"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.Gemini was cranky. He called for my attention but then couldn't be bothered to look up from his notebook of formulas when I responded. His words were brief. Everybody was glad I was going to a more stable place, but leaving was still awkward. I felt like a dog who, despite a loving family, was being sent to a new home because the new landlord didn't permit pets.
"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--
"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
Nearly two months ago I am standing at the entrance to what, in a few moments, will no longer be my apartment. VJ swings one of my suitcases into his trunk and looks up the stairway to see me standing there, staring into the distance.
"Leaving is hard," he says, trying to sympathize.
I look at him a little puzzled. While I will surely never live here again, I will be back in town in about a week.
"It...feels good to be on the road again really."
"Oh?"
Its odd to explain side from one place where I lived for 9 months I haven't lived anywhere consistently for more than six months since I left for college.
We're in the present again now.
"We're going to miss you Pika," he said, giving me a big hug.
"Don't worry," I said, patting him on the back mid-hug, "I'll be back tomorrow for class."
In a sense, this "leaving" seems a bit artificial.
Months ago I tumbled out of a white jeep and turned back to look at Magpie. He's not really one for hugs anyway, although sometimes I wish he was.
"See?" he laughed, trying to make light of the situation, "and this time we didn't even need to call the feds because of bad traffic!"
PJ is probably the greatest oddity in all of this. I don't think I have ever said goodbye to him. The first time we were standing there when I shrugged and laughed about how, even though we had no plans of it, we knew the world was so small that we would run into one another again. Since then I see him about twice a year, just like clockwork. The last few times I don't think I even bothered to say "see you later" when I left.
I'm sitting at lunch in a little Mexican restaurant where my (now former) boss loves to go to to discuss work. It's about a week ago.
"I thought you were kidding when you said you had briefly gone homeless."
I shook my head, taking another bite of my burrito.
"Well I wouldn't have laughed if I had known you were serious."
"Its over now, don't worry."
This weekend we had about the same conversation at a former coworker's housewarming party. It really bothered Crash. His eyes puffed up red and he went into the corner to blow his nose a lot. It wasn't my intention to upset him.
I walked slowly back to the lab on Wednesday, now keyless to collect a last few things. Today Java offered me probably the first compliment I have ever recieved from him.
I watch my coworkers struggle to find a definitive last day to conclude things in the world of a sliding scale relationships. Since I am not moving this time I will remain peripherally involved. If nothing else I will still take classes next door to what use to be my lab. My relationship to this place is changing, but I am not leaving.
The sun is coming up through the front windows of the Torii. I have been here too long. Late nights make the dividing lines between days confusing and arbitrary seeming.
As a matter of fact I have recently begun to struggle with the concepts of the beginnings and endings of anything related to time. The reality is our relationships of all varities do not fit so neatly into the concept of starting and ending on dates unless we choose to abandon them as such.
The human impulse to compartmentalize and consider our lives in discrete chunks is substantial: days, hours, minutes, all these things are artificial constructs we impose on a steady flow of time. The same can be said of phases: high school, college, or a first job. The reality is that this world is built on tiny human connections, and that these connections deteriorate when we stop putting the effort in to mantain them.
"Playlist," I asked, passing him a beer as he sat at the desk in his room, "You're never online."
"Yeah, I hate AIM. You could call."
"What's a good day?"
The idea of these constructs having any meaning at all seems increasingly silly to me as the days pass. After all, will even my life be marked as a little discrete slice? The forces that shaped me, and the impact I leave on the world, faded into existance and will fade out again slowly over a much longer period than my own lifespan. It will not be wrapped up so neatly by the engraving of my tombstone.
I wave goodbye to the Bounty Hunters as they pile into cars to drive breakneck speed to the airport.
"Goodbye!" they call. I hear one voice through an open window, "Hope you get your tranfer to come out with us full time!"
"Don't worry about it," I laugh, "I'll be in touch!"
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