Goodbye, Stranger

then drink the water or drip it over their bodies. That way they could actually ingest or be
covered in the protection of the words, the gods. Tiny papyrus or votives with invocations
or spells inscribed were put into amulets or armbands and worn as protection. They
believed the words had life, and by altering or changing a script you would affect the reality
that was associated with it. This wasn’t a game of simple translation.
Each word, each symbol is a spirit waiting to be released into the world, not just the
world of its creation but every world after that. Everyday, I see so much sadness here,
everyone seems convinced that they will be alone in the next world, just as they walk alone in
this one. Sometimes I never want to lift my face from the page.
All of a sudden we were packing up and heading out the door. Erin gripped my arm
as we stood, grabbing her thin jacket and scarf without letting go. We shuffled out, weaving
around the tables, past Pam who was clutching the bar with both hands, head down between
her heaving shoulder blades, vibrating.
Take me to see it, Erin says to me. I want to see the Stela.
It was such a bad idea. They don’t get any worse. Sure, I had keys and things, but
the British Museum had guard stations manned twenty-four hours a day. You can’t just
waltz in at two in the morning toting a wall-eyed young woman with perfect breasts and
purple-tipped hair. But I enjoyed the way her fingers held the napkins, framing the symbols
with delicate strands of skin and nail.
You know, she said, I’ve never been in the British Museum before. It’s true! I’m a
bit embarrassed to say so, but it’s not exactly what I do. You know what I mean?
I didn’t. What did she do? I slipped my hand into hers and she looked at me quickly.
She seemed startled by it, and in that moment I felt the pull of something close to what we
might call love, as close as I could understand it.
You should sit up straight, eyes wide and listen sometimes. Take the route that
seems clear and reasonable. But you don’t. You have that last drink, stay the extra hour, the
extra week, year, you take another chance on something you don’t even understand. And
then the cities and towns are spiraling away under your feet on cold bleary-eyed mornings
spent rubbing your eyes in the baggage check to your next destination. The signs, the
symbols become vague reminders of where you’ve been, whom you’ve known there. You
haven’t really seen anything but a representation of old hope and faint regret.
There is a vastness to age that compels one to gather things of this world about
them, as if to make a larger piece, something that may be noticed. The ancient Egyptians
were not only aware of this compulsion – they embraced it. People collect people too I
suppose, some people have children for these reasons. You can see it in their faces, the
slope of their shoulders as they stand in line for the cashier or reception lines, the realization
of it hitting them like a club across the back of the neck, a slumping, stunning sensation.
There are worse things I guess. But building people and things around you only makes a
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