See...Jane...Eat

I guess I'm a Jane Austen fan now, suffering severe depression that I've finished Persuasion, knowing it is considered her best work, and realizing that, by the end of the holidays, I'll probably have read everything she's written (started Sense and Sensibility today). I'm currently addicted to understatement. Do you get depressed and panicky when you're enjoying a book and then you realize there are only a few pages left? I always mourn that the characters are going to fade away and I'll never hear from them again...

It's weird that these faddish reading binges that I go on let me voraciously rip through books when the mood strikes me, soaking them in (I've self-edited and deleted some imagery here, to spare the reader--something akin rolling around in a vat of chocolate).

As I was reading Persuasion, I was struck with the memory of a scene which is at least partially relevant to Captain Wentworth seeing Anne Elliot again after over eight years, and noting her as to be so changed that he would have hardly recognized her as the same person. Of course, ahem, I play the role of Captain Wentworth, in case there was any doubt.

It may be hard to believe these days, but I went through a brief period of wreaking heartbreak through the halls of my high school--unfortunately, of course, the heartbreak went both directions. But one of my short-term interests was a very sweet girl named Kim who had a very nice sister who was at least 10 years older, who will always have a special place in my heart because she wrote me a very nice letter when one of my friends died in a car accident. So, through association of our families we came together for a very short period of a week or two, and then I moved on... Her father had later died suddenly and I had paid my respects to the family; overall, we parted on friendly terms.

Flash forward about fifteen years, to a scene where my wife and I were eating lunch after church at a restaurant down the street from my old high school. It was Sunday afternoon, and we had gone to that particular restaurant because it was one of Ryan's favorites (he was nearly three years old)--built on a hill, with huge windows overlooking a railroad track. If you were able to get a seat in the corner, you could have your silverware rattled by occasional passing trains, which was much to Ryan's delight but probably the reason they soon thereafter razed the place in favor of a Home Depot.

I looked up from our meal and caught a glimpse of a large family sitting a few tables over. I soon recognized it as Kim's family, and then remembered that their family went to church nearby. My seat faced their party, so I was able to scan the table quietly and eventually recognized Kim's mother, with Kim sitting close at her elbow.

I was shocked at how different she appeared--it was almost as though she had shrunk by four or five inches. Her shoulders seemed narrow and she was pale and thin, and was quietly hunched over with her head pointed down toward her plate the entire time--I was sure that she did not see me at all. I originally had mistaken her for a young child even though she was over thirty years old now. I watched her for a few minutes, wondering what in the world had happened to her--there must be a story. I also calculated the effects of both disclosing this and not disclosing this person to Fran. Typically, she gets somewhat violently jealous in such situations, usually sending a witty criticism as if almost out of duty to prevent me from breaking my chains and flying off to Aruba. In this case, I wasn't sure I wanted Fran to know the truth as it may damage my reputation in her eyes.

At any rate, I decided to mention it to her so I wouldn't later feel guilty.

I leaned over and quietly told her, "There's a girl over at that table that I used to date in high school." I described where she was sitting.

Fran had to maneuver to steal a glance, but when she did, I saw the shock in her face. She turned to me and exclaimed "Mike!" Then, leaning in with sincere horror that she couldn't disguise, she whispered incredulously:"Woof!".

There are some people with whom I associate certain smells. My grandparents smelled of cigarette smoke, and at certain times (it must be their old brand, which I had passively smoked by the pack when around them), a cloud of smoke has made their image briefly flash in my mind. There's a perfume,which my wife has not worn in years, which reminds me of a crisp fall evening and one of our first romantic dates. If I detect in in the mall or on an elevator, it makes my knees weak.

Kim was athletic--when I think of her, I remember her wearing a knee brace from a vollyball injury and the powerful menthol smell of sports cream. She had been strong and bright-eyed and clever, with a good sense of humor. These things shouldn't be completely assessed during Sunday lunch at a distance, but she did look remarkably changed.

It was true that Kim had never been beautiful, and by elaborating on how pitiful she now looked I feel in danger of being superficial to the point of Sir Walter in Persuasion, but I will just reiterate that it was shocking to see, and her state would stand out to the casual observer who had not known her earlier in life. Her sitting so sidled up to her mother was a little alarming as well--obviously single, she seemed to have shrunk into a state of dependence on her mother that required her to be at arm's reach. They left before we did, and that's where the story ends.

But this scene helped me enjoy the moments when Wentworth came upon Anne again after so many years.