“The memories are enough for me,”
I tell myself. It’s simply alright if we never get the chance to meet again, or explore what we could possibly have with one other. I am satisfied with the lessons I’ve learned from you, and I feel a release now that you’ve waivered from me. I no longer think of “what ifs”, or regret of missed chances, mourning a second chance and new beginning. I’ve been thinking about the words I never got to say, many that you were waiting for, but I’ve been thinking and I’ve been feeling and I’ve been praying that perhaps, what you requested was far from what I was ready for. Your name is embedded in me, and our language is the easiest I have ever spoken, but the most difficult I find to forget for it flows between my teeth and through my lips like sugar. I hope we speak again someday, but I’ve only just found my sight again. I tell myself that perhaps for now, “the memories are enough for me.”
“Hello.”
Based on the past black and white photos, I am out of heart to give it up one more time. I am guarded, but you always catch me by surprise. I think that it’s a friendly beginning to no more than a friendship composed of a few waves and content greetings. It won’t progress further than that, now that I’ve gotten a hold of my life, and I’m out of the spotlight. I have become tired of a script written for me by another person, as if it is written by another sleight of hand. I can’t remember the time where he was friendly to me; or a time that I felt cherished, or simply cared-for. I started from an aura of this nothingness, but suddenly I am full – of life, and he couldn’t possibly take it from me this time. Yet, we meet as such a disposition. I always speak about someday, but beginnings are now difficult. I don’t want them to be the start of where I had ended. Yet, I respond, “Hello.” I hope that our memories are never enough.
“Good morning!”
You say, as we exchange smiles and waves because that is what we have become accustomed to. It is a glimpse to a beginning every time we speak sending butterflies throughout. What I think about is a new opening scene in a novel, free to start over in a new book, and mind set, use your imagination if you please. There are new intentions, new ideas, and new friendships – all of which could possibly make me smile. It is all quite possible in this good morning.
“This is the last leg,”
I joke. He laughs loudly, and I notice a light to his face, I’ve never seen before. I think of new beginnings as I hear this new laughter abrupt. I feel as I’ve know you before, but this time, I feel that I could find you if I ever need you. I want to laugh with you, so I would like to someday just know if there was any other day or way I could possibly have another beginning. Always.
“High five!”
Half way through the year, and we’ve spoken a total of a few paragraphs totaling up to the first few chapters of my favorite book. It’s the exposition, and the characters have already untwined nothing but their names, how they move, and they talk, but nothing more… so far.
“Wait up!”
It never progresses further than speaking about the weather, but I stop, and always proceed to wait. I notice… you know. I’ll be your friend to notice the smallest parts of you like I over analyze every word in the books you may notice my nose is always in. I notice. You always pause when you see me walk by, and you always slow down when you see me walking feet behind you. Our lives seem to collide in more than one way, and I don’t mind meeting you over and over again, jut repeating our beginning. I notice, and this gives me hope; waiting for our conversation to progress, but I notice your eyes are always locked on my face, and I synchronize your motions, and that is somehow enough for me.
“I see you.”
I do. We have inside jokes – of odd looks, and small gestures that we have accumulated over this year. At this senior to senior dance the nursing home thrives on energy and dancing we both lack in skill. You try to dance with your long limbs, swaying to each side. There’s no doubt that you’ve won the hearts of more than one that night, there were more eyes than mine you could have made eye contact with, but yours were locked on mine. It was a night, yet to the classroom setting the night continues. Our eyes meet more times than one, and I hope to meet them, it isn’t a chore… “keep your eyes on your own paper.”
“I want to get to know you better.”
Yet our lives are places in such an arrangement to never proceed any further than this slow beginning. A curse has been placed upon us to never break past it, but my patience is running thin. I don’t know how to proceed; I am not good with spoken words as I am with writing them. You speak of my “Intelligence”, my “talent”, my “beauty”… but all I am missing is the air to proceed any further.
“I really did enjoy getting to know you this year.”
What I wanted to say in response was, “I spent all year trying to get to know you… and I am still trying, and wanting to get to know you – all of you.” At the beginning of this year, I did not want to speak any words, yet here we are speaking words that we have never spoken, half grounded, ready to fly from this place, going our separate ways. We still have yet to surpass gentle waves of hello, and talks about the weather, but there are, I guess, different types of beginnings. There are beginnings that are fast, and some beginnings are slow. Some beginnings I could get used to happening over and over again.
“I hope we will see each other again.”
– Emilyn Nguyen, Different Types of Beginnings
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