Timeless suspension

Tuesday, 13 June 2006, between Dallas and Seoul

I close my eyes and I see her -- her geeky smile, tennis ball between her chops. She looks at me and in her eyes she says, "Come play with me!" Her tail is beating furiously against the wall; her golden coat shaggy the way only a dog who loves to play can be. And in the space before I fall asleep, I succumb.

I close my eyes and I hear your voice, as if it were echoing from a different time, when you and I shared a room. It would be 4 in the morning; I would be fighting off sleep with every fibre in me; and your voice would waft into my fading consciousness: "So, Learn, are you -- happy?" I cannot see your face when you say that because we are both staring at the ceiling in the dark, but you say it with such a certainty, as if you were holding the very substance in your hand, as if I knew what you meant. I dart my eyes and you knew that you would have to begin to pry me like an oyster to make me speak.

I close my eyes and I feel your hug, and it feels the way it has always felt, curve against curve, bone fitting bone, and I realise that I am back home again.

And there is you, whom I love and miss in such a deep and horrible way that I pretend that I don't miss you because it is just easier that way. I drag you out to run in the 100F Texan heat at 5:30pm the evening before I leave, and I talk the whole time -- about giving up, about our pace, our distance, and I drive you nuts and you say to me, "You are annoying! Ssh!" the way only a sister can. Yet I smile because I am relishing every moment of this insane run, even when your neighbour drove by and yelled, "You are crazy, woman!" because these are what memories are made of and these are all I've got nowadays.

I am such an incurable sap.