|
|
a strange, melancholy feeling, when you feel the distance begin in a friendship. it reminds me of an animated film i'd seen. two people sit at a table. instead of words coming from their mouths, out issued these little irregular blobs, like pieces of a puzzle that rose overhead, and began to join together in a circle, unfinished. before the shape was complete, the pieces they made didn't fit, anymore. try as they might, they couldn't get them to work. so it goes. i made good on my responsibility to uninterrupted radio, and girded my loins for another program at the deserted campus. it was very much like one of those end-of-the-world films from the sixties: nary a soul within shouting distance. the only two that i came in contact with was a cop watching soaps in the lounge of the commons, and the DJ i'd be replacing. there was life on the other side of the speakers, thankfully. requesters, well-wishers, long-time fans. the two hours on-air vanished as they usually do... all too quickly. making some stops beforehand, i wound up at Biggles' doorstep. rather than catching up, and watching the BoxingDay matches that he'd alluded to, he had a DJ gig at a club downtown shortly thereafter. he asked me to tag along. sure. i have this peculiar relationship with bars. among friends, they are a mecca of lights and noise and possibilities. left on my own, i feel like a stranger in a strange land. maybe it was the lack of sleep, the efforts of radio, or the fact that i was the only one not clad from head-to-toe in black (fashion faux-pas: jeans and a fisherman's sweater), or that i was one of the oldest patrons: it was like i had an invisible force-field around me. i suppose i should have been the aggressive gadfly, but it was not so different than the desolate campus. those i did come in contact with, friends of the english accent, fluent in avant-garde film, full of tales of shared travel... left as soon as Biggles did to the DJ booth. obviously, i wasn't cool enough. dressed correctly. connected with the famous (though the JimJarmusch prot�g� was pleasant enough). i was one of those Wrong times. one of those times where you shouldn't be there, because nothing was going to jar the rhythm into synchronicity. the more you try, the more distant it all becomes. my only friend became the Gin&Tonics i started with. out of respect, i decided to hang on 'til his stint at the booth was done. absently taking in the size of the club... the swelling crowd... the insular clusters of partiers; all the while checking my watch to chronicle the creep of time. though he'd planned to hop to another club, i decided i'd had enough fun for the evening. already ten, i still had a forty-minute drive home... and pesky gin breath. no. i was done, before something bad happened. it had that ominous feel to it. and here i have been, since. slowly sorting out the bits that have left unattended since before the holidays... the unlit tree standing sentinel next to the window. correcting unpleasant feline behavior. dreading the time Yoko returns, whenever that may be. there is more than just 'distance' there. |
|
|
