She was in town for a fleeting visit. It was that old classic of the university student coming home for the holidays, but this was my first experience of it and I really can’t say I’m much of a fan. The whole way through I was fixated on the word “fleeting”. It comes from the Olde English word flēotan, which means “float, swim”. Merriam-Webster dictionary used it in a nice alliterative sentence: “Like a ghost ship floating by on a foggy night, fleeting things disappear as fast as they appear.” My daughter, the fleeting thing in fog.
She was in town for a fleeting moment. There were many demands on her time. I was very demanding and easily ignored. She had friends to catch up with, papers to work on, temperatures to adjust to – to travel from Dunedin to Auckland is to travel from winter to summer, even in autumn. The season went by fast, 10 days and she was gone. Another dictionary claimed “fleeting” dates back to 1200, when it was defined as “to glide away like a stream, vanish imperceptibly”. It took on darker tones in the early 13th century, when it was taken to mean “fickle, shifting, unstable”. It still does feel like that.
She was in town for a fleeting instant. We went to dinner. We have been eating together at Federal Delicatessen across the road from the Sky Tower in downtown Auckland since she was 12. Taking her there back then was intended as a treat, a touch of glamour for that little munchkin in braces. Taking her there now still feels like a treat: for old Papa, that chattering fool dazzled to spend time with her, excitedly clawing at his food. We shared cheesecake for dessert and then I walked her to a friend’s apartment. Another parent was dropping off her 18-year-old and she gave me a ride home. “Isn’t it great to have them back?” we said. We both said it kind of sadly.
She was in town for a fleeting second. Town felt different with her in it, like it had a point, a consuming interest. I love Auckland, its creeks lazing around in the mud, its banana trees growing wild, the whole fecund mess of its subtropical isthmus, but it has felt kind of dry and barren since she left for university. Smaller, like one of those provincial towns with wide empty streets; Auckland as Thames, Auckland as Invercargill. The tide seemed to rush back in during her return. The last of the summer hibiscus glowed a stronger orange, pink, red. There were definitely lightning strikes and thunderstorms – the city was electrified, briefly, thrillingly. In the 1570s, fleeting meant “to fade, to vanish”.
She was in town, to borrow the crazy spelling of Tudor times, fletyingly. “Beholde this fletying world,” wrote poet Barnabe Googe (1540-1594), “how al things fade.” A week home, and then it was back to Gate 28 at Auckland Airport, opposite the Relay convenience store, saying goodbye in front of packets of Cheezels and Hi-Chews. “Love you, Mum. Love you, Dad.” And then I noticed everyone queuing at the gate was aged between 17 and 20.
It was like an entire flight chartered for the exclusive use of the University of Otago. Another great migration was taking place. When she first left town, she was on a flight full of other teenagers heading south to begin their university lives, and a lot of them were travelling with their mums. This time, it was just the kids. They looked a lot less nervous. They looked kind of older. Fleeting things, floating.
