Waxing or waning.
“You can’t be nice to everyone, and you certainly can’t afford to please everyone around you. The words you utter so carelessly sticks in other people’s minds. You have to bear in mind the weight of your words, the significance it brings and the hope that it gives other people. You have to remember what you say, because words are an action in itself, and the kindness you exuberate becomes a tangible feeling one would use to evaluate who you are. You do not allow yourself to say things you don’t really mean, I mean, I stress the word really because at that moment you might actually mean it, whether real or half-heartedly only you know. And you might find yourself in a position where you are not ready to stick to the meaning of those words, or you may not mean it anymore. You’re great, you’re kind, nice and understanding, but this cruel world will judge you in your absence, and your mind is judged by your actions and words. You encourage and give hope to the people around you. But your precious friends, when they find your words only give rise to a sincerity existing only in the heart, they will be hurt beyond repair. I will be hurt. I took your words seriously, when you asked me to keep my promises. I hope you know what I mean.”
He left on a bus to the city. Those were the last words I heard from him. Some said that he went abroad but I could not be sure. I get on by, still occasionally thinking about the person he rather not know about. I was still puzzled by his words, and up until now I could not understand what he truly meant. All of his words were always very subtle, and its meaning like a riddle, which you have to think with feelings. Imagine my surprise when I received a box from him, in it was a picture of him in a coat. The weather looked harsh and I wondered how he was really doing. How much of him have I really missed? How much did I want to ask him what he truly meant with those last words? There was a letter which I was not prepared to read at the lift to my apartment, so I kept them safely in the box again. The picture had some scribbling, words which read “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…”. He was always so subtle, equally with words and thoughts. I sat by the dining, now ready to peruse through the box. I still hate to think that I had hurt him somehow. A letter. And a picture of a girl standing beside him, her head leaning on his shoulder. It read:
“Dear Sal, I hope you’re doing fine and getting by. As you can see, it looks like I’ve found a girl, and we’ve started striking off a good number of things on our lists; both hers and mine. Ski, puffer fish sashimi, searching for the best crème brulee ever, Greece, Italy, Japan, sunsets at the beach- the things I promised to do with you together. I’m sorry. I would have loved to experience all this with you in my first time, but was just not possible. I remember my lengthy speech the last time I saw you, and would not let my words stand alone here. They would be devoid of any meaning, since it’s just a piece of paper that you are holding. Doing the things that I mentioned, were richly rewarding and I got to know myself better. I would not have such a list if I had not met you. But rewards are nothing if they are not what you want. I still keep it in the notebook you gave me. I minced my words in the past, but I will not here. It was painful doing the things I want to do with you with somebody else. You’re the last person I want to do all the sweet things that we can find. You’re truly the last person I ever want to do it with. Because there’s no other person I want if I have you by my side. PS. Look at the picture of me with my back facing the glorious Alps.”
The picture was scribbled with words “Dear Sal, I hope you’ll agree…” as if asking me to look around for more clues. I flipped the picture to find words, words which accompanied by a ring. The words that end the sentence were, “…to be the last person I would do anything together with and spend nothing but tomorrows together.”
And I recalled all your schemes and dreams, the plans moving me… and the sense that you made.
*** title adapted from Better than Ezra’s “Howdoesyourgardengrow” album.
