A Sudden Chill Part 1 ...Burying Feelings

Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse
—Margaret Atwood

My Inner Landscape

I love clouds and water, so, blue is a constant colour in my life.

I’m also melancholic and that’s an abiding feeling—not in the sense of being depressed, but more in the way of a beautiful sadness.

Uncertain what I mean? Well, think of a chill October pond and you’ll see.

Another thing about me—I’m elusive as The Abominable Snowman and barely understand myself.

As my mentor in college once said, “Neil, you’re a drop of reason in an ocean of emotion.”

And he was right.

There’s always someone—some girl far off in my life, shimmering in the blue distance, hazy and intangible, hovering in the mist like a gossamer ghost…

But unlike most phantasms, one of those girls was real and her name was Sylvia.

You know, I hate the past tense of English verbs, especially as they apply to Sylvia.

Verb times can be so prescriptive and summative, as in, we were a couple, but broke up. She went off to Hawaii to sort things out, but while there she died in a surfing accident.

There you go. See? It’s all cut and dried. Q.E.D.

You’re probably wondering what the hell those initials mean.

They’re what we used to write at the end of proofs in Geometry—Quod Erat Demonstratum.

It means we demonstrated what we set out to prove—and I did – I told you the truth, but damn lot of good it did for anyone—for you, for me and least of all, for Silvia.

But like the song says, She’s gone, and I’ve got to learn how to face it—or, in trite popular parlance—I’m moving on.

That last phrase, moving on—exemplifies the one verb tense that vexes me right now, because I’m not moving on.

Truth is, I’m stuck

I’m not making progress in getting over Silvia and ‘moving on’ with my life.

And the sad fact is, I’m done.

“You’ve got move past this, Neil—it’s not good to be looking backwards. I loved her too, but Silvia’s gone.”

Marnie’s staring at me with sad brown eyes.

She was Silvia’s best friend and confidante. She knows things I don’t know and am afraid to ask—not that she’d tell me, but still, one wonders, especially staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night.

"I know you’re trying to help, Marn—it’s advice I’d give myself, but I’m stuck. Can’t think, can barely eat and haven’t been able to write in a month. Wish I could—it’s be cathartic, but I can’t get anything out.”

She nods and stares out the window at the changing leaves in my backyard.

I know what she’s thinking—she’s tragic as me and can’t bear to think they laid her in the cold ground.

”Would it help if you got away?”

I look at her, not comprehending her meaning.

“You could go Dover to my cottage—it’s late October and you can’t enjoy the water, but you can walk the beach and the fresh air and change of scene might do you some good.”

I glance at the dishes piled in the sink and on the counter.

The house has been neglecting itself, I muse to myself grimly.

“Think about it,” she says, as she rises to go. “Silvia loved Port Dover and it was the last time I saw her.”

Her eyes are shining now, and I nod mutely, wanting to hug her while wishing for a giant eraser to expunge the past and conditional tenses of our love.

I manage a limp hug and a chaste kiss, and realize how empty my arms feel and how desolate the spaces inside me.

I walk her out to her car and watch her drive away… down a slick road splattered with red and gold leaves.

And all I can think abut is how Silvia’s hair must have been plastered to her forehead when they pulled her from the waves.

To be continued…

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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