Sunday, April 22, 2007

Spring Vertigo





I have spring fever, David. I considered telling you when you called me this morning and woke me up, but I never got around to it. Instead we talked about the broken down elevator in our building, and you told me how you had to climb the stairs on Saturday night to your 11th floor studio. “Oh no”, I responded when you told me it had taken you close to 25 minutes, because you had to pause for air on each landing.

But I have spring fever, David, really I do. When I was out yesterday I felt it so much it hurt. I felt all the neuro-chemicals acting in concert in all of me, causing my hair to split and blisters to protrude on my feet. I was walking around the titillating empty streets of the West Village, and felt the length of daylight hours increase, and the axis of the earth tilting towards the sun inside me. I felt it so hard I got vertigo.

I wish I could carry you, David. I wish I could carry your entire 80-something old body down from the 11th floor and up again. I think of this often these days when I climb the stairs, feel the pain in my knees and the muscles in my thighs tightening and gasping for air. And I think of this even more right now when the sound of your feeble voice on my cell phone still resonates in my mind, and the Village feels like the set of a Technicolor movie. I imagine that your old, fragile body is filled with just as much indefinite urgency and painfully pleasurable insistency as I am feeling. That the lactate concentration inside you is beginning to rise, because you feel that intense desire to fully absorb in spring’s allergy-inducing promise of favorable “someones” and “somethings” to come.

1 comment:

Matteo said...

the last two lines really embody what spring is all about.