The Motion Picture

"Just a Motion Away," from Gino Vanelli's 1984 album Black Cars, tells the story of two people in the process of possibly reconnecting after many years apart. Perhaps they were former lovers, or merely potential lovers who remained apart for reasons unknown to us, the listeners. 

The point of view of the singer-narrator makes it clear he's hoping the person he desires feels the same way, and encourages them to leave the past behind and start a new chapter. To paraphrase some of the lyrics, "Chance is knocking on our door to open up our ailing hearts once more . . . it's just a motion away." 

Whenever I hear this song, I wonder about the nature of that motion, the one that will set our lovers on a new (and perhaps more fulfilling) path. Do they reach out to hold hands? Do they hug? Smile? Nod yes? 

For several decades now, I've thought of fictions, large or small, as simply things that really happen on some other plane of existence (or, conversely, whatever we imagine springs into being on those other planes). When a story ends ambiguously, or when it's missing key details, I can't help but wonder about these things. Because somehow, somewhere, they happened or will happen. 

Is that madness?