And I shall never be the president of Funafuti...

I always prepare for my meetings with Jack. When I ring his doorbell, I am armed and well rehearsed with new life wisdoms. The circumstances force me to. Jack is unlike any guy you know or will ever meet. He is single, and he turned 25, 30, 35, living from one moment to the next.

Every year, just before the Jewish New Year, Jack discards the recent year. He gives away books, which he is not going to read - too much time has passed and he hasn’t read them. He tries to recall the pictures that he didn’t take and to remember the letters that he didn’t write. And after some hours of reflection, he departs from the documentation of lived life. He says, separation makes him free. After all, all that remains of life is a memory, which is not dependent on things.

I tread carefully: “What about your resolutions, Jack?”, as he opens the second bottle of red wine. His eyes sparkle, and he smiles. Jack has never given up his resolutions. This is as certain as the fact that I will never become president of Funafuti.  “They aren’t worth anything,” he says. “Every feeling has been felt. Every thought thought of. You do it yourself. Fill it with purpose and meaning.” 

I try again: “Why start over every year, Jack? If you didn’t have a calendar, you wouldn’t even get the idea…"
He interrupts me: “Let's not have this discussion. Have some wine. I want to spare you the bataillone of New Year aphorisms. Seriously, I am armed. You don’t stand a chance.”

Well, for what it is worth, Jack and I have been friends for decades and I know we will remain friends, until life itself discards us to a memory past.

© Colleen Yorke. All rights reserved. 2020
All names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this blog are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. © All rights reserved.