blog7: eric (d. 2023)

when i was in eric mccormack’s class, i sat in the very back (i just looked him up and found out he died three years ago, which saddens me so like a pipe broken). his aura—my god, his aura—it reached me, as i heard him read borges with his throat floating (my first time hearing jorge). i’m reminded of a message i sent him in 2019:

“Dear Dr. McCormack,

I hope this finds you doing well--please accept this message of appreciation. I was one of your students at University of Waterloo's St. Jerome's College--I took ENGL 105A/B in 2003/2004 during my first year of undergrad, and they left an indelible mark on me…”

it took me fifteen years to really say thank you (how does love work just right sometimes?), and i wonder, as tiptoes get louder, if there is now an echo, one made of waves and woolf teeth needing a cleaning, a reading. 

my catalyst, chemistry-wise: 

“A while ago, a former student of mine at Western wrote me a lovely email of appreciation, one that inspired me to reach out to those teachers who made a mark on me--indeed, your classes really got me excited about literature, so thank you for making a lasting impression. 

I will sign off now, but, again, thank you so much for introducing me to an array of writers at a very formative time.”

eric responded: 

“It was very thoughtful of you to write. I’m glad you benefitted from the 105’s—they were much my favourite courses. As an undergrad, I took both English and Philosophy, and my feeling was that English Lit was the more incisive of the two in giving us a glimmering of what’s going on in the world.”

i’m out of touch with the world, but inside it like a fly splattered, matter red, a stupid rothko bleeding love.