You know, I sometimes wonder if you’d know me. There, on the other side. Would you see me the way I see you, a figure of mist slowly taking shape, filling with color? Would you know me there, in the ghostly officers mess, a seemingly endless space, with windows thrown open to let the last summer breeze in? Tell me you would, let me know.
I’ve wondered through the room so many times, that some faces are more familiar, and some still retain their pallor. I know that table by the window, with six men sitting around. Eyes of sea-blue, eyes of cloudy sky, eyes the color of oak-tree bark, eyes of forget-me-not-blue, eyes the color of mist, eyes of silvery-blue- all watching me.
‘He’d be over there, watching’
And I know he would be. No matter when - he would be there, by the window, smoking and watching the sky. Tall, broad-shouldered, thoughtful and serious, he’d be there, his airforce blue eyes squinting slightly, mouth forming a decisive line under the gingery moustache.
‘There you are, lass’ he would say, ‘Fine day today, perfect for flying’.
‘Not quite in the mood’
The voice would come from the table to the right. Someone would chuckle, and that would be Les Boivin - with his debonnaire smile.
I wonder, how do you feel when you’re talked about? Does something light up somewhere, or do you simply feel alive once again?
Logic screams, we’ve never met - and I cannot agree. Being me, it’s not that easy, agreeing with cold reasoning. I know you - of course, some are more familiar, than the others (say hi to Noel Barrett from me, will you?') but I feel for each and every one of you.
Today, of all days, I can feel you there, watching over me. And I know I’ll be fine. I know it will all be fine. One day.
Thank you for being there.
Beautiful writing Helena, thank you!