It was one of those warm nights when I wonder how any Alaskan could
ever dream of living in Hawaii. The stars were dazzling and
the air was summer-fragrant. It was my turn to donate food to the
youth hostel, so I opted for homemade pizza. The food was
nearly gone and someone in the shadows was softly strumming a folk
song on her guitar. Most of us sat in a candlelit circle,
discussing Yevtushenko's poetry and world affairs.
three-part harmony--
on someone's transistor,
talk of invasion
When the young man walked in, only I looked up. He came to sit
beside me, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder between us.
He smiled and introduced himself. He had a wonderful accent
and the sort of dark brooding beauty that can make a woman nearly
forget she's madly in love with someone else. While the rest of the
group continued the lively discussion, he and I moved into a deeper
conversation of our own. And when he said it was time for him
to hitchhike out to the ferry terminal, I volunteered to take him
since it was near my home.
On the drive, we talked about our favorite books and poetry and
songs, and recited favorites to each other. We shared our vision for
a better world. We talked and talked and talked as if we'd
both been waiting decades to say these things to someone.
It was after midnight when we reached the ferry terminal. The
brightly-lit ferry was already being boarded by cars and walk-on
passengers. He grabbed his backpack and walked around to my
side of the car. I got out and we stood a moment under the
star-tossed sky. There were inexplicable tears in his eyes,
and in mine. He reached out and touched my face, and then
shook his head with some thought he did not speak. Then he
took a fresh orange from his backpack and, without a word, handed it
to me. He quickly turned and walked toward the ferry.
I did not know his arms. He did not know my bed. I have
forgotten his name and the color of his eyes. Yet those few hours
from 30 years ago are as fresh today as the orange he gave me then.
the north star sparkles--
a stranger's eyes . . . and soul
touch mine
Next:
Haibun by Eiko Yachimoto
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