a string of farewells

Yesterday I bumped into Kevin, my very very lovely Popular Romanticism tutor from last term, on my way home from town. He was listening to his iPod and shuffling along the street just like any other random middle-aged man, and I almost walked right past him, but then I saw a widening grin on his face as he waved at me and took his headphones out. And I couldn’t help this huge smile creeping up on me too.

We paused for a short chat; I told him about my dissertation and he told me about the undergrads he was taking this term for the Romantics module, we discussed the merits of Red Chilli (”easily the best Chinese in town,” he says, I’m inclined to agree), he asked if I was going anywhere for reading week before we both laughingly recalled the fact that reading week is somewhat irrelevant when one doesn’t have lessons any more to start with.

And then he wished me well for the rest of the term, I thanked him, and we waved farewell with the parting sentiment that hopefully we’ll run into each other again sometime. Walking our different ways, I thought of so many other things I’d wanted to ask and say - like how was your Easter break, did you like Paris and was it warm when you went, is your family doing well, and thank you for the good grade you gave me on my essay last term.

But by then we were many many footsteps apart. And so I walked on, back towards home, mulling over our little by-the-wayside conversation in my head - thinking, wondering, when I’d next get to see him, or my other muchly loved professors - Bill and John especially - and slowly slowly realising, maybe this is the beginning of the end, when I don’t see any of them very much anymore. Maybe it’s the start of letting go, of saying goodbye, of your life here winding to a close, when you wonder if this will be the last run-in you ever have with your favourite prof, and you start relentlessly dwelling on all the things you could have said to him…

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