Bruce Alrighty

Walking again. Didn’t Nietzsche have something to say about thoughts being better if one is walking? I’m played by Sarah Michelle Geller (again). I’m not sure why I can’t shake that yet, or whether I should shake it. Walking beside me is Bruce. When I last saw him, in 2013, he was played by Christopher Walken, but now he is played by Anthony Head (in Rupert Giles persona. I don’t know how long we’ve been walking.

Image result for buffy and giles

I sigh. “Did it really have to be the Giles vibe?”

“Would you have preferred Dr. Frank-N-Furter?”

“Hmm… I guess not.”

“This is not what we’re supposed to be talking about, you know.”

I glance over at him with a grimace. “There’s that ‘should.’ I knew that would come up soon. I didn’t think I missed it, but maybe I did at some level. Do you know what we should be talking about?”

Eyebrows. “I assumed that you knew.”

“Not exactly. I was yelled at a while back by a dimly remembered 6th grade teacher, and I’ve known since then I was supposed to (‘should’ again) stay on the blog thing. But the fragments are scattered, and my sense of continuity isn’t worth much at the moment.”

We walk in silence for a while. Eventually, I speak up again. “I guess I want to know about you, now. Do you still have your Bible?”

He pats his blazer to indicate an inner pocket. “Still here, though it’s gotten disconcertingly small.”

“And the shard?”

He absently indicates his chest with his thumb. “Still in here.  The scar is not going to go away.”

Image result for small bible“You don’t just represent the fundamentalist anymore, do you?”

“Well, yes…”  He’s avoiding my eyes now.  “…and no.”

I have to meditate for a while before pressing it any more.  The scenery changes as we walk.  It’s important that it changes, not how it does.  I didn’t tell you about the scenery before, and I’m not sure if I remember it now.

He picks up again before I do.  “The ‘yes’ part is not too mysterious.  The shard is in my heart because that’s its home.”

“And the ‘no’ part?”

Now he glances over and meets my gaze.  “That’s more mysterious, but it can be said, at least.”  He falls silent.

After a couple of minutes, I can’t resist making that rolling motion with my hand.  “And?”

He keeps looking ahead now.  “The heart.”  Pause.


“It’s not just mine.”  Several steps, then softer.  “And I’m not just me, of course.”

A five or six minute silence.

I look over at him again.  “I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Neither do I.”  He doesn’t seem bothered by this.

So we keep walking.



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