Strangers

One evening I was bitten by the insomnia bug; it may have secreted something in the 5 large mugs of coffee I had consumed that day.  As my mind wandered, I stared at the ceiling sketched with the shadows of miscellaneous items, and I thought of the present, the past and the future. 

My mind drifted on and I thought of my past studies; moving to Maynooth, orientation week, my first year of study, my Erasmus year, the stress and exams of final year and securing a place on the MA programme, looking for a home in Maynooth and helping my little sister find somewhere before opting for the very halls she declined through hesitation.

When I was studying my MA I lived in communal accommodation just off-campus.  These little flats hosted a variety of characters; some seminarians, some attending the language school next door and some regular university students.

I remember one of the residents – Salvatori.

I hadn't realised this bearded, shy man with an eccentric streak was a man of cloth.  He’d wander around the kitchen, his hair resembled tanned tumble-weed stuck to his head, his beard a wild bush.  He always wore sandals even in the cold winter.  His clothes were mostly woollen garments, possibly llama or alpaca wool and outdoors he often wore a poncho.

After a time we spoke and I found him to be a pleasant fellow.  I often found him in the kitchen cooking or brooding over his English homework.  On occasion I even helped him but only when he asked.  He was a pious man.  Although born in Italy he had spent many years working in Bolivia.  He spoken many languages but English was his next goal.

His celebrity crush was Jodie Foster.

He sometimes argued with the other residents citing the Bible as his justification  and calling our neighbour the atheist an 'anti-Christ' but all in all he was a good man.

When I mentioned that I had applied for jobs in London I found a small map of London by my door the following morning.

When I packed my belongings to leave and move back home I thought about asking Salvatori for his e-mail address.  I didn't.  

So, as I wondered I wondered where he was now.  What might he be doing?  Had he gone back to Italy?  Or was he once again working in Bolivia?  

Where were they? 
He and all the other people I knew and didn't know, the people I met but never really knew save for brief or fleeting encounters.  Would it be fair to call them acquaintances if I had hardly known them?  Perhaps, that would be the greatest insult - to say I was acquainted with someone when I knew so very little of their life.

In a little while my mind moved on coaxed by the dancing shadows I thought of a great many things and promptly forgot them all before morning.