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.