“Okay. We’re going to do it short and sweet.”
D and I are pre-planning our goodbye as I drive him to the airport this morning. It’s five after six, and the sun is so bright heading east that I can barely see my odometer creeping past 80.
“We’ll see each other soon,” he says.
I nod in agreement, but then reconsider: “I mean…not really.” He is moving to Brussels next week.
“‘Soon’ is a relative term,” he explains.
We have a relatively quiet drive, which allows for us both (I imagine) to feel the weight of Fruit Bats singing:
Cuz I adore you/And I know for sure/You’re the spark on the sun
I agree to a short goodbye, but as usual it’s hard to let go. As I steer the car west, now alone, I find myself trying to grab on to a linear model for coping, for crawling out of the chasm that comes with resuming every day life without my favorite person. Somehow everything I come up with seems wrong. Like a turned ankle in the eighth grade, this, I suspect, is just something I’ll have to walk off.
[Jam of the Day]: Fruit Bats, Earthquake of ’73