All of a sudden she began to whistle. By all of a sudden
I mean that for more than thirty years she had not
whistled. It was thrilling. At first I wondered, who was
in the house, what stranger? I was upstairs reading, and
she was downstairs. As from the throat of a wild and
cheerful bird, not caught but visiting, the sounds war-
bled and slid and doubled back and larked and soared.Finally I said, Is that you? Is that you whistling? Yes, she
said. I used to whistle, a long time ago. Now I see I can
still whistle. And cadence after cadence she strolled
through the house, whistling.I know her so well, I think. I thought. Elbow and an-
kle. Mood and desire. Anguish and frolic. Anger too.
And the devotions. And for all that, do we even begin
to know each other? Who is this I’ve been living with
for thirty years?This clear, dark, lovely whistler?
–Mary Oliver/The Whistler
No matter how long you know someone, or how intimate a relationship is, you can never know everything about another person. Everyone, no matter how open their personality, has things they don’t share. It might not even be on purpose. Something just might not occur to them as being noteworthy.
Like whistling.
Molly didn’t whistle for thirty years…and then she did, and her lover was in love all over again with this person who she thought she knew everything about. A whole new person all of a sudden.
This is a very good thing. A constant renewal and appreciation of our relationships.
Maybe there are a few people who are so utterly bland and unchanging that they are always completely predictable, but surely not very many. I’d like to think that most of us are capable of surprises. Hopefully pleasant ones.
Or is it a sign of inattention? Are these surprises about the people in our lives things we should have noticed?
Once in awhile those things leak out, like when I found myself singing in public without even realizing it, or when someone said “did you know that you hum incessantly?” and I had no idea.
Sometimes the person you don’t know is yourself.