People gather in the shop to talk, and then they leave again. They need to say goodbye to each other.
People gather on the footpath outside and talk about things. Then they need to leave each other again.
People talk on the phone: inside the shop and outside the door; they talk on their mobile phones and need, each time, to end the conversation.
People buy books and talk to me. Then they need to leave and say goodbye to me. It’s such a simple thing. But it isn’t simple – it’s complex, and the ways to bid another person farewell are endless. The ritual of saying goodbye is sculpted with tools as fine as needles in order to fit the situation.
A man outside the shop is pacing with – not an infant – but a phone. The phone is more demanding than any infant – and far less rewarding. The phone is hard and disinterested and alive only through one plastic airway. The man was tense, needing to share information with a listener who was not interested.
‘I’m actually the son of the deceased and – ‘
‘Yes, but that wasn’t done.’
‘It wasn’t done.’
‘Just leave it.’
‘Bye.’ The word ‘bye’ bruising the end of the conversation.
A child leaving behind her mother and three books under one arm. She turns to wave at me and to wave the way children do: the open hand going back and forth rapidly, level with the flower petal face, byyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeee: a ribbon of sound that ends on a note of hope and the child still looking back at me to see if I heard. I did.
Robert who gets to the door and remembers something and comes back and then leaves again, bobbing forward and backward, clutching the door, thinking about Carlos Castaneda, ‘Yes, ok, bye. Yes bye. Ok. Bye. Ha-ha, bye.’
A tradesman on a mobile at the kerb, ‘Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Ok mate. Yeahr. See ya. Fuckin idiot.’
‘Bye my dearest. See you soon.’ And cardigans and pearls meet in a heartfelt.
Young women talking, intense, buttoning up coats and paying for books, ‘Thank you so much, bye‘, and there’s an emphasis on the ‘ye’, a tiny precise uplift in tone and volume to indicate energy because the day is not yet done.
School children in noisy clots on their way to Woolworths, ‘See ya idiot man.’
‘Stuff you Adam.’
And me, telling my mother, ‘Ok, see you later. I’ll see you tonight, mum.’
‘There’s no need to check on me.’
‘I’m not, mum. It’s fine. I’m coming to visit.’
‘Well, don’t if you’re busy.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’ This phrase, this time, a code for everything said but not said.
Sculpture by Elizabeth Ostrander