Thank you for leaving without notice
Words & images © Paul Ransom
It happens to all of us. People leave. Emails bounce. Calls do not get returned. Today, we call this ghosting. Yet, it is nothing new. Relationships, however close and seemingly unbreakable, have always existed on the edge of ending.
The inspiration for this piece arrived on New Year’s Eve, when I found myself pondering the passage of time, sifting through a late night flutter of recollection. Triggered by the arbitrary numeration of calendars, I found myself thinking of former friends and flames, especially those who had abruptly severed contact. And of their reasons, some of which remain a mystery.
Although I can speculate, and possibly concoct reasonable theories, why would I bother? Because, ultimately, I do not need to know. They made their choices, which they were perfectly entitled to do, and I am not owed an explanation. Closure is not mandatory.
Still, I think of them on occasions, like New Year’s, and wonder where they are. How they are. And I feel the tiny scars they left behind. Of which there are several, some incidental, others deeper. Three that stand out. Ridges of separation on the skin of memory.
Ghost # 1: The girl from 1982
She landed in my school and, thereafter, in my heart. Not like the others. Smarter, darker. A fallen angel for my saviour fantasy. I used to escort her to a seedy gaming arcade in the city, where she would disappear with older men for twenty/thirty minutes, then re-emerge…smudged. I think of this sometimes and fall to pieces.
Naïve, and blinded by ego and desire, I was merely jealous, and all I did was ride the train back home with her to enjoy the falling crumbs of her bruised, intoxicated affection. She kissed me once or twice. Not deeply, but enough.
I told myself I was her protector. How abjectly I failed in this regard.
Then, one day during the school holidays, I knocked on her door and her grandma told me she had left town. I must have asked for details, but I do not remember if any were offered. (Was I told she went back to Germany? Or am I imagining it?) Nowadays, I cannot even recall the last time we met.
Ghost # 2: The old school friend
As a teenager, he was a core part of our social group. We shared a love of Python and electronica. Later, as young adults, we drew closer. Together, we explored our emerging passions for red wine, Leonard Cohen, and arthouse cinema. Even though he worked high up the corporate ladder and my wife and I were semi-employed writers and waitstaff, there was no status riff between us.
But young adults became thirty-somethings, and he and his partner moved to London, whilst my marriage dissolved. Luckily, there was email. We kept up a steady stream of exchange until, one day in the southern summer of 2006, there was an ‘address not recognised’.
I tried multiple times to re-establish the link but to no avail. In later years, I Googled him, searched him on Facebook. Nothing. Mutual friends have likewise drawn blanks. Recalling that he had health issues, I cannot even be confident he is alive.
Ghost # 3: The former student
Teacher/student relationships are often fraught. Asymmetries of power, age gaps, etcetera. So many crossable lines. Yet, somehow, we avoided these pitfalls, and quickly became friends. Music, movies, food and more bonded us. There were also deeper confidences. She told me her secrets, and I shared mine.
Over a span of nearly twenty years, we cooked, cried, went to shows, and formed a deep and trusting connection. She was my first Facebook friend. Even the subsequent distances imposed by interstate moves and differing social and work circles did not erode our friendship.
Yet, something must have. We had made a loose arrangement to meet for coffee – no dates or times – but circumstances caused a delay and when I followed up a few weeks later she did not respond. Since then I have made a number of approaches. Sporadic texts, emails, social media messages, phone calls. I left three or four voice messages, spread out over a couple of years, hoping that something might prompt a reconnection. My final message was recorded in June 2023.
The gap between intimacy and mystery can be wrenching. It can fill with poison. Bitterness, blame, shame. Endless, unanswerable questions.
Or it can be beautiful. A gift of enigma. A reminder that nothing is guaranteed, and that our understanding is flawed and partial.
It is also a call to compassion. We may never truly know the other, but we can be sure they are changeable, and that they, like us, are liable to wake up one day and simply move on.
- I have done this myself; suddenly fallen out of love, stopped being attracted, lost motivation to invest in friendships or projects. I too have ceased responding. There is at least one woman I know who must have wondered what she did to deserve so cold a shoulder.
My message to the trio above, and to the other ghosts, is that your silence is okay.
If ever I made a claim on you, I apologise. Likewise, if I bruised or offended you, or acted in a manner that felt like betrayal, I am sorry.
Yet, please know that I am not dwelling, either in loss or self-mortification. Your absence is not a weight. Rather, it is a light. You departure has carved a space for acceptance.
I thank you for your presence in my life and, now, for the manner of your leaving. So often, our explanations – rationalisations – are a reduction. Perhaps we seek them as exoneration or diversion, or as a life raft. A way to stop wondering. However, not knowing, and therefore unburdened by the imperfect memory of incomplete illustration, I am free to let you go without caveat…the beauty of which, like your quiet evaporation, is indescribable.
As If You Were Listening 