6.
 How many times over the years have I heard this piece of music played in public places? When I wander disconsolately through a bright, thriving shopping center…once when I was waiting for a lonely plane flight between desolate Midwestern airports…even in the hospital one night when I had come for a final conference with Meudon, who was dismantling his machinery forever to make way for a dermal testing center.
To this day, I remain true to my Petra. I continue to shy away from new love. I have not laid, I cannot lay, my Petra to rest. Perhaps she is still out there, somewhere, waiting to be recaptured. Maybe I'll never know for sure.
I know that I can never let her go, as long as I live, because to let her slip away means the end for me, just as quietly and unnoticed as the world spins on, and its billions of people hurry on with their lives—on buses in the evening, across highways teeming with light, under skylines hazy with late office light, in suburbs where the streets have no names—or their names are so similar that we might as well all be phantoms, sequences of thought, souls migrating between galaxies.
Every time I hear that song, it seems she wraps loving arms around me, like a smoke wraith, and briefly drives autumn from my thoughts. Perhaps she is still there, someplace, in that music. Or perhaps she was played once, and lost forever. Isn't that just the way life is, anyway?
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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