When a young person goes out in search of their life, however one tries to imagine them, it's their body and substance one misses, the rub and resin of them, by which I don't mean just the touch (the rasp of a voice is a thing I love), not just surfaces, but whatever glows from beneath, satin or eggshell, the weft and warp of plaited hair a mother could put her hand to, could do for a child, and not just that, their shadow, the footfall one expects to hear in the hall or on the steps momentarily—before one thinks.
3 replies on “Vacancy”
Beautiful. The “rasp of a voice” line really got me. Thanks for sharing.
Their absence is louder than their childhood banshee screaming.
Love the reference to the presence — “the footfall one expects to hear” –before even being conscious.