01

Peut-être je vous verrai là

Out of character, and the accordance of her nature, she wrote and asked “Was it all for nothing?” and enclosed a somber image of herself. Not that the image was unhappy, but it was serious and grave in the way daguerreotypes often are. In person she did possess a kind of weighted sadness, but rather than a look on her face, or a posture of any kind, it was something deep within her eyes, or strewn out behind her in the invisible chemistry of the air. Nothing a photograph would capture. And yet, there it was in his hands. He tried not to think about it, but the feelings arrived on their own, as if someone had opened the windows and it was suddenly freezing cold in the room.

“Tell me it wasn’t for nothing.” He whispered into his hands. The sound reflected back into his own ear as if someone else had taken possession of his own voice and was using it against him. He looked up quickly, eyes darting about the room. He half expected to find himself puttering about in the hall and mumbling something about how every experience we share is of value.

With a heavy sigh he nodded and while the weight of the exchange flowed out of him like water suddenly being released from a plastic bag he waved his hand softly in the air and said “No experience is without some form of value.” And spent the rest of the afternoon quietly watching the shadows move across the ceiling while his trousers dried, and the room was in darkness.