Back in 2006 I travelled to Edinburgh from London to shoot a short film.
It was a weekend of fun, where I felt I was doing what I should have always been doing with my life.
I laughed hard with new friends, exhausted and exhilarated after two back-to-back twelve-hour days of production.
During my stay in Edinburgh, the crew crashed at the apartment of the girlfriend of the director. It added to the in the trenches attitude that had helped us bond quickly.
I returned to London, renewed with a sense of purpose that helped balance the grind of my then day job.
The film was entered into a competition. It didn’t win. It hit the director pretty hard.
The crew swapped contact details but I’ve never heard from any of them.
Six years later I’m back in Edinburgh. I’m now selling insurance and in town for a convention. During a break in the day I find myself walking by the old flat. New owners, now.
My heart remembers the good times and the warmth the apartment contained. But my eyes, grounded in the present, can’t see the people that made the flat what it was.
I want to see my friends again.
I will my eyes to project their images onto the apartment.
I see Richard setting up the lighting rig.
Sue’s doing make-up.
I see myself, clocking the script and checking that we don’t overrun. Even then I was worried about time.
The inability of my eyes to perform such a reasonable function leaves me feeling feeble.
I’m conscious that I’ve been standing in the street a long time. Someone might think I’m casing the joint.
I walk on.
I don’t know what material ghosts are made of.
The unresolved? Maybe.
But I reason that to have ghosts you must have first lived.
I walk away from the apartment in Edinburgh still haunted by the memories of good friends, knowing that I’ve lived.
(c) John-Paul Kamath 29/08/2012