with some stones. I wasn't in any hurry.
‘Excuse me,’ says this voice, and I looked up to see the man standing over me. The slanting sun was in his eyes and he wasshading them with his hand. He had a nice suit on and he was younger than people's parents are, but not much. ‘You live here, don't you?’
I nodded, and looked up at his face. He looked familiar.
‘I used to live here,’ he said, ‘when I was a kid. On the top floor.’ Then he laughed, and I recognized him from the sound. ‘A long time ago now. Came back after all these years to see if it had changed.’
I didn't say anything.
‘Hasn't much, still looks the same.’ He turned and looked again at the block, then back past me towards the wasteground. ‘Guys still playing out there on the ’ground?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘it's cool. We have a fort there.’
‘And the creek?’
He knew I still played there: he'd been watching. I knew what he really wanted to ask, so I just nodded. The man nodded too, as if he didn't know what to say next. Or more like he knew what he wanted to say, but didn't know how to go about it.
‘My name's Tom Spivey,’ he said, and then stopped. I nodded again. The man laughed, embarrassed. ‘This is going to sound very weird, but… I've seen you around today, and yesterday.’ He laughed again, running his hand through his hair, and then finally asked what was on his mind. ‘Your name isn't Pete, by any chance?’
I looked up into his eyes, then turned away.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It's Jim.’
The man looked confused for a moment, then relieved. He said a couple more things about the block, and then he went away. Back to the city, or wherever.
After dinner I saw Matt out in the back parking lot, behind the block. We talked about the afternoon some, so he could get warmed up, and then he told me what was on his mind.
His family was moving on. His dad had got a better job somewhere else. They'd be going in a week.
We talked a little more, and then he went back inside, looking different somehow, as if he'd already gone.
I stayed out, sitting on the wall, thinking about missing people. I wasn't feeling sad, just tired. Sure, I was going to miss Matt. He was my best friend. I'd missed Tom for a while, but then someone else came along. And then someone else, and someone else. There's always new people. They come, and then they go. Maybe Matt would return some day, like Tom. Sometimes they do come back. But everybody goes.
HELL HATH ENLARGED HERSELF
I always assumed I was going to get old. That there would come a time when just getting dressed left me breathless, and I would count a day without a nap as a victory; when I would go into a barber's and some young girl would lift up the remaining grey stragglers on my pate and look dubious if I asked her for anything more than a trim. I would have tried to be charming, and she would have thought to herself how game the old bird was, while cutting off rather less than I'd asked her to. I thought all that was going to come, some day, and in a perverse sort of way I had even looked forward to it. A diminuendo, an ellipsis to some other place.
But now I know it will not happen, that I will remain unresolved, like some fugue which didn't work out. Or perhaps more like a voice in an unfinished symphony, because I won't be the only one.
I regret that. I'm going to miss having been old.
I left the facility at 6.30 yesterday evening, on the dot, as had been my practice. I took care to do everything as I always had, carefully collating my notes, tidying my desk, and leaving upon it a list of things to do the next day. I hung my white coat on the back of my office door as always, and said goodbye to Johnny on the gate with a wink. For six months we have been engaged in a game which involves making some joint statement on the weather every time I enter or leave the facility, without either of us recoursing to speech. Yesterday, Johnny raised his eyebrows at the dark and heavy
‘Excuse me,’ says this voice, and I looked up to see the man standing over me. The slanting sun was in his eyes and he wasshading them with his hand. He had a nice suit on and he was younger than people's parents are, but not much. ‘You live here, don't you?’
I nodded, and looked up at his face. He looked familiar.
‘I used to live here,’ he said, ‘when I was a kid. On the top floor.’ Then he laughed, and I recognized him from the sound. ‘A long time ago now. Came back after all these years to see if it had changed.’
I didn't say anything.
‘Hasn't much, still looks the same.’ He turned and looked again at the block, then back past me towards the wasteground. ‘Guys still playing out there on the ’ground?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘it's cool. We have a fort there.’
‘And the creek?’
He knew I still played there: he'd been watching. I knew what he really wanted to ask, so I just nodded. The man nodded too, as if he didn't know what to say next. Or more like he knew what he wanted to say, but didn't know how to go about it.
‘My name's Tom Spivey,’ he said, and then stopped. I nodded again. The man laughed, embarrassed. ‘This is going to sound very weird, but… I've seen you around today, and yesterday.’ He laughed again, running his hand through his hair, and then finally asked what was on his mind. ‘Your name isn't Pete, by any chance?’
I looked up into his eyes, then turned away.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It's Jim.’
The man looked confused for a moment, then relieved. He said a couple more things about the block, and then he went away. Back to the city, or wherever.
After dinner I saw Matt out in the back parking lot, behind the block. We talked about the afternoon some, so he could get warmed up, and then he told me what was on his mind.
His family was moving on. His dad had got a better job somewhere else. They'd be going in a week.
We talked a little more, and then he went back inside, looking different somehow, as if he'd already gone.
I stayed out, sitting on the wall, thinking about missing people. I wasn't feeling sad, just tired. Sure, I was going to miss Matt. He was my best friend. I'd missed Tom for a while, but then someone else came along. And then someone else, and someone else. There's always new people. They come, and then they go. Maybe Matt would return some day, like Tom. Sometimes they do come back. But everybody goes.
HELL HATH ENLARGED HERSELF
I always assumed I was going to get old. That there would come a time when just getting dressed left me breathless, and I would count a day without a nap as a victory; when I would go into a barber's and some young girl would lift up the remaining grey stragglers on my pate and look dubious if I asked her for anything more than a trim. I would have tried to be charming, and she would have thought to herself how game the old bird was, while cutting off rather less than I'd asked her to. I thought all that was going to come, some day, and in a perverse sort of way I had even looked forward to it. A diminuendo, an ellipsis to some other place.
But now I know it will not happen, that I will remain unresolved, like some fugue which didn't work out. Or perhaps more like a voice in an unfinished symphony, because I won't be the only one.
I regret that. I'm going to miss having been old.
I left the facility at 6.30 yesterday evening, on the dot, as had been my practice. I took care to do everything as I always had, carefully collating my notes, tidying my desk, and leaving upon it a list of things to do the next day. I hung my white coat on the back of my office door as always, and said goodbye to Johnny on the gate with a wink. For six months we have been engaged in a game which involves making some joint statement on the weather every time I enter or leave the facility, without either of us recoursing to speech. Yesterday, Johnny raised his eyebrows at the dark and heavy
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