Things you say out loud. Things you share with close friends. Things you keep for yourself – or reveal to a stranger about to leave a night ride on a Greyhound bus, never to be seen again.
Things that leave you speechless. Finding words for them anyway.
I walked home from the school last night, after a delicious meal with the teachers – and confirmation someone else will teach English to the kids. Ahead of me in the long ill-lit pedestrian walk between the stadium and the pool, a young couple strode forward. Dress code and attitude spelled ‘hood + in love. They made their goodbyes near the boxing club. The girl made her final recommendations; turned and headed back toward the housing units (notice I don’t call them apartments or homes, although most of them match up to those descriptions. Most, but not all).
He moved on. Crossed the bridge ahead of me. Let out a call. His buddies responded from the new spot they’ve staked out recently. At which point I reconsidered my route. A pity; I know many of them. In full daylight, on their own: greetings get exchanged, polite nods and even smiles. Mais la nuit, tous les chats sont gris. (But at night, all cats are grey).
Dropped in on my neighbor. Watched Marion Cotillard in La Mome, and listened to a jazz piano improv of the Allegretto of Beethoven’s 7th symphony – part of a musical work in progress receiving a first public hearing tonight.
Idle thoughts: what if neither Romeo nor Juliet had died for real that night. What if their marriage had been annulled by the Church, and they had both been reclaimed by their family clans. Then, lived out their lives in close proximity, both linked forever and forever estranged. Closed societies are like that. Secrets morph and rumors become official doctrine. The unsaid lays down a fresh layer, then another, then another still.