Parting of the Ways

 

She went academic; I went witchy and esoteric.

But we’d always shared everything. There was

that serious glitch when my husband (who

was having a breakdown, unrecognised at the time)

did some shoddy carpentry for her and her husband –

but both the husbands became exes soon after that.

Then she and I reconnected. She told me all about

her new love (a wild Irish singer) and her new career. 

I told her all about mine. Something in her voice

went slightly cold, a little strained, like taking a back-step. 

'That's certainly a magical mystery tour,' she said carefully.

Was it ‘Reiki Master’ or ‘Tarot reader’ scared her, 

or the tale of awakening to magic? Maybe it was my journey 

through awareness of reincarnation, all the gradual clues.

Or was it her new status? In my time as a mere undergrad –

decades before, full of shyness and wonder –

the halls of academe had seemed to be about freedom, 

adventures of thought, a nonconformist’s delight. On staff,

as I’ve gradually learned from friends, it’s now more often

about playing acceptable games, hierarchy, and saying

the approved lines. I guess you can study witchcraft,

but not from the position of believing magic is real.

(Though you’d think the Irish lover might have been cool

with all that.) Would I have compromised her standing? 

Her advancement? Did I turn into an embarrassing friend? Or 

did she truly despise whom I’d become? (She would have been 

fascinated, once.) The off-putting was always carefully polite.

One day I decided – as intended? – I just can’t be bothered any more.

Sharing this with Friday Writings #167 at Poets and Storytellers United.