Last night night I open a book and a photograph falls out and slides under the desk. I'm in a rush so I leave it there, along with the rest of the chaos.
This morning I wake to the radio instead of my usual CD, so I hear the news from Linda Clark. Michael King has been killed in a car accident. Somehow it doesn't seem surprising that he would go so soon after Janet Frame. But a car crash? The most recent tests had shown that his cancer had been successfully treated.
I'm late, again, so I pick up the photograph and put it in my pocket. I don't have time to look at it until after class.
It's a party, a celebration. The sun is bright on the faces of family and friends. And there's Michael, almost disappearing out of the frame. He has something purple pinned to his jacket, perhaps a stick of lavender. The light is glinting on the lens of his glasses and the back of his hair. And he's laughing.
Posted by Fionnaigh at March 31, 2004 10:24 AM