Nickname

[SoaringIcarus]

The memories came flooding back, and this is the gelatinous residue. I haven't yet decided if this piece is solely out of character. Comments are appreciated and yearned for! Thanks.

 

Heh, I haven’t heard that nickname in years. How quaint it still sounds. Was it…Kate…? Who first coined it? I believe it was. Yes, I distinctly remember now that night we spoke for the first time in months again, long and hard as if we had something to prove. Well, we did. We stayed up all night conversing without direction, recalling old but not stale anecdotes of years before, what we were actually thinking at the time, and how little we’d changed. Neither of us ever thought we had changed a great deal, and we wouldn’t, at least not around each other. She and I were, for the most part, a device for one another. She would speak to me of music, and I would always ask her questions. Only the kind of questions she wanted to hear, so she could recite for us what new volume of knowledge she had acquired since we last met. I, too, had learned something and we would sit there for hours on end slathering our knowledge together, gaining insight on what little theories we had dreamed up. We’d laugh at them, glance at each other, and stop.

 

 

I knew better than to ask how her day was today;

 

she would never stand such trite questions.

 

Those types of meetings lacked formal boundaries, sweetly, as did the continuity of their reoccurrence. One morning I would wake to find her gone before she could arrive. I saw her somewhere else far from here, laughing, with our little theories still on hand. She had forgotten all about those meetings, I’m sure. But that couldn’t bother her too much; one can never truly know what it is like to have forgotten all about something, now can they. She may even coin the very same nickname for some very similar young lad, wearing that very same smile on her lips. And he may be allowed more evenings in her room to hear her sweet desperate voice; as if her will alone propelled it out into the cosmos. I’m sure he will. But he’ll never see that look in her right eye when she knew you heard the music too.

[Peredhil]

Feedback, around this Poetic pool of Pen Pirhanas, is ALWAYS desired!

 

I did find some of the word ordering awkward, although it always made sense.

 

And I recognized some of the ritual game-playing/ego-stroking to which long-held friendships adhere. As if there is an impetus to hold onto the memories of each other, resisting recognition of life as change, fearing growth apart.

 

Very nicely written nostalgia piece. I read into it a sense of acceptance, a wry wink at the youth who was, and is no more. Outgrown and discarded like last years snake skin.

-Peredhil