Allister was never fond of goodbyes. Early on, he would say, "It was good to see you." However, "It was good to see you" still sang the note of goodbye. This action was soon replaced by a stealthy retreat whence the other party was not looking, a somewhat awkward and annoying movement that left the second party most displeased and, some claimed, feeling dirty. Displeasure led to the obvious awkward reunions, where ornate greetings were replaced by clumsy pauses and apologies. This clumsiness in speech was minutes in terms of time, but decades in terms of the life of a conversation.
The clumsiness was almost as awful in feeling as the moment of goodbye. For a time, Allister contemplated simply avoiding people forever. But this, in a most obvious turn, left Allister lonely and whittling small versions of his friends from wine corks. The ridiculousness of his hiding grew to extremes where he found himself unable to say goodbye to even his cork friends. Allister would sit on a stool and stare into their tiny cork eyes until he fell asleep. Days went by, Allister almost driven to madness. His mouth dried. His stomach acid began bubbling and rising in waves, searching for sustenance and settling on a nibbling of stomach lining.
Allister was on the verge of eating one of his cork friends when he began to fade. Ever so slightly at first. So, that you could not tell unless you were keeping tabs on the slightest of tonal changes. It was an even fade throughout. His hand did not precede his head. His head did not precede his torso. It all faded at once and so simply and slowly that, had the cork friends minds of their own and been able to talk or even comprehend that Allister was talking to them, they would not have realized Allister had disappeared all together until they had come to a natural finish in their speech.
It is true that even Allister himself was not aware that he had disappeared. But, when he raised hand to rub weary eyes, he realized he was raising air to rub air. He had broken into the tiniest of molecules, all floating just far enough away from each other to avoid the setting of form. With this talent intact, Allister found himself in the most convenient of positions, one where goodbyes were not necessary. One where awkward reunions never occurred, where the second party was let go so easily that they felt lulled away, not ripped before ready, not with the feeling that a goodbye was too daunting.
For what number goodbye was it? The first? The last? One of the million little ones peppered in between the big ones? And how long between the goodbye and a hello? These questions were no longer relevant because a clumsy word never had to be spoken. Allister left when the conversation, when the visit, had reached its natural finishing. There was no capper for this, no matter where the meeting fell in a series of meetings, would be continued. And that second party was only all too pleased to see Allister's form again. Allister was one with the air. And no one said goodbye to the air.
The clumsiness was almost as awful in feeling as the moment of goodbye. For a time, Allister contemplated simply avoiding people forever. But this, in a most obvious turn, left Allister lonely and whittling small versions of his friends from wine corks. The ridiculousness of his hiding grew to extremes where he found himself unable to say goodbye to even his cork friends. Allister would sit on a stool and stare into their tiny cork eyes until he fell asleep. Days went by, Allister almost driven to madness. His mouth dried. His stomach acid began bubbling and rising in waves, searching for sustenance and settling on a nibbling of stomach lining.
Allister was on the verge of eating one of his cork friends when he began to fade. Ever so slightly at first. So, that you could not tell unless you were keeping tabs on the slightest of tonal changes. It was an even fade throughout. His hand did not precede his head. His head did not precede his torso. It all faded at once and so simply and slowly that, had the cork friends minds of their own and been able to talk or even comprehend that Allister was talking to them, they would not have realized Allister had disappeared all together until they had come to a natural finish in their speech.
It is true that even Allister himself was not aware that he had disappeared. But, when he raised hand to rub weary eyes, he realized he was raising air to rub air. He had broken into the tiniest of molecules, all floating just far enough away from each other to avoid the setting of form. With this talent intact, Allister found himself in the most convenient of positions, one where goodbyes were not necessary. One where awkward reunions never occurred, where the second party was let go so easily that they felt lulled away, not ripped before ready, not with the feeling that a goodbye was too daunting.
For what number goodbye was it? The first? The last? One of the million little ones peppered in between the big ones? And how long between the goodbye and a hello? These questions were no longer relevant because a clumsy word never had to be spoken. Allister left when the conversation, when the visit, had reached its natural finishing. There was no capper for this, no matter where the meeting fell in a series of meetings, would be continued. And that second party was only all too pleased to see Allister's form again. Allister was one with the air. And no one said goodbye to the air.
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