Always Rumi for a Haunting

Ethan Fischer made me feel welcome. When most faculty busied

themselves becoming legends in their own minds, Ethan found time

for me. Over my first winter at the university, he introduced me to

literary happenings around historic Shepherdstown. Most memorable

were the warm, intimate gatherings, when Ethan would recite Rumi

to the accompaniment of acoustic guitar.

Once again, with the melting snow, has come the reemergence of

crocus on campus. Spring was when I crossed paths with Ethan the

most: lunch at the Moon, coffee at the Lost Dog, a pitcher of brew

between classes at Tony’s Pizza (off the record, of course). It has

now been five springs since Ethan passed. Not one of them has come

and gone without a welcome visit.

Straightening up my office and routing through books in my personal

library, I sense a presence. Is he here? A feeling of guilt accompanies

an awakened realization that in five years I have yet to add Ethan’s

poetry collection. I stop what I am doing, go straight to my

PC, and order an embarrassingly long overdue copy of Beached in the

Hourglass.

“There. Finally.” I say to the air around me, “I did it, and next day

air, mind you!”

“Not necessary,” I hear a voice respond, “Second day air would be

just fine. Besides, one day is but a grain of sand on the beach of time.”

I can see him now, as clear as day, speaking to me with that wry smile

so characteristic of him. “Okay, okay,” I agree, “Second day air, it is.

Who am I to argue with an apparition?”

Waxing poetic, as was always his nature, I hear him say, “Out

beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field. I will

meet you there.”

"Classic Fischer?” I ask.

“I wish,” he says, pausing with a chuckle, “Rumi.”

Yup, there go those goosebumps!

Gosh, it's almost noon. No wonder my stomach's growling. Where

does the time go? I haven't been to Tony's in, like, forever. Okay,

pizza and an ice-cold pitcher of draft beer at our old haunt it is!

God, I miss him.

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