Sunday, September 18, 2005
Angelus
It was a lovely church. It wasn't beautiful, in the way many of the old churches he'd been to in England had been, but he could see the simple grace with which it had been designed, and how perhaps in a hundred years time, when architecture had moved on to something sleeker and shiner, it would be a place of fond remembrance and great beauty.
The priest rambled a fair bit about collections for the church, and if he recalls right he didn't actually get around to a sermon.
During this time, he let his gaze wander.
It fell upon a familiar face sitting a ways across from him, a familiar pair of eyes.
It came as a bit of a shock - if not for anything other than that he had not been expecting her to be there at all. Going by the book, she should have been at work.
The post-call sleep-deprived mind refused to believe it, as he ran his gaze over her slightly knitted brow and those large, dark eyes.
Perhaps it was someone who just looked like her. Or maybe it was her sister...
But then thought lethargically crept back into the vacuous cavern between his ears. He'd met her sister, once before if only briefly, and they looked nothing alike.
The eyes continued to wander, wondering what it was really about her that attracted him - if at all. Was it just a simple, superficial matter of looks, or was it something in that level, slightly troubled brow and those dark, furious eyes... that rarely sparkled or spoke, except when she wasn't aware of herself. Was it something more... than words? More than he had acknowledged to himself ever wanting? Perhaps something instinctive, something that circumvented his desire for sparkling wit and shining intelligence and scintillating dinner conversation, and made simple proximity enough - skin on skin. Something comforting that just made him want to help her - even at the risk of being taken for a fool, and being shamelessly used. Because ultimately, in this life he had chosen his path - to make a difference. To help. Regardless.
He chose it once, when he was younger because he could not feel. Because he did not know how to feel. And then he fell in love, and it became a gradual reality to him thenceforth, and in the aftermath he knew how precious it was, to go on feeling.
Her eyes met his.
He looked away.
Perhaps it wasn't really her, perhaps it was really just a doppleganger. The crucifix at her neck was different, worn on a dark band rather than a chain.
But if it was truly her, then he wondered - what was it that troubled her so much today, that turned her from her usual gentle, nearly angellic self (she had been, when they went to church together) into the creature he saw, frustrated, impatient, and preoccupied.
He picked up his mobile, and wrote.
"It is truly a lovely church, that you go to".
Without friendship, there is little left to say, even if I still care.
They stood up to go, and he left without a backward glance.
*****
Kirsch. Cherry.
Kirsche. Church.
Laugh.
Fond memories of other malapropisms.
Die Undendliche Gesicht versus Die Undendliche Geschichte.
How subtle an extra 'e' can be.
(So, why the long face? Ha. private joke.)
*****
It came as a surprise after they walked into the German bar along Millenium Walk to pick up a pamphlet about Oktoberfeste 2005.
I pottered around (the nutplane would probably call it my shifty eyes darting around as I skulked...) and my gaze fell on the photographs in a nearby display case.
A group of people in rank and file smiling into the camera, and underneath it :
German Society Dragonboot team. The German Dragons.
Beneath it lay a gold medal, from a regatta race in 2004.
Strange.
*****
It was a strange feeling, returning to this church weeks later in different company.
His feet retraced the steps they had taken last of their own accord. It was familiar, in a sea of uncertainty.
Something about her presence had been comforting, yet at the same he had come solely to worship. It had not detracted, or distracted.
He remembered her now though, as she had knelt in prayer then; or when she had sung the hymns softly, almost under her breath - she had a lovely voice.
On this occasion he had come - not because it was a church so much nicer than his own - but because it had seemed... right - His new friend wore a pendant with the church's named saint on it.
He would not have revisited it otherwise - he did not want to intrude, or cause grief through unwanted meetings.
He bent his knee and slid into the pew, alongside his new friends. God took precedence, now.
*****
Illusion : 2 shots midori, 1 shot vodka, 1 shot gin, 1 shot malibu, 1 shot white cointreau and mix with equal volume of pineapple juice, and shake well.
I had two of those once.
They were nice.
Courtesy of T.
*****
I did enjoy going to church with you, though.
I don't know why.
The priest rambled a fair bit about collections for the church, and if he recalls right he didn't actually get around to a sermon.
During this time, he let his gaze wander.
It fell upon a familiar face sitting a ways across from him, a familiar pair of eyes.
It came as a bit of a shock - if not for anything other than that he had not been expecting her to be there at all. Going by the book, she should have been at work.
The post-call sleep-deprived mind refused to believe it, as he ran his gaze over her slightly knitted brow and those large, dark eyes.
Perhaps it was someone who just looked like her. Or maybe it was her sister...
But then thought lethargically crept back into the vacuous cavern between his ears. He'd met her sister, once before if only briefly, and they looked nothing alike.
The eyes continued to wander, wondering what it was really about her that attracted him - if at all. Was it just a simple, superficial matter of looks, or was it something in that level, slightly troubled brow and those dark, furious eyes... that rarely sparkled or spoke, except when she wasn't aware of herself. Was it something more... than words? More than he had acknowledged to himself ever wanting? Perhaps something instinctive, something that circumvented his desire for sparkling wit and shining intelligence and scintillating dinner conversation, and made simple proximity enough - skin on skin. Something comforting that just made him want to help her - even at the risk of being taken for a fool, and being shamelessly used. Because ultimately, in this life he had chosen his path - to make a difference. To help. Regardless.
He chose it once, when he was younger because he could not feel. Because he did not know how to feel. And then he fell in love, and it became a gradual reality to him thenceforth, and in the aftermath he knew how precious it was, to go on feeling.
Her eyes met his.
He looked away.
Perhaps it wasn't really her, perhaps it was really just a doppleganger. The crucifix at her neck was different, worn on a dark band rather than a chain.
But if it was truly her, then he wondered - what was it that troubled her so much today, that turned her from her usual gentle, nearly angellic self (she had been, when they went to church together) into the creature he saw, frustrated, impatient, and preoccupied.
He picked up his mobile, and wrote.
"It is truly a lovely church, that you go to".
Without friendship, there is little left to say, even if I still care.
They stood up to go, and he left without a backward glance.
*****
Kirsch. Cherry.
Kirsche. Church.
Laugh.
Fond memories of other malapropisms.
Die Undendliche Gesicht versus Die Undendliche Geschichte.
How subtle an extra 'e' can be.
(So, why the long face? Ha. private joke.)
*****
It came as a surprise after they walked into the German bar along Millenium Walk to pick up a pamphlet about Oktoberfeste 2005.
I pottered around (the nutplane would probably call it my shifty eyes darting around as I skulked...) and my gaze fell on the photographs in a nearby display case.
A group of people in rank and file smiling into the camera, and underneath it :
German Society Dragonboot team. The German Dragons.
Beneath it lay a gold medal, from a regatta race in 2004.
Strange.
*****
It was a strange feeling, returning to this church weeks later in different company.
His feet retraced the steps they had taken last of their own accord. It was familiar, in a sea of uncertainty.
Something about her presence had been comforting, yet at the same he had come solely to worship. It had not detracted, or distracted.
He remembered her now though, as she had knelt in prayer then; or when she had sung the hymns softly, almost under her breath - she had a lovely voice.
On this occasion he had come - not because it was a church so much nicer than his own - but because it had seemed... right - His new friend wore a pendant with the church's named saint on it.
He would not have revisited it otherwise - he did not want to intrude, or cause grief through unwanted meetings.
He bent his knee and slid into the pew, alongside his new friends. God took precedence, now.
*****
Illusion : 2 shots midori, 1 shot vodka, 1 shot gin, 1 shot malibu, 1 shot white cointreau and mix with equal volume of pineapple juice, and shake well.
I had two of those once.
They were nice.
Courtesy of T.
*****
I did enjoy going to church with you, though.
I don't know why.
