Tonight I am half-asleep, suspended in a place where it’s too early to go to bed. My brain threatens to blow a circuit if I explain essay structure to one more student, and my adrenal glands angrily inform me that eating one salad and one apple does not negate the effects of consuming half a cheesecake over the course of the day. I feel dull and awake, treading water in a stagnant, overly-metaphorical pond of consciousness.
My friend returned to Portland Oregon today. He should be there within a couple hours if his flight is on time. Melancholy is the algae on the pond of my mind, covering everything with scum, but only surface-deep. I’m grateful for the time my friend and I had together, and I’m glad that he will be reunited with his family. Still, a large part of me wishes that I could have folded myself up into a neat carry-on case and sneaked aboard with him. In the fog of my present state— the muscle pain in my shoulders, my dry eyes, my sluggish mind— the memory of our goodbye is sharp as glass. This afternoon was gray and wet, and our breath smoked in the air even though it wasn’t that cold. The outside of the airport echoed with the murmur of crowds and the unintelligible announcements over the loudspeakers. Onlookers watched our goodbye unabashedly, with compassion. I caught a last glimpse of him through the sliding glass doors, and then he was gone.
This afternoon, I helped decorate our Christmas tree, hanging the bulbs in the order we’ve been hanging bulbs as long as I can remember. Joan Baez’s Noël played in the background as I decided whether to put the silver ornament next to the red or the blue bulb. Lost in the moment, my mind sparkled with the smooth glass in the multicolored lights. For a few more weeks, at any rate, my life is here. Then I’ll pick up my memories, dust them off, toss them in a backpack, and hit the road again.
~Lisa Shafter
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