Placerville
Louis asked me how I've been. Not so good, I replied, always the understatement. His eyes got wet, because he understood. I knew I was in the presence of a kindred soul, and we hugged, as if by sharing the pain we can conquer it together. I told him I'm a fan of his superduo pictures with Katie - they were taken on his birthday, at the top of Blacks, where they rode the convectional currents. He told me that he's left science and is reinventing himself. In politics? I forgot. He was always a charmer, in the best possible way.
I travelled to a chapel in Placerville, Katie's hometown. Katie's parents stood bravely at the entrance, greeting everybody in turn. I signed in at the guestbook, and hoped to slip in invisible. I've always felt inadequate before them, but never more so than now, when nothing I do makes a damned difference. It's possible that they wouldn't recognize me, we've only met once in person, on a sunny day outside Mayer hall - our graduation day, Katie's and mine. Foolish hope. Katie's mother called out to me, kindly, "Aris, you came." What to say to this woman, who no longer has her child? What grace, that she can make me feel welcome on this day of all days. Me, a near-stranger, an outcast. I hugged her and said, "I'm so sorry." I hugged her father. "I'm so sorry." The pews were filling up quickly. I picked the only available spot that would seat the four of us. Once there were five, in one apartment.
In the middle of the service, I realized to whom I sat beside, on my left. It was hard to tell, behind his week-old beard. When last we parted, his stare drove daggers into my back. I had full intention to avoid him during this service, but I wasn't careful enough. He fidgeted a great deal but kept his peace. Our rivalry has lost all meaning. Afterward, Jimmy said, to nobody in particular, "Everything seems so trivial now." Eric never said a word about it, but he must be hurting.
Her father was the first to speak at the podium, his voice broken by grief, and drowned out by irreverent toddler speech. Her brother next, who seemed cheerful but only in comparison. Sean spoke of the so-called physicist's view on death, which I despise for its emptiness. But he spoke also of Katie's dedication to balance research with her great passions, her uncommon generosity in sharing happiness with everybody around. Alex said this of Katie, that she would often tilt her head to the sun and exclaim, "Can you believe it? This is our lives." The two Juans spoke in turn, the elder before the younger. I bristled at the overly rosy picture they painted, because I knew how much Katie struggled to gain their approval. Perhaps they believe what they say. I hope so. The service concluded with a photo slideshow prepared by Avalon. Young Katie, the life I never knew, which made it all the more poignant. Old Katie performing handstands, acroyoga, surfing; she was always comfortable with the attention, she loved a good photo. Some of my Beijing pictures made an appearance, as did Jake's girl-magnet balloons.
Finally. One by one, and in small groups, people stood up, and started walking away. I never looked at their faces, didn't want to. Where are they going? Is that it? Are we supposed to return to our everyday lives, go on as if nothing had happened. Katie wouldn't like this. She would be screaming, "Don't go." "It's not fair." "I want to live." She no longer has a voice to shout. I do. But I didn't. Instead I laid down my glasses on the pew, and started crying. I cried for the life she's lost, the life I imagined we would share. Bright lights, now one dimmed. Jake just sat there, warm shoulder to mine, my silent rock, he weathered the storm.
I travelled to a chapel in Placerville, Katie's hometown. Katie's parents stood bravely at the entrance, greeting everybody in turn. I signed in at the guestbook, and hoped to slip in invisible. I've always felt inadequate before them, but never more so than now, when nothing I do makes a damned difference. It's possible that they wouldn't recognize me, we've only met once in person, on a sunny day outside Mayer hall - our graduation day, Katie's and mine. Foolish hope. Katie's mother called out to me, kindly, "Aris, you came." What to say to this woman, who no longer has her child? What grace, that she can make me feel welcome on this day of all days. Me, a near-stranger, an outcast. I hugged her and said, "I'm so sorry." I hugged her father. "I'm so sorry." The pews were filling up quickly. I picked the only available spot that would seat the four of us. Once there were five, in one apartment.
In the middle of the service, I realized to whom I sat beside, on my left. It was hard to tell, behind his week-old beard. When last we parted, his stare drove daggers into my back. I had full intention to avoid him during this service, but I wasn't careful enough. He fidgeted a great deal but kept his peace. Our rivalry has lost all meaning. Afterward, Jimmy said, to nobody in particular, "Everything seems so trivial now." Eric never said a word about it, but he must be hurting.
Her father was the first to speak at the podium, his voice broken by grief, and drowned out by irreverent toddler speech. Her brother next, who seemed cheerful but only in comparison. Sean spoke of the so-called physicist's view on death, which I despise for its emptiness. But he spoke also of Katie's dedication to balance research with her great passions, her uncommon generosity in sharing happiness with everybody around. Alex said this of Katie, that she would often tilt her head to the sun and exclaim, "Can you believe it? This is our lives." The two Juans spoke in turn, the elder before the younger. I bristled at the overly rosy picture they painted, because I knew how much Katie struggled to gain their approval. Perhaps they believe what they say. I hope so. The service concluded with a photo slideshow prepared by Avalon. Young Katie, the life I never knew, which made it all the more poignant. Old Katie performing handstands, acroyoga, surfing; she was always comfortable with the attention, she loved a good photo. Some of my Beijing pictures made an appearance, as did Jake's girl-magnet balloons.
Finally. One by one, and in small groups, people stood up, and started walking away. I never looked at their faces, didn't want to. Where are they going? Is that it? Are we supposed to return to our everyday lives, go on as if nothing had happened. Katie wouldn't like this. She would be screaming, "Don't go." "It's not fair." "I want to live." She no longer has a voice to shout. I do. But I didn't. Instead I laid down my glasses on the pew, and started crying. I cried for the life she's lost, the life I imagined we would share. Bright lights, now one dimmed. Jake just sat there, warm shoulder to mine, my silent rock, he weathered the storm.
posted by Dr. Broke at 1:15 AM
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