He checked his list and checked it again. There really were two lists. One of material, one not. Of the first he was sure. Of the second, less so. His father would be waiting, alone, packed and trimmed and looking as dignified as ever, his face as stoic as stone and he wondered what his father was thinking.
Ceru, as his friends called him but not his father, looked again at the time, then he looked at the table. He felt as if he were going to a double funeral. His father was leaving. He was not. Fate of either not to be known by the other. He tried to put a positive spin on the matter as he was wont to do, but this was not as it had been before when meditative prayer, scribed in letters, could deliver harm to harbor.
He took a breath as he pulled a chair from the table and sat. Upon the table, resting quietly on wood if not quietly in heart, a rather massive tone, a collection one could say, of letters. More than a thousand, although number mattered not, for any fool can shovel dirt. He thumbed through the pages as one drives through an old neighborhood. The houses are the same but the feeling is not. The missives had worked, or so he liked to believe. They were past, done, retired. Yet, they had not magically appeared on the table. The night before, they moved from chest to list to table. And then, this morning, they moved off the list but not off of table or into chest or, painfully, out of mind.
His chron beeped and he startled as if awakened from sleep. Time was flowing. He had to go. He had to choose. Pulling pen and paper from dark to light, a note was scribed and tucked and folio decided.
Father stood, as he always did, ready. Ceru opened the door of his transport, lifted by a sound he knew would, in a short time, live only in the halls of his memory, and for just a moment, allowed himself the luxury of floating. “Cerulean, my son, you make a father proud.” Von meant what he said as his arms opened as wide as his smile. “Now help an old Hynerian secure his kit. There is much to say and so very little time to say it.”
One of the Brightest Stars from James Blunt's new album All the Lost Souls.
For better audio (and video) of the song-->>One of the Brightest Stars
8 comments:
The song is playing in Ceru's mind about his father as opposed to what one might commonly think would be the father thinking of son. Love runs deep both ways in this relationship, and, as with the three years of letters written, we again see Love from the view of the son for father. :-)
So many wonderful phrases throughout, beginning with the cushion of time and the perfect metaphor for what it felt like reading some parts, soft. Considering the fate that lies ahead, that doesn't make as much sense until one considers the relationship is, seen even in this short chapter, natural, comfortable, mutual. There is a calmness to both of them which further accentuates this impression, though they are about to say goodbye. The very last sentence, the words that Von speaks, is particularly lovely, simply said, a wealth of meaning.
This was a tremendous chapter, beautifully written. One to float within, the relationship between the two, what the next hours will bring, what those letters mean.
Love, love, love the story, just have to tell you that again, I read a chapter such as this one and it's darned near overwhelming, just how special it is.
Well, as you know, this is not the chapter(s) that have been brutally haunting my mind and body these last three days. And, as often happens, a chapter just pops up, as this one did, and in a matter of minutes, it is written. If I had had the ability to write while driving to Atlanta, I think we would have seen a very different posting, which, I hope, we will see soon since I still feel the burden of those images.
I have written and dreamed many an emotional chapter, repleat with tears. I can say, without any doubt, no chapter to date has affected and effected me as much as the ones in my heart right now. I literally returned from Atlanta beaten, emotionally exhausted, almost crushed from the weight of what I need to say, for Von, for Ceru, for the story, and, I suppose, if truth be told, as much to exorcise the demons of these voices within me. Thursday I cried. Friday, I cried. Saturday, I cried. And today, I feel dried out like a raisin. Hence, you got something a little different. Give me time. They will come when I least expect it.
As always, thank you Sweetest. :-)
All of which shows me once again, the depth and beauty of your heart and soul. The chapters that have been particularly close to your heart have shown it and so I wait for these chapters, knowing that when you do write them, you will show us why Von's story affected you so strongly. You have a gift, and though it isn't always easy, when it is not, what you gain must far exceed the tears and the energy spent.
Forever in awe at this story, inside and out, the words of the story chapter by chapter and the story of the author as he writes chapter by chapter.
Good Sunday afternoon to you, Tree !
James Blunt reminded me of Bread back in the early '70's...
Loving Annie
and the message you left ? ohhhhhh, too bad you don't live closer... If Mark and I weren't dating, you just might be doing that after we got to know each-other more...
Oh Annie, based on what I know and what I've seen, I wouldn't argue with that. I do love a woman that can make mashed potatoes, and believe me, not everyone can. :-D
the cushion of time indeed breaks the fall of crash & burn...
Tractors of time with its blades does uproot pain...
tere haatho se like kaht mein jalaata kaise/ tere khushboo se bhare khat main jalaata kaise... tere kaht aaj main gangaa mein bahaa aayaa hoon/ aag behte hue paani mein lagaa aaayaa hoon..
How could I burn the letter that your hands wrote/ how could I burn the fragrance that lies hidden in them...& so I dispersed them on a river,and watched them setting the cool water to fire...
Mona, I'm going to need to read this one a few more times to grasp the imagery. You always make me think and feel and you've done it again.
Post a Comment