I think that one of the reasons that I’m so drawn to closed spaces – or spaces that are empty and cluttered at the same time – is that they have nothing to say. They leave me utterly confounded, forcing me to find something of curiosity or interest in their mundacity. This can have unexpected results and I find myself populating these empty lots with fragments of memories, real or embellished.
So Sunday’s blog – four short, short stories (well, miniscule in fact) with a common theme of having been written this Sunday.
He begins by reading “The Idiot” by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Somewhat alarming for him, this endeavour. Never one to pour through the classics, he is keenly aware that these good intentions, with the book, may soon be shelved. Something of an imposter, he supposes.
But he’s willing to take the risk.
She studied philosophy, but mentions this rarely and if she does, looks askance lowers her voice, doesn’t seem to want to speak of it. Hey you studied philosophy, too, you think, but you don’t mention it at all because you didn’t do very well there and had a hard time keeping up. Plus there was this one time when you tried to say something to contribute in class and someone in the room stifled a laugh. The prof, patronizing smile, let you pass. C-minus.
They are quiet over their gourmet caffeine potions, one is browsing the paper and the other just enjoying the sun. But the child, maybe 6, is upset and demonstrates it loudly. The couple sips on unperturbed for some time but then with some shrill cry they intervene in unison. Teamwork.
About time, I think, listening in. Mother is all sweetness and understanding in her voice. ‘You know, when you act out like that your father and I don’t want to spend time with you‘. The child is instantly confused and paralyzed into stillness. And so am I.
They graduated from high school and each went his own way. They aged, worried, married or divorced, or both or neither. They sort of keep in touch and when this happens someone says hey, aren’t they getting old… as though there were some alternative (?!)
There are things they never realized back then, things they only felt at some level. Getting old, yeah, bullshit, whatever. Oye como va.
If it seems to be going somewhere, making sense, then it’s probably time to stop. Before we get too clever.