Narrative and Memoir

"Stop thinking about saving your face... We will not blame you if your reach exceeds your grasp; if love so ignites your words that they go down in flames and nothing is left but their scald. Or if, with the reticence of a surgeon's hands, your words suture only the places where blood might flow. We know you can never do it properly - once and for all. Passion is never enough; neither is skill. But try. For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don't tell us what to believe, what to fear." -Toni Morrison, "The Bird in Our Hand." Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech, 1993.

This evening I picked up the newspaper that flung ugly horrendous words back in my face words strung together to convey that a colleague a peer an old friendly rival my age no less my age is dead. Newspaper said he died unexpectedly is outlived outlived outlived by certain family members and by us us the people who didn't know him so well but respected him from afar and definitely didn't think death would come for him so soon.

This afternoon I complained of the cold wind in my face as I walked the streets of the city complained to my friend that my body was out of shape my days unsatisfactory my hair blown out of control in the rush of air. Complained about meetings that were long information that was missing inanity that was grating. Commented on the traffic on the lights slow to change on the library book missing on the changing courses of our lives. Contemplated the different faces of the city the hard workers the fur coats the smiles that emerge if just given the chance the icy countenances of sometimes.

This morning I hurried out of bed showered in routine casually left the house briefly noticed the puffs of air visible when I exhaled didn't look behind me when I left only looked ahead. Reached my destination unthinking just accepting moving through my day. Comparative freedom.

This evening I look behind me think of his smile how hard he swam how loudly he cheered for his younger teammates how he was a sort of shadow to us from a rival school when we were young shadow in filtered sunlight shadow emerging from the past only to disappear.

I think of vulnerability I think of youth I think of freedom I think of happiness I think of loss and which trumps which. I think of attempts at explanation attempts that fail. The need to walk on in pursuit of all that is good all that lies just beyond human ken all the need to extrapolate from this mixed narrative of humanity. I think about the bird in our hand whether it's living or dead whether we have the power the strength the fortitude to bridle it to worship it but more importantly to let it fly.