Area of Effect

There was that horrible time.

It was after that great bit, and before the other great bit.

It’s a matter of bookending. At what point does one measure the beginning and end of a trajectory?

What if the closing shot was Aidan being put in my arms?

Or maybe it was the quiet, “It’s too late.”

No, it’s sitting by the Mediterranean soaking in the sun, whiling away the hours until I meet Ivoz.
No, that’s a beginning. “Do you have to leave? Stay another night.” Close scene on a train, eyes closed. The skin remembers.

These notions of endings — start and stop — are constructs.

Awfully self-centered point of view, isn’t it? But this is a first person narrative. That babe in arms is a young man with his own trajectory. My ex survived that crushing simple sentence. I no longer know what his day to day is. I wonder if Ivoz remembers me? But I digress.

Trajectories. Lines extend and intersect. Arcs. Sines. Tangents. Hyperbole. They radiate from each encounter. We effect one another. I imagine my absence, or for that matter, their absence would make a difference.

Too late or early to complete this thought. It’s enough to start.

There was a Big Event. But maybe it was not. Maybe it is just an event, because we’re still in it.

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