Ghosts of Denver

Article Preface:

Two notes:

1. Some names have been changed for privacy.

2. This content can be slightly sad.

Ghosts:

I enjoyed my time in Denver. The distant yet overbearing presence of the tiers of mountains reaching ever-higher in the sky is comforting; the guardians were watching us. In these plains below the peaks, we bumble about, but the mountains peeking through the buildings of downtown Denver remind us of our ordering in Nature: we are birthed and die, and birthed and die, but the mountains never budge. Having the fortune to stare into the distance at the sempiternal is a gift I remind myself of often.

At the end of the conference, I wondered, as I always do when my travels end, if I could stomach returning to this place: could I take a simple trip to revisit the city that entertained me so much this time? But what is Denver without the bustling crowd of badge-wearing people babbling about topological phases of matter and neutron star equations of state? If I were to return, I fear the sunny streets would be populated with ghosts of my memories.

And I would most certainly skirt around the convention center, making every attempt to never look at it again, for fear of its vacant and hollow stare back at me, as if it were surrounded in a bubble of my memories that may pop at the softest pluck. To entangle my present with my recollections is a game I wish not to dabble—these memory convolutions pierce deeply.

Shall I return to the coffee shop that caused me such confusion to see if Jakob is still working there? To verify that our clocks ticked at the same rate despite being so far away? Would he remember me? How about the staff at the book store? You told me you’d see what you can do about possible discounts on more expensive, retail-priced books. And how about the street adorned with dangling lightbulbs? Do I dare to walk beneath them once more without Perry to accompany me?

I do not dare. At least, not yet.

In fact, should I return with my friends, the ones I spent much time with there, I would still feel the gaping hole inside of me, asking where everyone else was: “What do you mean everyone else?” they’d ask. All the “background people,” I’d clarify: aren’t there supposed to be hoards of “physics-walkers” diffusing through the streets of Denver?

For what reason do I require these precise conditions to qualify a return? I can’t say in the slightest. I am baffled. These memories of the times and spaces form a labyrinth that I don’t dare to re-enter. If I returned to the city without this arrangement in place, once the sun over Denver set behind the mountains, I would be helpless against the torrent of tears, surrounded on every street corner by ghosts.

Notes/References:

None used.

Updates:

1. 2029-09-28: Names reshuffle.