I'm a mess he says. Powdery snowflakes falling. Dull green blurs flowing to either side. You're my mess I say, rubbing his temple in red circles, nail and blood indistinguishable. Will you wait for me, his voice just a murmur, a dry spring of a stream purling. If you'll wait for me . . . he starts to say, the final words lost in the gurgle of this throat. I lean over, my ear to his lips, but there is nothing. I start to say something . . .Then he exhaled, as the sky, flakes twirling down, pillowing everything. What was light became heavy. Flakes falling like ticker tape. Like confetti. Thick. And I thought of the parade he'd never get. The one I'd never attend. With his blood and my thumb, I made the sign of the cross on his forehead. Closed his eyes. Said a prayer. I expected to hear church bells. Bombs fell instead.
Everyone wants the memory of the hero. But he had died as so many others, without a footnote, without an honorable mention, without any rhyme or reason. And still the snow fell, as it did before. As it does now, everyday, every season, it falls, in my mind, it falls and even on the hottest summer days, I carry a sweater.
She takes a sip of coffee, gently lowers the cup, then continues.
There is a restaurant in the city. Looks like an old french chateau, made of stone with the most gorgeous slated steeple and at night the light glows from its many paned windows like the golden light seen in paintings. It even has a moat and you cross a candlelit drawbridge leading to an old iron portcullis and then the foyer. The aroma of fresh baked bread like invisible fingers. Best if you make a reservation. But I never do. And each time, the maitre d' frowns. Tells me the wait is an hour, maybe more. Wants to know if I'm willing to wait. I always smile and I always say yes. I'll wait. No matter how long. I'll wait.
7 comments:
Breathtaking. Leaves me totally speechless. As I've told you so many times before, your writing makes me smile. Your talent continues to amaze me, it continues to touch me deeper with every post. I wish I could express my feelings to reflect how much I truly love reading your work. This series sends my senses into a euphoria, if you will. Sends shivers down my spine, goosebumps down my legs. As sad as her life is, I am envious of her. sigh. To have what she has had, no one can take that away from her. Some of the events that she has been through seem to parallel some of the events in my life. So different yet so similar. I have thoroughly enjoyed ever post in this series. I will be waiting you next post.
:).. H...
Thank you A. Your kind words are very much taken to heart. Glad you like this series. :-)
The beginning so flames the yearnings of our hearts and souls and the subject of which you wrote so beautifully of just a few posts down, of love not being able to be measured in time. We can live a lifetime alongside someone and never know or be known, and then there can be a connection with someone that fills lifetimes with every moment. Though the events are so unbearably sad, though anyone upon this earth would grant the power of pause if they held it, hold him back if such a thing were possible, there is still the appreciation that what they found in each other was the essence of themselves. One can wait eternally for something one will never find, the request to wait for the found becomes needless, the answer unconditional.
Your writing is a dream, commenting is the attempt to confine it, to reach out and capture the evolving, to define the pure. Reading may take only moments, but the rapture is timelss.
Sweetest, whereas the post in this series before this was written in minutes without revision, this one took all day with more rewrites than I care to admit. The idea was there. The flow was not. That first paragraph probably saw 10 revisions and if I cared to, could probably stand a few more. As always, I look forward to your comments almost as much as my morning coffee. :-D
Autumn's comment exemplifies, exactly, the experience of visiting with you here and I'm not one to mess much with perfection.
Much...
S., you can mess with me any time, any place, and in any way, preferably with leather and feathers and wax and so forth. I wouldn't mind the cold touch of a few chains either. :-D
With that thought, I'm off to buy vodka, for tonight is lemon drop night. I have a new mix to dry and I'm in the mood to visit with my characters unfettered of a clear mind. :-D
I've always preferred my lemon drops served off the belly.
I'll look forward to your forthcoming "unleashing" ...
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