she told me he packed up all his things in probably an hour, but went on to explain that it felt like forever, and definitely not just an hour. she said it felt like everything was in black and white, moving in slow-motion, like an old-time movie. and, continuing this by-standard-like feeling as if a movie viewer, she explained the overwhelming lack of control she had over his movements and equally that of her own. from what i gathered, she just stood there, immobile, staring at the screen in front of her. i took a picture in my head of what she might've looked like at the time. her face, her expression of lifelessness, would've made the perfect muse for a caricaturist. it really was the ideal 'blank canvas.' for fear i looked the same, i sat up straighter and crunched my forehead as if to appear to be listening intently.
she went on to tell me that he left something behind. my interest peeked (for real this time... i wasnt faking it, i promise.)
“well, he didnt leave it behind. that wasnt exactly what happened.” (a moment later, she would come to reveal the actual sequence of events.)
what happened was, she took it. she grabbed it before he realized it wasn’t packed away, stuffed haphazardly into a box.
it was strange for her to do such a thing, i thought. why take something from him and why make it so... to have anything left over from him? aren’t the memories enough (or, too much?) to have to hold onto?
and then, acquiescing to the idea that perhaps it wasnt SO strange to have done what she did, i decided i could maybe understand her taking it if it were something they shared, or bought together, or enjoyed on a regular basis while in each others company as a semblance of what was. but this? this item, this trinket, this token… why? id never understand.
she saw things differently.
"i would've taken it, too," i said.
i put my coffee cup to my lips, and continued to listen.
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