Void

I sat on the porch sipping my tea, it was very dark and dreary. Not the weather, no. My brain. The inside of my head. It wasn’t like this last week. Not even four days ago. And now. I sighed.

There had been no signs whatsoever. Or had I not paid enough attention? He had always been incredibly straightforward and honest about who he was and how he felt. I never really interrogated his presence, not in the last decade of knowing him.

What would I have even looked out for? A well-rounded guy, he ran his own art studio, taught kids painting every 7th day, and was physically healthy. He captained the search and rescue team of Maleda lake. He was an intuitive, strong swimmer.

Maleda lake formed the centre of our commune. A glorious body with tiny waves on its surface, its water sparkled in the morning light. It was my favourite thing to gaze at from my porch. Until four days ago.

It had been a typical morning. I woke up, walked the glorious 6 kms around the lake, made tea and had it. Went to school. I taught History. Medieval History. Of life under capitalism. It was quite the miracle we still existed. We had evolved considerably since. There was a baseline comfort accorded to everyone.

Solidarity, community, kinship, love, this is what we learnt growing up. No tasks too sophisticated and none too menial. We weren’t an efficient society but neither were we lacking in any way.

I had a good life. I had never had a partner in my adulthood. Never felt like it. I had had my flings but, Eh! I never saw myself spending so many hours with another adult human and being intimate with them. It was just too much work and I was never invested enough.

Except him. He had grown up in the health section of the commune and moved here, the education section to work. He was familiar with it, having studied here. He adored children and was the resident art guy.

We spent a lot of time together. We often had the same maintenance shifts. We checked the wiring of all public buildings every 3 months. We fed the cattle for a month every 6 months.we also tended to the apple grove. We spent a lot of time together. He was easy to be around. To brood, to be jovial, to just be.

He loved sketching. He sketched me often. My jaw, my bushy eyebrows, my perfectly trimmed beard. To no one’s surprise a lot of my sketches were of me sleeping with my mouth open. He found it hilarious; how often I slept with no thought to where I was.

He was the extra element of joy in what I considered an already perfect life. Was his life not as satisfying as mine? Why did he have to leave? I saw a tear drop into the tea. He was hardly the first one to go this way. But usually we knew, or they told us. Prepared us so we could say good bye.To fill any gaps in our lives. We called them Vodhis. Voluntary leavers of life.

Did he not consider me worthy of saying goodbye? Why did he think a letter would be enough? He had timed the letter to only reach me well after his passing. 4 days ago. How could my heart not break at the familiar squiggle? I came to. My tea was cold.