Two I have known for decades. Two are younger brothers of old friends who I hadn't known had brothers, one of them my oldest friend who passed away three years ago, the other a public figure who cannot expose himself on online social media. So I have those two guys' brothers!
Most of those friends are people who asked me to friend them, on recommendation of some other friend, especially the hyperactive brother of the public person. A man from Switzerland asked to friend me last week, I don't know who he is, he posts in German, and I figure must be a friend of my Swiss friend. Others who asked to friend them have been musicians, none except one widely known, all excellent and underappreciated, and I feel honored that they decided to connect, even if motivated by commercial reasons. Two of these musicians are quite active, and we've had some lively exchanges, that could theoretically lead to actual friendships if we ever met.
And the one musician who is widely known and who asked to friend me a few weeks ago is none other than "Bob Dylan", if you can believe it. I can't and suspect it is an employee or a grandchild of the artist.
I joined Facebook only because a member of my extended family named Carmen, the only name of a friend I will mention beside Bob Dylan's, with whom I had a one time business transaction, told me that she communicated via Facebook and I could take it or leave it.
All of the above leads to a darker conclusion, which was actually a preamble that started this arithmetic meditation late last night, long and sleepless for whatever reasons, and as I often do I reverse the order of things. The conclusion was the cold hard truth that I have lost everyone, or that everyone has lost me, and that is a plain fact without any tears, regrets or accusations.
Someone in the house told me that she had phoned me during my absence and that my brother-in-law Tommy took the message. I found Tommy in the basement hanging up his laundry on the line. She told him to ask me to call her back. Why, I wondered, we had broken up, there was nothing more to say, no leftover business to conduct. I decided to call her only because I think one should return all phone calls. I had trouble finding her number on my cell phone, dialed it, she answered, noise on the line, sound of music, I had to say "Hello" three times before she spoke up and asked me if I understood why we had broken up? More static on the line, a singer in the background singing in Portuguese, I could barely hear her and asked her to repeat the question. She said that I should understand those reasons. She didn't say what they were, and I answered asking rhetorically why it mattered, it didn't matter to me if I understand or not, no I don't understand and don't know why, and I realize that knowing and understanding won't change things, won't affect history, present or future. The singer was singing another song, she didn't say anything, where are you I asked, who are you with, she didn't answer, the song continued, I waited for her to answer but she didn't and I woke up with the song ringing in my ears, not knowing where I was, who she was, and why Tommy was so young. .
Then I decided to write her a postcard. I knew she wouldn't read a letter, so it had to be an open postcard. What should be on the picture side? All black? No. Not a tourist view, how about a photograph of the ocean, nothing but the ocean to symbolize the distance between us. Where would I find such a card? It would be unsigned, but she would know from the postal stamp, I'd have to decide on the color of the ink, and it would read:
"I don't miss nostalgia.
I don't miss anyone but her."
No comments:
Post a Comment