Countryboyi, this for you. You made all the difference. Your generosity surprises me. You're the true believer. So now I know. Anything can spark these thoughts. A chat with a friend on Yahoo! Messenger maybe. Reading through the paper at my own leisure, in the minutes before lunch, now that I have all the time and I’m in the lounge waiting for everyone to finish up so that we can walk down together in the mid afternoon sun, three men, four women, laughing, teasing each other, young and so happy to be here, but it is in the quiet minutes in the lounge, reading sections of the paper I have not read in years that can bring these thoughts on; a brief story tucked away at the bottom of the page like a shy child on her first day in school. Anything can spark these thoughts. Remembering sometimes does too remind me and begin these thoughts but I have so little time to make end notes of another past now, the future is rushing at me and I’m running full tilt into it’s embrace so I think little of the past and where I have been or who I have been there with, in those closed off rooms I no longer visit so much but if I do walk down like I used to on the first day of holidays in boarding school down the empty hallways of my past life hearing voices and conversations I will never forget, that too can spark these thoughts. Like how meeting someone new, a person genuinely new, not like anyone I have ever met before, can spark these thoughts too. Like meeting A.
A who brought me back to a passage, a life I did not live but wrote down somewhere in a novel I wrote, a child then, oh what a child, a novel I have not perused in so long, only Pascal owns the other copy. The beginning of this scribbling obsession in the pages of this 96 paged Visa exercise book, the only exercise book I never tore out even one page, with my name, my stream, the subject neatly written out and in the pages, the story of lives I would never live imagined and written out, 16 years old, what did I know about life (?), but here you are: A, and your life is tumbling out for you everyday, you spark these thoughts, eerie resemblances.
On a night like yesterday when you stayed late, the pages of this manuscript only Pascal ever read came alive! You will never know this but your journey was mapped out in the brain of a 16 year old who could not sleep, listening to a mother growing thinner because she would not eat so that her children could eat, awake for the horrors of sleep, at the top of his double decker bed, in flat on street he would write of one day, imaging your life in this brain heated. I could see you on the long journey back home, in that newly bought car, driving all the long way home, in the dark, late at night, with the girl who would become the wife sleeping the front passenger seat, driving, until about to turn into home, he would turn over to her to see a look in her eyes he would never forget!