I was walking along the footpaths by the Mill River, a favorite spot of mine for an early May morning. The air still held a chill, winter’s last attempt to spread its intensity over New Haven. This winter had been a brutal one, so the wind always carried a warning: Stay inside! But the sun’s rays stretched over the lilies, and the bird’s chirping grew into a discordant chorus. I was glad to be in May.
As I crossed the footbridge, that glorious arc of metal painted on the tiles of my grandparents’ dining table, I noticed something peculiar. They were standing there, the two of them, standing facing each other on the bank of the river upstream a hundred yards, positioned on its next gentle bend. The leaves of the trees behind them formed a neat arch, which could have made a pretty picture if anyone wanted to take it. Their faces had these cool looks on them, not judgemental per se, but cool. They both looked as if they knew something about each other, it was as if they were saying “I’ve got you figured out…” They were self-important looks.
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy. In the past, the sight of a young couple would have filled me with boredom, but now I was in a relationship. Each couple that passed was a little reminder of what I had, if I needed them to be. So why melancholy? Maybe it was something in the girl’s face. A slight twinge in the eye, a subdued smugness, which seemed to say “ . . .but you just have no idea, do you?” And the boy was not quite oblivious, but embodied a certain incuriousness, set up like a screen against those things too challenging to let in.
In the gap between the two lingered a ghastly idea. A specter which I now think may have been more of a holy ghost than a household spirit. Within it was held total and complete loss. Loss of time and space and over and across and loss all throughout. . .
A last icy breeze rudely splashed across my face. I watched the young couple join hands and step together up from the bank, disappearing under the spring-green tree cover. I paused for a moment, then peered over the handrail at the ripples passing beneath my feet. The water and the fluctuating shadows of the leaves on the water began to look like abstract art. I was starting to feel too warm for my sweatshirt. June would come soon enough.
