The Empty Chair

SECOND. GURU

The next story was told to me in the desert of New Mexico, over five days.

Our sessions took place at night, under an ecclesiastical cope of stars. Queenie spent her days submerged in a profusion of journals and diaries (whose keeping was a lifelong habit; she revisited them in order to refresh her memory “so as to maximize our time”). Many of those writings were almost thirty years old. She made use of other source material as well and in the course of the story reveals how she came upon it. I make note of this to help explain what might otherwise be taken for superhuman powers of reflection. That said, she freely admitted she had no qualms extemporizing, if it helped her cause, i.e., advancing the story or to more accurately convey a mood or a message.

Before we begin, there are two things important to note. “Second Guru” actually preceded “First Guru” in the telling. The chronological order of our diptych has been reversed for reasons it is hoped will be clear to the reader at the end. Secondly, the storyteller had been grievously wounded in love, which was why she had taken to the road.

When I came across this formidable woman, she was traveling in an imposing black bus with a full staff and every creature comfort one could imagine (and some that one couldn’t). In a droll tip of the hat to a storied bus of the ’60s, the destination above the windshield read “Father” not “Furthur.” Queenie wore kohl around her eyes and elaborately tailored gypsy dresses that were as dark as her land schooner, with the occasional splash of tie-dyed color: half — Zaha Hadid, half — Stevie Nicks. She said she was in the midst of searching for a lost city that was rumored to have the power to reunite couples that had been separated by calamity, farce — even death.

I hope one day to be reunited with her myself, for maybe that story too will one day ask to be told.