This morning Andrew boarded the Salad Express, a charter bus with dancing bok choy and green pepper bound for the Kansai International Airport. On the sidewalk next to the bus door, there was a chair with a small digital clock. He boarded at 7:22, and I, along with the porter and luggage handler, watched each minute until 7:30, when a little alarm went off. A late comer dashed onboard in the last second, the doors closed hastily so as not to get behind schedule, and the bus drove away, completing the circle in the parking lot where it had left off three weeks ago when Andrew arrived in this exact location.
I went to get some tea to fill the time before HPAC opened, but found myself too early for the mall's Starbucks, standing in the window overlooking the bus stop, train tracks, and waiting taxi cabs, listening to sentimental hits from the 70s. California Dreamin' answered by thoughts about future travel. Funny how the universe works.
And how to fill the space that someone leaves? Opening a door and silence there. What music, what radio show, what kihop, can fill it? What solitary ritual substitutes the one performed by two? Seeing the world through two eyes, two ears, one body once again. Remembering shared experiences and relearning a new rhythm remembered. How is this different from before? How does another person change the way we live? What it is, why is it, that we miss someone?
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