A couple nights ago I met (re-met) someone who played a role in my life 22 years ago and then disappeared -- re-met so unexpectedly and so coincidentally that every coincidence-save-one pales. Just out of the blue, 22 years and 3000 miles later. It's a good story, which I will not tell here just yet.
For now, though, I will quote this juicy bit of The Moviegoer, a bit I think about at least once a week, about that gap between now and then and what it might say:
“A successful repetition. What is a repetition? A repetition is the re-enactment of past experience toward the end of isolating the time segment which has lapsed in order that it, the lapsed time, can be savored of itself and without the usual adulteration of events that clog time like peanuts in brittle. . . . How, then, tasted my own fourteen years since The Oxbow Incident? As usual it eluded me. There was this: a mockery about the old seats, their plywood split, their bottoms slashed, but enduring nevertheless as if they had waited to see what I had done with my fourteen years. There was this also: a secret sense of wonder about the enduring, about all the nights, the rainy summer nights at twelve and one and two o’clock when the seats endured alone in the empty theater. The enduring is something which must be accounted for. One cannot simply shrug it off.”
How did those 22 years taste? Oh that is a good question.Posted by dbrown at April 21, 2005 10:56 PM