You are still young. There will be someone else for you. Just give this some time. And then the words would trail off. And Mary would sit alone.
Some said after the failed pregnancy, she was unconsolable. The last connection to Vigil gone, as was he, in the mud of a hospital tent, of eyes uncomprehending, of the flow of death and destruction pushing her from bed to street and that is when she thought of his arms that night, of having come home, if but for a night, of his arms the next day, limp, of no time to mourn, of no shoulder to lean, and, now, of the streets, of how they had no arms, as she had no arms, to hold or be held. No one was coming. She had touched the hand of God in a night. And said goodbye to it in the morning. And in her own crazy way, knew she had had more than most.
"Would you like another cup of coffee?"
"Yes please."
It was Tuesday. And down the street was the museum. She managed a smile as it rained, as if the sky weeped of sympathy, a nod from above to keep questions unasked as she greeted the docent, her face wet, her purse unwelcome, as it had been for years, on Tuesday.
6 comments:
More than eight months since the last time we visited with Mary. Doesn't feel that long, I suppose in part because she lives within me, as do all the characters in all the writing, and so even as their stories sit, the sitting is only on the page and not in my mind and heart. So as I wrote this chapter this morning, it felt in perfect continuity with her story. I don't quite understand how that works, but it is what it is. And if i could have a cup of coffee with Mary, I would. I'm not sure we would say much. Not sure we would need to say anything--like two best friends fishing. You don't really need words. You just need to be together.
The above, I could love you for that alone, especially the last part. We get it, we do, the space they fill, for as readers you breathed them into us, like the kiss of life, and whether you fan the flames only once every eight months, they are loved as completely. And when I said we get the space, it isn't for how deeply they have embedded themselves within us, but one understands by the comparison, like pea to world, like borrowed to belonged. To adore you as person, friend, writer, I would only have needed to read the last quarter of the above.
Mary touches in a way that I cannot describe, it is a combination of ache and joy, but it is her dignity that makes her so endearing and admired. I loved the last paragraph. The last two words, magnificent. I would ask for all of this to be read and listen for those two. Is really good to see Mary again.
And in her own crazy way, knew she had had more than most. This part shows well my point above as to the reason why Mary is special.
My dearest Autumn, again your comments bring a smile to my cloudy day. I was going to name this chapter--and the streets have no arms--but that sounded too much like the U2 song, but that was the origin of this one, this idea of being cast into the streets, alone, just walking the store fronts, watching others, especially couples, and feeling so alone, wanting so much for a pair of arms to emerge from the masses, and they don't. They can't. The streets have no arms. I felt like that on Friday. I had met Christopher at the mall to tell him of my situation. He and his friends were hanging out there and so when we finished our conversation he took off to be with his friends. We had walked some distance in the mall from where I had parked. All I can say is, that walk alone, from where he and I were, to my car, I'll never forget. And so, in this way, I was given a little insight into Mary, of how she might have felt losing her baby in an army tent hospital and there being so much death around her, so many other soldiers needing attention, that as soon as possible, she was released. And I think what that might have been like. No one comprehending her story, of why this baby might not have been just another baby (that sounded harsh but I think you know what I mean as it relates to Mary), and I think of her dazed as she is released, alone, walking with nowhere to go.
So, I found this morning, I was missing Mary. And like that, I brought her back. :-)
Big love and bear hugs.
To hear your thoughts, the origin of a chapter, and they become still more cherished. Both it and you. Like the candle before a mirror, each glowing upon the other.
Every time I read of Mary, I shake my head in disbelief. Disbelief at her strength, both emotional and in her character. We've all been in situations that are bleak, but usually there is a glimmer of hope, and it's that glimmer that we are able to focus on that gets us through each day. However, Mary!!! SIGH!!! Tears well up in my eyes when I think of the loneliness that she has and faces. I realize that she has had one hight in heaven, but....She is a much stronger woman than I.
As I read you last comment it takes all of my strength not to get in my car and drive to you so you won't have to sit alone. No words would be said. We could walk, or just sit, but you would know that you no longer are alone.
Sending you
TIGHT HUGS and WARM KISSES
that you sooo much deserve
LOVE ALWAYS XOXOXO
hhhHHHH
LotL, if it is any consolation, Mary is stronger than I've ever been. I love her character and feel privileged to write of her life. :-)
As always, thank you for the very kind words. I could have used some hand holding this week. :-)
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