― john j geddes
Land of Tears
I often feel helpless when dealing with Lucas and witnessing his grief. I wonder if other people feel that same sense of powerlessness trying to support someone experiencing a big emotion―that same experience of being destitute, unable to offer hope or comfort.
It's one thing to look into your soul and see it's barren, devoid of any human comfort, but that comes from lack of experience―not being able to relate to the deep feelings of another.
It's quite a different thing to undergo an equally profound emotion that is so rare and peculiar that it pertains specifically to you and the English language lacks a word to describe it.
I'm talking about the soul-wrenching pain I feel when I awaken from my dreams and can't remember them. The closest I can come to describing it is to liken it to the deep longing that accompanies homesickness.
And this is what I feel most mornings.
Seeing Lucas by the water's edge straining to commune with his dead wife stirs something in me―I know it relates to my dreams and know there's a hidden drama being enacted there I'm cut off from, but it's my life and I'm entitled...
I want to live it, but can't.
And yes, I'm depressed. There's a girl there who may as well be called Miseria―she's the goddess of my anxiety and misfortune, the reason I'm condemned to living a half life―the other part buried in oblivion where I can never retrieve it.
Ironically, Mollie, my Golden Retriever, can navigate between us like Dante's guide and show me glimpses of what awaits on the other side. She's loyal and obeys all my commands except one―Go, Find...
At least, up until now, but sometimes I hope that might be subject to change.
It's a gray morning but I'm up and going through the motions of packing things, mostly personal items I'll take with me in my SUV when I move into my new house next week. It's busy work but it distracts me from thinking on my dreams or the department get-together tonight and how I may or may not fit in.
Gail Ratliff, the Department Chair, seems nice―friendly and down-to-earth―at least, at this point. She might be like the Department Chair last time I was writer-in-residence―a severe woman named Myrna McPherson, who wore her hair tied back in a bun and sported a pair of black men's oxfords.
God spare me enduring that again!
I'm just being paranoid. I'm sure Gail will be supportive and my colleagues, hopefully collegial...
But then again, as Casey said before he struck out at bat, hope springs eternal in the human breast.
Just saying…while hoping for the best.
The party's located in one of the mansions on Chaplin Crescent in the Casa Loma area of Toronto. A very chic address. Gail said casual dress but already I'm regretting coming tieless in a sports coat over designer jeans, looking slightly hippyish as a throw-back Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate
Gail answers and my fears of her being a staid prude are somewhat allayed as she has traits of a very attractive Mrs. Robinson.
"Come on in, Si and mix and mingle. We'll touch base later in the evening. I won't bore you with schedules or outlines―that all can be handled by email. I just wanted to see if I could work with you and already I can see we're compatible."
She smiles and hands me a glass of champagne and melts back into the darkened recesses. I follow the sound of voices and am accosted by an older, distinguished gentleman who shakes my hand warmly.
"I'm Walker Chapman, Si, Chair of Archeology. Gail invites me to her get togethers to spice up the party." He smiles good-naturedly and I have no doubt he enlivens the proceedings.
I return his smile."Pleased to meet you, Walter, but I must warn you, all I know about archeology is watching episodes of Time Team on television."
He laughs, "An excellent series, Si. And I'm afraid all I know about writing is that I enjoy reading Fitzgerald and Hemingway."
"An excellent choice in authors," I chuckle. "I think we have some common ground here."
He takes my elbow, "Let me introduce you to some of your new colleagues, but be warned―most are dreadful bores―don't tell them I told you," he winks.
I like Walter. I wish he were in my department. And I don't doubt for one minute his warning was facetious. Professors of Literature can be the most deadly pedants.
We make the rounds and eventually Walter passes me off to a pretty young Lecturer named Sarah Evans.
"Well, I guess I've met everyone, " I smile, "and survived running the gauntlet."
"Not quite, she confides with a mischievous smirk, "You haven't met Gemma Granger."
"Should I be on guard?" I tease.
"Not tonight―she had a prior commitment, but you'll meet her soon enough. Then you can judge if you escape her rigorous interrogation."
"Is she a hard ass?" I joke.
"No, but most men find her intimidating. I'll leave it up to you to form your own opinions."
At that moment, Gail Ratliff appear and we chat for about ten minutes until she declares, "I think you'll be an invaluable asset to the department, SI. Feel free to contact me whenever you need help―my door's always open.
And with that, she's gone, melting back into the dark sea of oblivion and I knew I passed my first test and my orientation's over.
All that remains is to drop by the administrative offices and sign forms and prepare for the one course I'd be teaching on The Sense of Wonder in Imaginative Literature.
The universe is unfolding as it should with no wrinkles apparent to me...so far.
Progress being made for both Si and Lucas with Mollie at the helm, excellent story line, caught up once again!
Thanks, have a great evening.
@tipu curate 2
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Glad to hear you're liking it, Joan :)
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