The door closed and upon the closing the world within and the world without seemed as distant as a leaf falling from a tree. Like the tree, she wondered if the parting was not as natural and the separation as permanent; that what only a moment ago was living, was now without life; and she wondered how just a few seconds ago could seem as far away as Hyneria; and how her feet now, felt as the roots of the tree and Trev seemed as the leaf, blown apart by some emotional wind she never saw coming, sudden as lightning in a blue sky.
A few moments later . . .
As a race car late from the pit, Em shot for the door. In the hallway stood Trev, his hands holding up the wall, a small trickle of blood running down his nose; his bloodshot eyes staring at the floor between his feet, gasping for air or dry heaving could not be ascertained. As quickly as she had flown into the hall, she froze, mind shuffling the images before her, searching for a pattern, something, anything to make the scene comprehensible. Returning quickly with a wet towel, she approached Trev with eyes to match. Taking his head in her hands, he looked without speaking and she looked without judging.
With her hand gloved around his, Em turned, her arm a tether, her hug a vest, her spirit a buoy of hope in his wan sea. Together, one heart towed the other back to safer ground. Wasn't the first time. Wouldn't be the last. This, she told him, was love. He looked upon her visage with glassy eyes as child to teacher, ears wide in the wonders of an undiscovered world.
They sat, knee to knee and forehead to forehead, the warmth of the one flowing like current into the other and where one soul gave, the two, together, grew stronger. Lips gazed as ambassadors of breath, a mingling of essence, magic of the ninth order and what was sour became sweet and what was hurt became healed. Whispers laced lobes flush as the cheeks that touched and where there had been two beats, evidence suggested just one.
Soundtrack: Priscilla Ahn's Masters in China
13 comments:
Just for a moment, imagine that image in metal decorating the wall in the wall facing behind the deck facing the beach at Valla, what do you think?
The expected pause was not forthcoming and here, as quickly as it should be given the potential devastation of this tender young relationship, is the continuance - thank goodness you chose that option. :-) One can almost imagine her as she sits there, eyes on the door, mind moving over what happened over what is happening over what might happen. And why. The analogy of the leaf falling from the tree is inspired, and the idea here of it being natural, inevitable and dare I say it as it should be, well, perhaps not quite that. And like the tree she remains where she is - the whole idea/image, the separation, the living no longer, and the emotional wind, short and cleverly done. Whiplash fractal to go with Em's.
The image that haunts me is of the tree, rooted, unable to move, watching from on high, a piece of itself, unexpectedly slipping away, falling away, drifting on the breeze, spiraling slowly downward and there is nothing I can but watch. I feel for Em. She has done nothing wrong. Yet, she is feeling the brunt of the break. Stunned at the rapid turn of events. Mind spinning to understand what she can't and what makes no sense. She reached out and was in effect slapped. At least he didn't call her a callow limpet. :-D
You know, these feeling and this metaphor is not so far from a parent and child. The time comes when the acorn will, must, leave. Doesn't make the separation any easier.
Funny how detailed the imagination can be, I see her in a white trouser suit, wide at the ankle, a halter neck vest with buttons down the front, shoes that match in colour, with a significant heal, her hair in a simple, but elegant ponytail, her legs crossed as she sat, unmoving, and a Kenny Everett scramble of them (I'll find you a clip hereafter of what I mean) to get to the door. All that from race car, your imagery as always is spot on and full.
I love the addition. To repeat, it just feels right, can't explain that, but there we were, in the room after Trev had left with endless possibilities of what would come next and no idea of which way it would go and then she got into the hall and there he was, struggling, not striding away, but falling apart so to speak. Quite simply, this is a fabulous piece of writing, not for the singular words as such, but for the drama, for the heights to which it makes the reader climb, for the way it gets into right into the gut. The slow, quick, quick, slow of it and the perfect ending. A perfect chapter throughout, stomach-clenching, thoroughly gripping, so deep within they swim, it's as though their emotions, their troubles, their confusion, the genuine caring and compassion is ours. They are carried in the heart and it grows because of it. And you did that.
Female characters with backbone. She has it, doesn't she, even in humbling herself for love.
I don't have a point of reference, or anything that I can identify with in this chapter. Not all loves look alike, not all relationships flow the same way. Sometimes love is as dramatic as Em and Trev's, or as dramatic as an unremarkable act of kindness. Depends on the people doing the loving. I did enjoy reading, but I am so unacustomed to this type of sensitivity, it leaves me a bit bewildered. Which is good too.
Jen
Jen, I'm rarely at a lost to respond to a comment, but this is one of those times.
I'm a sensitive soul--too sensitive for my own good more often than not. I feel everything and I feel it with depth and intensity and I crave to feel, both pain and pleasure, joy and despair. Either way, I'm simply built to feel and I feel light and sound and smell and taste and touch. I feel life. All of it. To write a chapter like this, with the intensity of feelings, to me, is the most natural thing in the world--it is how I experience the world around me. And so I write what I know.
The other day, when C was seeing the dentist and I was in the waiting room, I read a quote in a magazine that said roughly, all writing is autobiographic and if its not, then its plagiarism. I'll leave others to decide what they see here. ;-)
As always Jen, your sincere comments are very much appreciated. :-)
More and more, bless your poetic soul, thank you.
It is a demonstration of the marvel of your writing. Beginning with the first paragraph and stunning, to add the second to cover still more with a dance on stars to this final (if it is) addition as breathtaking as the sea crashing onto the rocks. I'm in that place again in other words, that star-dancing, stunned, breathless place I guess is how I want to describe it this morning :-), where the intense beauty of what you are saying and how you are saying it has rendered me at a loss of how to go about telling you just how marvellous this chapter is. An absolute delight to read.
A thought that occurs when I read a chapter such as this one is of blessings, firstly that you are, for having known what it means to have felt this, and I do believe that you have felt it as well as given, that you would know through giving goes without saying to know a little of you likewise for you to be able to write it, but the pureness, the completeness speaks of both sides, and the thought continues to as I have said many times before of by having met you, by reading you, being able to feel the glow.
(tbc;)
The meaning of life isn't it just or as Em says, this is love. Gosh. Gosh but I love that whole part, the buoy, the towing of hearts and the current of warmth. The great power that lies within a pure, open, all-seeing or rather all accepting heart, of taking it all and not turning anyone away at the door due to incomprehension or steadfast idea. Imagine, is what I want to say in spite of the above, a heart being held like this, could it be any more lovely. This chapter stands along side Papa's arms and Rog's ears - there are others - where, as has been said in many a film :-), if it ended there, in that moment, it would be enough. In short, it doesn't get much better than this. Not to be misunderstood in any way, just a wow at the heights to which words can catapult the reader.
...
Really I should comment on the whole chapter, start from the beginning, but it is the whole that makes it what it is and so in essence the above two are that, but the writing itself has been done for the yesterday's parts. The leaf and the tree, the rush the pause and the continuance, to this, this catch of a falling heart.
I was looking for something to copy, something which above all else within this last part stood out, two hearts as one for example, but it is one, one two-paragraph complete 'stand-out' and as much as anything that you have written, I love this. Am amazed at the sheer beauty of this, words and what those words tell when sequenced in a line that starts at the beginning and continues long after the end.
Too much for me to know how to go about commenting adequately.
I do want to say that I am very glad that I read it in parts, that the spans lasted as long as they did and thus it was like being treated to three catapults, to different places, but at the same altitude.
:-D
The outstanding within all the above to quote as a sum-up, loved it.
her spirit a buoy of hope in his wan sea. Together, one heart towed the other back to safer ground. Wasn't the first time. Wouldn't be the last. This, she told him, was love.
If needs were a must and I needed to pull out a part.
I could do this all day. Write comment parts. That is the continuance, the effect. Not, mind you, regardless of numbers, that I would ever satisfied, felt that I had come remotely close to showing you the extent of your catapult.
Sweet dreams, H
Sweetest, I could put no price tag on the value of your comments to me. You are my tall cold glass of water in the desert, my oasis among the shimmering sands, the siren call riding a puccoon wind. :-)
Shivers listening to the song. So thoroughly lovely.
Forgive me if I smile at causing YOU a loss of words. One of the greatest wordsmiths in Blogland, and I leave him speechless. :)
If you KNEW me personally, which yes indeed you do since you read me... OK, rephrase. If you knew my husband and I as a couple, you would understand my comment more. He could never be called sensitive in the sense that Trev is sensitive. So when I read a male character with such sensivities, it confounds me a bit. It is a foreign trait in a man for me.
I am completely wrapped up in Bryan. I know his strengths (they are NUMEROUS) and I know his faults. There is very little drama, or even discussion between us. We talk. But not about issues within ourselves. We just are. But there are times that the smallest of words or gestures are as big as tears, as grand as poetry, or as sought after as promises.
Tonight he told me that we were going to have so much fun when we were old. See, he is seeing 17 years multiplied to 17 more and 17 more years until we are indeed old together. That was a pearl to me. He desires growing old with me.... as poorly as I am aging, he still looks forward to continuing the process. With me!
It was a quiet affirmation. And simple. And merely warm. But grand for me.
I don't question your writing or the emotion there. You know by now that I read DEEPLY putting myself into the story in a way. So these exchanges between Em and Trev do bewilder me a bit, because they are DIFFERENT than what I know.
And I think you know by now too, that I love all of the heart that you pour into your work. It wouldn't be the same if you didn't.
So please, I sincerely ask you, keep exposing me to loves different from my own experience.
Be blessed.
Jen
Jen, if we were all the same, how boring would that be? :-D
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