The Northern Whale: Part Two (the end)

You looked like a Polaroid; you were hazy lights and sharp darks. You were so tall too, I remember thinking I’d only come up to your knees if we were to stand side by side.

The first time you came to my garret

You said: I like your stacks of books.

I wanted to ask if you enjoyed climbing the tree to get inside.

But I said: I hope all the stairs didn’t bother you.

You sat down and picked up a dusty book and I made us some plain black tea. You stayed the night and read out loud until the sun came up; and I climbed down the tree and swam to the shop while you slept.



I didn’t think you’d be there when I got back. You were in the bath singing an old jazz number. I fixed us some tea while I waited because I didn’t know what else to do. You asked if it bothered me to make tea after serving it all day.

I said: no.

It started to rain and the town folk put away their cars and got out their boats.

You said: I’ll go when it stops raining so hard.

It didn’t stop raining for a long time though, and you stayed with me. You sang old songs and read out loud to pass the time, and sometimes you would paint pictures of my stacks of books. We didn’t talk very often but you would always smile at me and I would always make the tea.



I remember your brown eyes would sometimes look black.

You said: I don’t know why no one sees me.

I ran my hands through your brown hair as your head rested on my lap. You were so sad.

I said: they only see you in a dream.

And you went to sleep. I thought maybe you were trying to see yourself.

Sometimes you would kick and scream and curse the rain and me and my tea; and I would leave the garret for the city and float in my umbrella like everyone else on the street. Every time I came back I would find you hiding and crying under the covers.

I said: your whale won’t leave until your tears are done.

But you didn’t understand me and fell asleep. When you awoke, you awoke singing. I liked you best when you sang. You liked me best when I spoke. When I did you’d say I had such a sweet voice, like a tiny chocolate chip.

I said: sing on love your melody.



The rain went away and with it your tears. All the grey turned into yellow and white and you finally went back outside. You left during the afternoon on September 1st while I was away. I didn’t see you leave but I imagined you were carried off by a great big bird, and I idly wondered if your whale would bring you back next summer while I fixed myself a cup of black tea.