The Second Person

... the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,

you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.



from 'The First Dream'
Billy Collins, in The Art of Drowning (1995)

Maybe "fall in love" would be too strong a term; maybe it wasn't really love - or maybe this is just a quibble with semantics.

:::

She had wandered in and sat down by her rack, drawing her knees to her chin. Then she started singing, softly, almost to herself,

Why does the song go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world
'Cause you don't love me anymore?

I didn't know what to do. She looked so lost, so sad; I wished I dared to give her a hug, or rock her in my arms. I don't remember what I'd said to her or asked her, but I remember her telling me, "I'm sad."

I wanted to ask if whoever she was seeing had left her, I wanted to tell her to tell her whatever had happened, everything would soon be all right, and I wished I could be the one to right it.

That very moment, I cursed myself for all that I could not, would not, and dared not, do.

Later, after I'd helped her dressed, she seemed cheerful again. I held out the heavy necklace that went with her outfit and asked if she wanted to put it on. She didn't. It was too heavy and it bit into her neck and made her neck ache. You try it, she told me, and put it on me. Now shake it!, she grinned, demonstrating how I should lean forward and jiggle my chest.

I was too shy and self-conscious to, despite her persistent exhorting. The show was about to begin and it was crowded backstage. Her friends and my coursemates were there, among the other backstage personnel. Come on, shake it! she said. I gave her and her friends an embarrassed smile and mutely shook my head.

Then she and her friends started jiggling their chests, progressing onto more absurd moves, and laughing like school girls. I watched her, wondering if she was really feeling as gay as she appeared to be; I'd hoped she wasn't forcing herself to put on a happy face.

It wasn't just her infinite patience, and kindness, and beauty that had drawn me to and kept me firmly enthralled by her; it was her sadness. And what I remembered most of that night were her hug, her singing, and the poignant glimpse of her sadness.






I think either the Moon in Virgo or my lack of sleep is culpable for my maudlin misery ...

And I wonder - will anybody ever fall in love with my sadness?