The absence of Gabe…
We used to joke about it. It used to be a joke. Or not really a joke. It was a thing. The absence of Gabe. He had a energy, an energy around him like an aura. Potential energy. By definition “the energy possessed by a body by virtue of its position relative to others, stresses within itself, electric charge, and other factors.”
That was Gabe.
Its not that anything really happened when he was around. Its just that there was always that edge. That sense that something could happen, at any moment. It wasn’t good or bad. it was just an energy. Potential.
I could always sense whether he was home or not when I entered the house. (Weirdly, its the same with Stan.) I can feel their absence as strongly as I feel their presence. When Gabe left the house the motes of dust settled, and everything that was held in tension relaxed. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good. It was just a sense of who he was. The silence would surge softly backward when he was gone.
And now he IS gone.
The absence of Gabe. It WAS a thing. And now it IS a thing. An irony. A reality. A bad, bad joke.
His absence is now really a THING.
His absence fills everything now. Its different kind of energy. It is weighty… and it aches. And I yearn for him.
His absence fills the room.
It fills his treasure boxes, where he kept his precious things. It fills the pages of his old school books. It fills the fruit bowl and the milk cartons and the cereal packets. It fills his tool box, it fills the space where he parked his car. It fills the hearts of those he loved. It fills the spaces around everything he touched. In the corners of the room and behind all the doors he ever opened.
It fills the space at the table where he once sat. It touches the steak knifes he so loved. It fills the leather lounge where he sprawled, lanky-limbed and T-shirt-muscled.
His absence hangs heavy at the corner of his old high school and is thick as fog on the street he walked home on.
Its thick and cloying and suffocating.
His absence fills the supermarket where I use to bump into him unexpectedly. It fills the martini glass he bought me as a gift.
It fills the suburb. It fills the sky.
It chokes the air in my lungs. It congeals the blood in my veins.
It fills all the empty in-between places.
It fills my life.
We used to joke about it. It used to be a joke. Or not really a joke. It was a thing. The absence of Gabe. He had a energy, an energy around him like an aura. Potential energy. By definition “the energy possessed by a body by virtue of its position relative to others, stresses within itself, electric charge, and other factors.”
That was Gabe.
Its not that anything really happened when he was around. Its just that there was always that edge. That sense that something could happen, at any moment. It wasn’t good or bad. it was just an energy. Potential.
I could always sense whether he was home or not when I entered the house. (Weirdly, its the same with Stan.) I can feel their absence as strongly as I feel their presence. When Gabe left the house the motes of dust settled, and everything that was held in tension relaxed. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good. It was just a sense of who he was. The silence would surge softly backward when he was gone.
And now he IS gone.
The absence of Gabe. It WAS a thing. And now it IS a thing. An irony. A reality. A bad, bad joke.
His absence is now really a THING.
His absence fills everything now. Its different kind of energy. It is weighty… and it aches. And I yearn for him.
His absence fills the room.
It fills his treasure boxes, where he kept his precious things. It fills the pages of his old school books. It fills the fruit bowl and the milk cartons and the cereal packets. It fills his tool box, it fills the space where he parked his car. It fills the hearts of those he loved. It fills the spaces around everything he touched. In the corners of the room and behind all the doors he ever opened.
It fills the space at the table where he once sat. It touches the steak knifes he so loved. It fills the leather lounge where he sprawled, lanky-limbed and T-shirt-muscled.
His absence hangs heavy at the corner of his old high school and is thick as fog on the street he walked home on.
Its thick and cloying and suffocating.
His absence fills the supermarket where I use to bump into him unexpectedly. It fills the martini glass he bought me as a gift.
It fills the suburb. It fills the sky.
It chokes the air in my lungs. It congeals the blood in my veins.
It fills all the empty in-between places.
It fills my life.
