Circumstances

Sitting in the bar, the person in front of me, I'm lip syncing the words coming out of her mouth as she breathes them. The people I'm here with, the ones I've recently met from hospital, I've met them all before. Right down to the woman who has a different name, but otherwise is a carbon copy of all the women I've had long term relationships with.

On one of the social networking sites, they have something called the Friends list. If I've met you, odds are you've ended up on that list. And, odds are, your name there is the only remnant of the circumstances that threw us together. The only part of you that's still in my life. Looking through that list, you'll know every job I've ever worked, every school I've ever attended. All that's missing is where I am now.

Stand at the doorway

At her husband's funeral, the eulogizer spoke of how he greeted us at the door. He'd swing the door wide with a big smile on his face and say, "ello, ello, ello." Every time. At the funeral, I smiled with my eyes closed during that story.

When they told me she was in hospital following a heart attack, it wasn't her hellos that I thought of, it was her goodbyes. Whenever we left her place she'd stand at the doorway and wave until we were out of sight. I always wanted her to go in before that, wanted to make sure she got in all right. Didn't want to turn the corner and she'd fall. On the phone, her goodbyes were always long and painful. First was an awkward silence. Then she would say, "ok. Right-oh. Bye bye, love."