Monday, 6 September 2010

An Example of Something That Happened, Once

This, for example.

Sitting on a two-seater sofa with the girl with the freckle on her nose; two young people alone late at night, necks craning backwards over the low headrest, eyes on each other’s eyes.

Recounting in slow, trembling detail the plot of the movie Ring (the Japanese original), a movie that the girl with the freckle on her nose insists she will never watch.

Hearing your own voice with a clarity that seems uncanny--the sound of water flowing between rocks, somewhere high up; threads of crystal ringing in empty air. You and her and your wellspring of words alone in the electric half light.

Coming to the part of the movie that you love: the death of the hero. (This part is especially good because he is not the hero, and his death is pointless, unwarranted, unfair.)

Slowing down, lingering over morbid details.

Feeling tears in your eyes, as on the rare occasions when you say nice things about a friend behind his back.

Knowing that the girl with the freckle on her nose can see the tears.

Knowing that you will never be closer to her, or need to be.

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