ghosts

i have long labored under the belief there is unfinished business in life. and this works for me on several different levels. there are things like how a cigarette tastes in chicago, how some nights taste like an evening in richfield (that sweet cusp of adulthood), or feeling the infinity when everything seems to fall into place. catching those moments almost feels like borrowed time or time given to me.

i think of this at a coffee shop cos the jones sitting across from me looks like an old grade school friend of mine. my folks moved the six blocks from st. paul to thorntown when i was eleven, forcing me to switch school districts, find new kids to bike around with, join a different baseball league. john was my best friend, but after i moved he slipped into the realm of mom reports, which were repeated to me after run-ins at the grocery store.

and it's not just old friends that come back to haunt me. there are times i see older or younger versions of family members, even myself. they'll be standing off to the side in a bookstore or down the bar. they never look at me as much as i look at them, and i wonder why they're there--if something special or horrific happens that day to if they get passes to come and visit me. still, a little direction from them would be nice.

john died probably twelve or fourteen years ago, meaning i haven't talked to him in well over half a lifetime. i believe he was one of two friends that threw themselves off the grain belt bridge in minneapolis--i've always felt too guilty to find out the specifics or, perhaps more importantly, the 'why-he-did-it'.

specters of the past, perhaps of the future, are around all the time. i know at this point of life there is no point in waxing sentimental about them. but it's comforting knowing they're there, that they're part of me. like john is now; he's happy, sitting on his mac, checking email--he looks younger than he should, but i like to think that's more of a personal choice.