THE HUNDREDTH TIME SHE SAID GOOD-BYE
Was on a stair-case
We were wearing the same
Shade of blue
The sky leaned in, closer
She was smiling; she used to
Smile often in those days
There was a rascal indifference
Hungering about but –
They were both unaware
I stood by, watching.
It was the hundredth time she said
Good-bye that I noticed
The repeated troika finally disband
The absolute quiet in the evening sky
That night was full of omens
He had held her hand then wished
Her well; he was leaving…
Could this be my chance?
TROIKA
Hunter had known since the beginning that she was taken. He still fancied her. And there was not an ounce of regret in his soul for doing what he did.
​
He had seen them together first at a dance party. It was an after-school event, there was a huge crowd but Hunter’s eyes fell straight on her. Her dancing body lit up by disco lights. The soft, lilac purple of her lips contrasting sharply with the florescent green dress she wore. It reached her knees but there was a slit that exposed her left thigh.
​
The next time he saw her, she was still with him. The tall boy. The boy with the angel-demonic wink in his eyes. Tom Sullivan. The school heart-throb. The boy everyone knew would cheat on her one day. Hunter was amused by what he felt was her belief that she was the one. She was the one who would win Tom’s wayward heart.
In the dusky twilight, Tom was taking Vanya by the hand to go see his grandparent’s grave. Hunter was close behind, as an invisible ghost. He used his training in photography now to be as quiet and still as possible. Vanya couldn’t tell at all as she was entranced with Tom’s blue eyes and that sorrow which assailed her; she knew he had been close to them.
Hunter had been following them for days. He was even tired of the act but he still did it as a form of habit now. No – there was something more to it; something obsessive. Tom bent down at the side of one of the graves. It was marked with red roses he had carefully placed there earlier that afternoon. He wanted it to be perfect when she met them. Vanya kneeled beside him and took a rose by the stem and held it to her heart. “Careful of the thorn!” Tom couldn’t help crying out. Even though he nor Hunter wanted to disturb her in that moment. She seemed to be in an elsewhere land; as if the thorn of the stem was transportive.
The scene was perfect, thought Tom. And finally taking courage he said to Vanya:
“I think the ghost follows you.”
Vanya knew that Tom had trusted his grandparents with his life but this was new information. Tom was a known atheist and she was perplexed. What sort of an atheist believed in ghosts? She did not want to disturb what could possibly be a moment of conversion. Had he finally seen the light?
​
Tom continued, unaware of how she felt. “I have seen him follow us wherever we go. In the park the other twilight night, I saw him near by. Even when we went to the cinema to see the new art film, he was close by. I think you should talk to him. I think it’s about you...”
Vanya was amazed. Not just did Tom think his grandfather’s ghost was calling out to him as if Hamlet was right after all, but rather, he wanted to talk to her! Could this mean what she thought it meant? Could it mean he was going to propose under the auspicious blessing of his grandfather’s ‘ghost’?
Tom studied her with a concentrated guilt. He knew she would be heart-broken but what else could he do? Maya was alarmingly all he could think about these days. Besides, that guy…what was his name…from history class? Hunter? Hunter Huntingdon? A lot of hunting going on there, he almost chuckled to himself but then held back – as Vanya was looking straight into his eyes, her gaze expectant somehow.
“Vanya, I have to go now – as in leave you. But Hunter Huntingdon from Ms. Wiley’s history class is into you… in fact, he’s standing right there behind that tree. Taken by you, he’s the ‘ghost’ that’s been following us for days!”
​
Vanya couldn’t brace herself entirely. She glanced nervously at the tree and no doubt about it, there was Hunter Huntingdon from History class.
​
“You want to leave me?”
“I don’t – it’s just that I’d be no good for you Van”
“No…good for me?”
“Yes – I’m your senior by four years. And we don’t really share the same family background…”
“then why bring me to see your grandparents’ graves?”
“It’s my way of saying good-bye to some of the most beautiful memories I have. I’ll never be this solitary with anyone again, Vanya! You know me, I’m more of a people’s person.”
“So you don’t like time in quiet nature alone as well now? – Who are you?”
“Someone who fancied you”
“So you lied?”
“Not entirely.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You would have left me anyway…”
​
All this time this conversation went on, Hunter stood by and listened. Both Vanya and Tom were aware that he was aware, and Hunter was aware that they were aware that he was aware.
CREATIVE MEMOIR: The Lions of Ypsi
Those days I used to whistle to the elite silence of the university – they had given us these whistles so as not to disturb our night walks with predator thoughts. I carried it around my neck in a yellow necklace of beads that were reckless as I walked quickly, making sure no one was following.
​
On one such nights, as I was walking, I saw two lions approach me. They seemed friendly and I wasn’t frightened. Instead of asking me my name, they asked me what was the song I was singing. I found this greeting a bit absurd but by far it was the most grounding one; there was no artifice.
​
I don’t know what overcame me and surpassed my hesitance; I replied in good charm: I was singing It’s my Life by Dr. Alban. They laughed and said: sweet. It wasn’t the kind of sweet you’d hear as a trick-or-treat. It was rather language-slang. Reminded me of Canadian winters. Yet, here I was in Ypsi land.
​
The lions were laughing. I was compelled to keep singing. In a while, we all had a chorus for each other, the two lions and I. The song went something like this –
​
Gun shot!
​
The wound ran across the night skies and I was harassed by its violence. Recovering from the sudden assault, I looked around at once for the lions. But they were gone.
​
I was all alone in the Ypsi night, the downhill of the street took me to another time. I guess it was just the whistle and I. If the gun-shot was real like the lions obviously weren’t, then could I trust what I could not hear anymore? Konecky used to say: Did the tree fall in the forest to a witness? I think I finally have found my answer. Though this philosophical puzzle has got me thinking for years. Konecky would be proud. I figured it out all by myself. He’d say ‘that’s the true philosopher – not someone begging for answers, but discovering them on her own. No guide. Just your instinct and intellect.”
​
The answer? The answer is that when I felt the lions existed, I was in another time and this time existed. When I felt they did not, they did not. However, this was another time. I’ve heard about parallel universes in physics. Could this be it? Who knows, I’m just a poet. Memory is a strange trick. If the tree fell in the forest, then it did. Even if I imagined it. It happened.
​
As far as the gun shot is concerned. Perhaps the lions went fiercely chasing into the night with nothing but sheer instinct and speed to capture that violence. I was left alone because it seemed fantastical.
