06/04/2006: "Reunion"

Reunion

There was no question in my mind when I awoke that there was something special in the air. Yes, the atmosphere of this particular day was most ripe for exquisite transcendence. I proceeded with unusual abandon on this day. Indeed, a simple stroll in the park yielded a mysterious turn of events this day. I took in several helpings of air as I wandered down this path feeling a bit as though I were in a bespeckled Seurat’s painting. The inhabitants of the park were peculiarly subdued for a sunny afternoon. As I weaved about, I indulged in few quick games of guessing what was on the minds of the people I passed to exercise my mind while on promenade. I imagined the blonde pigtailed girl skipping rope in the red polka dot dress was dreaming of a cool sweet ice cream upon arrival home. I was convinced that the teen in the white t-shirt was contemplating mischief of all sorts. And I concluded that the two 30 somethings who meandered along the verdant lawn holding hands considered a bigger step secretly but neither dared to be the first to speak of it. Instead they walked in silence, as did I.

A full quarter of an hour into my procession, I chanced upon a bench, empty and awaiting it appeared for my specific company. It sang to me, pleading a gentle, sincere, request for me to sit, to relax, to take in the scenery from its perspective. How could I refuse? Who am I to shun such charity? My eyelids closed briefly as I descended upon this throne, for it felt special, indeed the whole essence of the day felt so. When I opened my eyes, I was more than a little surprised to see that where there had been no soul before sat a man. A kind gentleman with a kind face, a kind smile and veritable kindness emanating from his core had appeared on my park pew. He looked a tad weary, but not fragile, more so just a tad drained. Heavy. He was graying, follicles betraying him, for the lines on his face were far fewer than his remaining hairs would have supposed. His gray pants were a touch too short, his white socks and black scuffed wingtips clung to hi pale, thin legs. His crystalline eyes held clandestine knowledge, pools of gray to match his suit. He said nothing but his visage spoke.

I didn’t see you there. No reply. A little louder in case my volume was insufficient or his ears betrayed him as his hair had done. I say, I didn’t see you there, where did you come from? No words, just a slight adjustment of his lips, a momentary loss in eye contact and then the resuming f his pleasantry, that smile. And in that smile a world of eternal comfort. You look familiar I said, surprised at the words that made their way from synapse to tongue so rapidly. I was possessed, compelled, instantaneously overwhelmed that I most certainly recognized this man. That I knew something I couldn’t articulate. And from the man came nothing, and….everything simultaneously. The answers began to flow. I do know you. A nod in the affirmative. I’ve met you before. Another nod. You aren’t what you seem to be are you? A slow shake of the head. I was getting closer, to so much. You have a name though. His narrow chest heaves as he takes in a healing satisfied breath, he positively beams with the love akin to a father gazing at his daughter. A tear falls from his right eye, slowly cascading down his cheek, the small dark stain deposited, interrupting the ashen field of his coat. We speak together. A whisper, weak, unbelievable, and a genuine relief as it passes into oblivion. Hope. Right. And I smile back. Good to see you again old friend. I don’t say it, but he hears it. And we bask for a bit, contemplating what it was exactly that parted us two in the first place. No real explanation presents itself, and I conclude it probably doesn’t matter now anyway. In the over all scheme of things, it’s just good to have some inkling that hope is well..still present and accounted for. That despite appearances, Hope can penetrate even the saddest of hearts and crack the toughest of cases. It I’m sure is said that those that love the deepest, lose the most of themselves when love is lost. But how nice that Hope did not give up on one so transformed by the circumstance of destiny. And as if by prophecy as soon at this thought comes to being, the strangest thing occurs.

Hope’s smile and stare froze. His eyes glazed over. They went discernibly cloudy. Then positively dusty as the rest of his body seemed to deteriorate, the contagious staleness taking over. All at once Hope turned hollow. Transformed in a matter of seconds to a hollow casing. A shell. I was a bit taken aback as you can imagine. A quick intuitive glace about the park to see if I was mad resulted in potential confirmation of that fact. It would appear though no one noticed. The park had gone quiet. Hauntingly so. Not a soul lingering and me left to think when did everyone else on the planet slip off for their afternoon tea and I not notice? There I was sitting solitarily with the paper skeleton of Hope. On a bench. Alone. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any stranger, it most certainly did. Something trapped inside Hope started to make motions. The faint tapping of something deep with Hope became audible. And visible the thing inside trying to break through its confines. Whatever it was was trying to escape. There was fear at first. The result of too many horror movies no doubt. Then the instinct to help this prisoner to freedom. I was helpless and fascinated by the impending release. And then a section of this human sarcophagus gave way. The scalp of Hope flaked off like a single piece of dander and blew away powered by an invisible breeze. Black and shiny antennae first appeared from my recent companion, followed by the first of six spindly black legs. One after the other they appeared. A set of damp cobalt wings on the back of what I now knew to be an enormous butterfly hoisted itself from where Hope had been only a conversation ago. It struggled to perch atop the fragile remains and I imagined it breathless and weak though there was no way to tell for sure what this creature was experiencing, for I had not recollection of picking the brain of a giant blue butterfly upon is apparent birth from..well…the brain of Hope. This brainchild, or brain insect had completed its arrival and was now seemingly taking in its surroundings.

I couldn’t tell if it pondered me as I it, nor could I tell if it was considering staying about for a chat. It was indeed aware of me, but seemed relatively uninterested, or perhaps unconcerned is a more apt description. And then it looked at me as it delicately rest atop its once human cocoon. It’s cobalt wings intensifying every passing second, as if constellations were surging through them. And with that it seemingly heaved a silent sigh through abdominal spiracles, cocked is head, and fluttered East. I think I smiled. I think I smiled the smile of Hope. And I wondered if I might surrender to the same fate Hope had. What lies within my body cavity, what secret insect longs to be released from me? What stage if any have I reached in this fantastic evolution. As the miracle flew off, his path was direct and unsure all at once. Heavy and light simultaneously. Determined to move, but appearing to dodge imperceptible obstacles. Like all of us. And the sun set, and anew day began.

I used to buy cards of a romantic nature to be given to the deserved recipient I knew would come along some day. It has been over two years since I have purchased a card of such possibility. It had been. My collection numbers 3 today.