We Are But Creatures of Timely Remembrance

Sitting here:                 I think about us, us with all our negatives and positives, changes and continuities that run throughout each other as the vermilion ink does when spilled on magnolia cloth. The French say, “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose”: the more things change, the more they stay the same.  We were like les soeurs, fused by our neuron map of memories"laughs, stories, hugs, tears, insults, apologies, suppressed grudges"together on a ride to who knows where. How fast we went, oh, how close we were. The future was our patron, a fresh promise for the new; we would paint out our glorious plans with chaotic strokes, splatters, dots"we were going to have an endearingly ugly masterpiece. I could feel it in my chest, the waiting on the edge of the future, being so close. I could see it down at the bottom, the treasure of pearl-silver so tantalizingly open"the thought of never falling was painful, just as painful as when the silent fault lines were drawn and we s/p/l/i/t apart along them, earthquakes waiting to come. (But then again, as Icarus knows too well, going to close to your sun won’t end nicely.) Sometimes I dove.  My sister likes diving into pools from very high boards (I’ve now learned to stay on the side). If you hit the water too quickly, there is a hard stop. That slap is harsh and red, red as in the color of leather on therapist couches. Psychologists say genuine smiles are those that cause the skin around the eyes to wrinkle, and that is how we develop crow’s feet. My eyes look so young right now. I remember the train rides into the effervescent city, the car rides in veiled suburbia, the walking for hours, hours on end by each other’s sides. We spent so much time together, longer than the timeworn scrolls in the back of the church, richer than the calligraphy’s beauty. Something has changed, but it was neither you nor I. They say you replace friends every seven years…how long has it been?