A work jacket made by Old Town, in Holt.
I recently saw a photograph of my childhood best-friend, at the private view of his latest photography exhibition. He was wearing a jacket like this one. He looked old.
I never forgave him for disengaging with me; for outgrowing me. At 11, I saw our paths diverge, and knew they would not meet again. He was endlessly, dizzyingly inventive, and my jealous peeping about in his shadow was the prime mover for every creative act in my life.
I recently saw a photograph of my childhood best-friend, at the private view of his latest photography exhibition. He was wearing a jacket like this one. He looked old.
I never forgave him for disengaging with me; for outgrowing me. At 11, I saw our paths diverge, and knew they would not meet again. He was endlessly, dizzyingly inventive, and my jealous peeping about in his shadow was the prime mover for every creative act in my life.
20 years after our friendship expired, I saw him on the opposite side of a French restaurant’s communal table in south London. We both pretended to be fully engaged by our girlfriends’ conversations; but I could see the same question dancing in his eyes: is it him?
Now I look at my young son’s friendships with a tender anticipation of inevitable loss - when bonds dissolve around you until the water of love goes bewilderingly clear. I want nothing but to protect him from it. But loss leaves space for love and life to fill; without loss, we are whole but empty.
Now I look at my young son’s friendships with a tender anticipation of inevitable loss - when bonds dissolve around you until the water of love goes bewilderingly clear. I want nothing but to protect him from it. But loss leaves space for love and life to fill; without loss, we are whole but empty.
So true. I am full of the sadness of my oldest friend's imminent departure to another continent. Even in the midst of the sense of loss I know how lucky I am to have her.
ReplyDeleteThat jacket looks so soft and lovely.
Miriam
x