The Fool’s Farewell

“Do you want to listen to some music while we sleep”, I asked her.
“Sure, that will be sweet”, she replied.
“We will have to share my ear phones. Do you mind?” I queried.
“We have shared much more so why not ear phones too”, she said with that mischievous smile that I knew I was going to miss.

I silently handed her an ear piece and turned on the soundtrack of the Quiet American on my MP3 player. I lay down beside her on the bed and popped the other ear piece in. The slow sensuous voice of that unknown Vietnamese singer filled my world. If a soul could cry, this is how it would sound.

We did not touch. The only thing that connected us was the music. We looked at each other. Her eyes had more streaks of yellow. We said nothing to each other. All that needed to be spoken was already part of the sound waves of the past. Soon sleep overtook us and I dozed off. I woke to the stars shining on her ceiling as the last song in the album was playing. I looked at her sleeping peacefully. I eased the ear piece from her. The silence did not wake her. Easing out of the bed, I made my way to living area of the studio. The Fool’s poem nudged its way into my head and I sat down to write it down.

In that last dance of chances
I shall partner you no more.
I shall watch another turn you
As you move across the floor.

In that last dance of chances
When I bid your life goodbye
I hope she treats you kindly.
I will hope you learn to fly.1

I looked up to see if the scratching of my pen woke her. She was sleeping blissfully without a care in the world. I finished jotting down the poem from memory and slipped it into an envelope. I then quietly packed my stuff thinking longingly of the happy few days spent in the tiny studio. I then snuck into the bedroom and looked at her. She did not wake. The envelope with the poem I left on the bed next to her and stealthily made my way out, hoping the closing of the door would wake her.

In that dance of chances
When I know you'll not be mine
I will let you go with longing
And the hope that you'll be fine.1

The elevator brought me down to Earth and I then had to rake my head to figure out where I parked my car. After walking a few streets I realized I had parked it right inside the apartment complex. I turned the car on allowing it to warm up. A cancer stick seemed inviting, so I hopped out and sucked on one. I hoped she would have realized that I had left by now. She did not come.

In that last dance of chances
We shall know each other's minds,
We shall part with our regrets
When the tie no longer binds.1

As the light of cigarette dimmed so did my hope. I looked up at the night sky. There were no stars. I got into the car and moved on…

1. "The Fool's Poem" by Robin Hobb from The Tawny Man trilogy.