Your post makes me wonder "Is there more that I could do to make this one love the love of a lifetime?" How often it feels like we each willingly sit side by side, two worlds apart.
This post was amazing.
Jen, thanks so much for your kinds words. This chapter has so many different influences. Earlier today I was rereading some short stories and was gobsmacked at how little I had remembered of some stories I had read not long ago--and these were little masterpieces by William Trevor, perhaps the greatest living writer of short stories today. His writing is just superb, so good in fact, that the first time I read him, I couldn't write for days or even weeks. So, as I was reading, and this idea of reading deep versus reading wide was in my head, the story of Von and his past came to mind. The bit at the end about sitting next to each other but worlds apart comes from a recent trip to Louisiana with just me and C in the car. As we drove, not two feet apart, he plugged in his earphones and in that moment, I felt as far apart from his world and he from mine as if we were on different worlds. The feeling is still fresh in my mind.
As always, thanks for reading and thanks for the very kind words. :-)
Vertical living....I can relate to that very much, Sometimes I think I can be too vertical! LOL
The one phrase that particular was this one: to mine the depths of her need, her core, such to know her, to know her and only her.
It makes me ache for something I wish to experience....
Trée, your writing has grown even more beautiful since the last time I was here....
Thanks Grace. Your compliment means a lot to me. Thanks for the smile. :-)
Towards the very end of my marriage, I met an elderly man down by the river, the place I'd go to when I needed to absorb the many changes that were about to take place in my life. I had been consumed with the deaths of several loved ones at that time and so, wasn't all that uncomfortable, when my elderly friend revealed to me that he was dying of cancer. We'd meet on a bench, sipping coffee, trading life stories several times a week. There was an allure to him that I couldn't quite grasp, but I felt compelled to consume whatever knowledge he might share with me. The last time I saw him, I asked him if there was anything he might have changed in or about his life. He said to me, "My woman, my wife. I would have lived much softer, much deeper, in her." Those words changed my life. I realized then it always comes back to love in the end, how well we loved and how well we received it.
This is relevant to what you've posted here in that some years later, I would meet a man, an incredibly broken but beautiful man. He wanted the one thing from me I had never given before. He wanted that core. He wanted to bathe in its exposure, its surrender. In exchange, the opportunity to expose his, the opportunity to cleanse his shame. A visceral joining. And, a rebirth for both of us.
Your writing is from your viscera, your core. You expose the "need."
Its beauty is staggering...
S., thanks for sharing such a wonderful story; and thanks for the smile inducing compliment. I'm inhaling your words, breathing you in as you breathe me out. :-)
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