HG Wells replies
Oh my sweet Sabine you have such a flair for the drama! I loved your fantasy of us meeting on the steps of the Old Bullfinch building. Only the Ether Dome itself could have made a grander setting. You may think I am teasing you—and maybe I am a little, but you know how much affection went hand in hand with my pokes. What is really funny is how much alike yet vastly different the day I did see you the hospital was.
You were not on the lawn you were in the cafeteria, stealing French fries off Alan's plate, likewise oblivious to me sitting in one of the recessed booths nearby. You were so close I did nearly panic, but you were not expecting to see anyone out of the context of your job sitting anywhere; you had no reason to be idly starring about the cafeteria ponder life, death, and circumstance as I was. You were taking a break from your hectic afternoon for some food and talking with your friend. I took it as the gift I think it was meant to be.
You had on a pink tee shirt and hospital issue scrubs, hair in a pony-tail and bespectacled. I could only imagine how horrified you'd be if you had run into me. I remembered the night you remarked you looked like a dishrag; how I laughed. Don't you know that you could be caked in mud and I'd embrace every inch of you?
You did look tired though. I couldn’t help but wonder if you were staying up late. If so, who were you talking or writing to? I told myself it was out of concern for you, but it was pride and jealousy thinking the worst of you. For that I apologize, for now I see the only person you keep writing to is me.
I like to envision that moment much differently. There is no angst. I rewind history instead of altering its future.
*****
It is New Year's Eve, 1990 is about to surrender to Father Time, and Downtown Boston is cold for the heartiest New Englander, never mind a Southern California boy visiting family for the holidays. Still, First Night revelers were undeterred; the streets were crowed with merry makers wearing sparkled top hats, and carrying giant plastic horns that sounded like a call to arms.
You were not on the lawn you were in the cafeteria, stealing French fries off Alan's plate, likewise oblivious to me sitting in one of the recessed booths nearby. You were so close I did nearly panic, but you were not expecting to see anyone out of the context of your job sitting anywhere; you had no reason to be idly starring about the cafeteria ponder life, death, and circumstance as I was. You were taking a break from your hectic afternoon for some food and talking with your friend. I took it as the gift I think it was meant to be.
You had on a pink tee shirt and hospital issue scrubs, hair in a pony-tail and bespectacled. I could only imagine how horrified you'd be if you had run into me. I remembered the night you remarked you looked like a dishrag; how I laughed. Don't you know that you could be caked in mud and I'd embrace every inch of you?
You did look tired though. I couldn’t help but wonder if you were staying up late. If so, who were you talking or writing to? I told myself it was out of concern for you, but it was pride and jealousy thinking the worst of you. For that I apologize, for now I see the only person you keep writing to is me.
I like to envision that moment much differently. There is no angst. I rewind history instead of altering its future.
*****
It is New Year's Eve, 1990 is about to surrender to Father Time, and Downtown Boston is cold for the heartiest New Englander, never mind a Southern California boy visiting family for the holidays. Still, First Night revelers were undeterred; the streets were crowed with merry makers wearing sparkled top hats, and carrying giant plastic horns that sounded like a call to arms.
posted by Sabine at 12:27 AM
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