Going to a Go-Go...

The Rio program is over. It's a time for goodbyes--they're leaving and I'm staying (another month in Brazil before going to Bolivia). Physically, these are the goodbyes of warm embraces, awkward hugs, hearty handshakes, half-credible “keep in touch” utterances, and the "I didn't get a chance to see…before I left" refrains. Emotionally, these are the goodbyes that leave the left party stripped of his blanket in the middle of a autumn night--it's not cold enough to shiver, but it's too cold to sleep the whole night through. Electronically, these are the goodbyes that keep me checking e-mail and Facebook neurotically for some sign of that something in the cosmos acknowledges my existence. Unforgettably, these are the goodbyes that contain one goodbye that came far too soon.

There's an old phrase from my teenage years that goes "game recognize game." It basically means that people with particular affinities or characteristics can spot other similar folks with relative ease, without working at it. Most often, it's used with regards to some particular competence. For example, a writer might recognize the strength in someone else's words, a visiting cook in the host's own culinary magic, or a nurse in the web of comfort spun around a patient by a colleague. I like to use the phrase in another way as well, instead referring to the sympathetic ways two individuals play the broader game of life. The sensation is not a matter simply of acknowledging shared interests, but rather something baser and more basic, something instinctual. It's knowledge without thinking, acquaintance without introduction, admiration without experience. And it runs both ways.

In this latter sense of the term, recognition occurs only rarely. Most of our friendships or acquaintances involve acclimation to the other through the slow revelation of common ground made through repeated exposure to one another (such as is afforded by work or school). But, when recognition happens, lightning strikes a cloudless sky.

Well, recognition happened somewhere within the last two weeks. But it did so without the ability to consummate--the two souls never had a chance to dance anything more than bits and pieces of songs. The memory of the synchronized steps inspires and haunts. For there is someone to dance with, but she rests in a place where the bands don't play Samba.