I sat careful and controlled at the table in the deli where we would meet. A whole world swirled and pitched around me. It was the metered pace of lunchtime and waiting lines and the little dance customers did as they sidled along the case of meat to get to the registers. I sat apart and altogether too still in comparison. Reaching my hand up to push my hair behind my ear, I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He moved down the street towards the deli with a quick measured pace. His grey suit was tailored just shy of obscene - all smooth lines across lean thighs and perfectly tight fabric stretched over broad shoulders. A moss green tie flapped once in the breeze before he smoothed it against his chest with long, slim fingers that belied their own strength. In my mind I saw a flash of those hands curled around a sniper rifle on the day of my first qualification. He had been cool and condescending then but only until the first round exploded from my SIG-Sauer P229, slamming into the center of the target 100 yards away. Today his face showed nothing. What I had been hoping for I could not say.
The first chill of winter air followed him in and to our table. He sat without preamble and trained his eyes on mine.
“Margaret,” he said tersely in greeting.
“Nicholas.”
The waitress stopped quickly at our table, pen in hand and waiting for our orders. Nicholas glanced at me, asking with his eyes if this was going to be an eating conversation or not. My head shook slightly.
“Just coffee for me,” he said. As he glanced up to meet the waitresses eyes, his hand reached across his torso in a move made to look as if he was keeping his suit coat from touching the table. I saw the tip of his middle finger touch the expertly concealed weapon on his side. He was worried. Or he just wanted me to know what the stakes were. Maybe both.
“I’ll have a turkey sandwich on sourdough. And some pimentos, please. To go.” No need to let the conversation run long.
“What can I do for you, Margaret? I assume your travel plans are in order,” he said as the waitress went to get his coffee.
“Yes, everything’s scheduled.” I hesitated. “About my pick up. . .”
“Ah, yes. Parker said she would be there when you arrive.” He noted the slight eye roll I barely contained. “Is there a problem?”
Parker was nice enough, I supposed. She could talk the ear off the Energizer bunny, but other than that she seemed fairly competent. I didn’t know how eager I was to have her along on this mission but I could endure almost anything for three months. I figured a short, lethal sidekick wasn’t too bad to have around.
“It’s fine.” I lowered my hands to the table and made three short gestures in sign language, about last night. . .
His green eyes flared quickly and he took a slow breath in, trying to control his response. He looked at me with barely controlled menace. I guess that was my answer.
In my head I imagined how my fist would feel as it connected with his face. I imagined all the ways in which I could make his heart stop beating and believe me, I know quite a few. It’s my job. I let myself feel the rage for half a second before clamping down on the pain of rejection and closing up shop. I looked away from his face, letting my eyes drift past the window for just a second. When I looked back he paled noticeably at my expression. I’d seen the look before, mostly on the faces of the people on the other end of my gun.
“Well, I guess that’s all then,” I said evenly.
Nicholas realized his slip and put the professional mask back on. “Have a good trip, Margaret.”
I watched his head slowly disappear in the crowd of the street.
The waitress came with my order.
“Turkey on sourdough. And pimentos.”
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Another prompt pulled from my blog reader verification box. I gave myself a 700 word target today at ended up with 707. Not bad.
Showing posts with label freewriting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freewriting. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
1962 Arthur
In 1962, Arthur Rumeros began his job at the United Pen Company. Up until this point in his life, he had lived what most would call a benign existence. Arthur had gone to school, graduated, attended college, had a girlfriend or two, and moved into his own second story apartment in very ordinary part of town. His parents were still married to each other, living in the same house they had bought as newlyweds and in which they had raised their only son.
He eventually began his career in salesmanship on an unremarkable Monday morning. His desk was just a standard office desk, his attaché case was the same black leather variety mirrored back to him by almost all of his co-workers. Up until this normal Monday morning, Arthur expected nothing extraordinary out of his life. He was completely ill fitted to even imagine what lay in wait for him in that brown and beige office on the corner of Houston and 5th.
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You'll be seeing more of these freewriting bits as I try to get back into the swing of writing some fiction again. I'm trying out giving myself time limits (10 minutes) or length limits (700 words) and just play around a bit so some will be long, some short. Feel free to comment, critique, question, etc. My blog reader has added a word verification feature for every time you log in. This prompt was pulled from there (see title of post: 1962, Arthur)
He eventually began his career in salesmanship on an unremarkable Monday morning. His desk was just a standard office desk, his attaché case was the same black leather variety mirrored back to him by almost all of his co-workers. Up until this normal Monday morning, Arthur expected nothing extraordinary out of his life. He was completely ill fitted to even imagine what lay in wait for him in that brown and beige office on the corner of Houston and 5th.
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You'll be seeing more of these freewriting bits as I try to get back into the swing of writing some fiction again. I'm trying out giving myself time limits (10 minutes) or length limits (700 words) and just play around a bit so some will be long, some short. Feel free to comment, critique, question, etc. My blog reader has added a word verification feature for every time you log in. This prompt was pulled from there (see title of post: 1962, Arthur)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Business Casual Killing
A small snippet I wrote the other day. Who is this girl? Why did she kill someone (something?) during her lunch break? How will she get rid of the body? It's a mystery.
I slumped slightly to rest against the brick wall at my back and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Wasn’t helping. And time wasn’t on my side right now, not with the body just lying against the dumpster in front of me. The snow was masking the few sounds of the city and making it feel more deserted than it was but I was going to be found sooner or later.
The body was too big for me to lift into the dumpster. I had muscles; don’t get me wrong, but having the skill to kill someone almost three times your size and having the muscle mass to lift their dead weight were two different things. That’ll teach you to go poking into someone else’s business, I thought.
I didn’t have time for dismemberment, I didn’t know a handy spell for corpse combustion and unfortunately, the body wasn’t going to turn to ash on its own. The adrenaline was wearing down a bit before I finally decided to just drag it away from the direct view of any passerby’s and throw a hiding charm on it until I could come back and do a proper clean up. It took all the leverage and power my five foot six inch frame could muster to force the monster out of view for the time being.
By the time I was done, strands of my dark brown hair had worked themselves free from the neat bun on the back of my head. Or maybe that had happened during the fight. I wasn’t sure. Jesus, Bethany! Does it really matter how your hair got messed up? Just throw the charm and get back to work. I did the little I could and headed back out of the alley.
I let the steps of my swagger slowly transform into the sharp staccato beat of an office worker returning from lunch. Thankfully, the lobby and elevators were empty and I made my way into the restroom before anyone could ask about my appearance. Locked safely in a stall, I took an extra minute to double check that my clothing wasn’t torn or stained with blood. He had gotten in a few good hits but none had been on my face (in which case I would have definitely had to go home for the day); most were just finding their way into becoming a dark purple. I knew I would be paying for that tonight. Nothing was broken, though; I hadn’t been that careless. There’s something to be said for the monotony of business casual black clothes. Apparently they work for back alley killers too.
I checked my eyes in the mirror. They seemed bloodshot but otherwise okay. Grass green rimmed now in red. At least I was color coordinating with the holidays.
I slumped slightly to rest against the brick wall at my back and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Wasn’t helping. And time wasn’t on my side right now, not with the body just lying against the dumpster in front of me. The snow was masking the few sounds of the city and making it feel more deserted than it was but I was going to be found sooner or later.
The body was too big for me to lift into the dumpster. I had muscles; don’t get me wrong, but having the skill to kill someone almost three times your size and having the muscle mass to lift their dead weight were two different things. That’ll teach you to go poking into someone else’s business, I thought.
I didn’t have time for dismemberment, I didn’t know a handy spell for corpse combustion and unfortunately, the body wasn’t going to turn to ash on its own. The adrenaline was wearing down a bit before I finally decided to just drag it away from the direct view of any passerby’s and throw a hiding charm on it until I could come back and do a proper clean up. It took all the leverage and power my five foot six inch frame could muster to force the monster out of view for the time being.
By the time I was done, strands of my dark brown hair had worked themselves free from the neat bun on the back of my head. Or maybe that had happened during the fight. I wasn’t sure. Jesus, Bethany! Does it really matter how your hair got messed up? Just throw the charm and get back to work. I did the little I could and headed back out of the alley.
I let the steps of my swagger slowly transform into the sharp staccato beat of an office worker returning from lunch. Thankfully, the lobby and elevators were empty and I made my way into the restroom before anyone could ask about my appearance. Locked safely in a stall, I took an extra minute to double check that my clothing wasn’t torn or stained with blood. He had gotten in a few good hits but none had been on my face (in which case I would have definitely had to go home for the day); most were just finding their way into becoming a dark purple. I knew I would be paying for that tonight. Nothing was broken, though; I hadn’t been that careless. There’s something to be said for the monotony of business casual black clothes. Apparently they work for back alley killers too.
I checked my eyes in the mirror. They seemed bloodshot but otherwise okay. Grass green rimmed now in red. At least I was color coordinating with the holidays.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Introductions
(This is the introduction of Parsippany, written from her perspective. It's the best of the drafts I wrote tonight but might need a bit more tweaking. What do you think?)
Sunshine made its way through the thick atmosphere to light the pathway as it always did, a stark orange-ish glow. I was walking towards the morning lessons I would be teaching today. I could already feel the energies of the students from the open-air classroom a few hundred feet away. This morning they felt a bit raw and roiling, like steam coming off the cooking pot, quickly dissipating in the humidity of the air. It made it hard to breathe for a few heartbeats as I internally mastered the space of my own mind and the seeming invasion of theirs. Every morning I taught was like this, the sudden thrusting of myself into the company of too many people. Even after ten years of study, it was an effort.
Sunshine made its way through the thick atmosphere to light the pathway as it always did, a stark orange-ish glow. I was walking towards the morning lessons I would be teaching today. I could already feel the energies of the students from the open-air classroom a few hundred feet away. This morning they felt a bit raw and roiling, like steam coming off the cooking pot, quickly dissipating in the humidity of the air. It made it hard to breathe for a few heartbeats as I internally mastered the space of my own mind and the seeming invasion of theirs. Every morning I taught was like this, the sudden thrusting of myself into the company of too many people. Even after ten years of study, it was an effort.
I was the best talent they had seen in two generations. How I felt about that fact was still changing on a daily basis. Even though our kind, Healers, tried to steer clear of expectations, I could sense it every time they slipped. It was a sharp jab at the corner of my energy field followed by their quick control and almost ghostly feel of apology. That, of course, was from the more experienced Healers. The younger ones didn’t even realize what they were doing. It was like they were trying to throw a blanket over you and steer you in the opposite direction. It was the reason I hated teaching these classes. And the reason why it was essential that I did.
My measured steps helped me focus more closely on what was really bothering me this morning. Things seemed. . . different lately, the past few days especially. All the foretelling we had done, the hours spent in meditation and seeking and I still didn’t have a solid answer as to what was coming my way. Even the elders couldn’t tell what it was, or if they did, they weren’t sharing. Their silence was not completely unexpected but still frustrating. I was overwhelmed with that feeling for a moment but quickly dealt with it and let it melt away. It was a good thing no one was close as I walked through the cloisters. It was also one of the reasons why I chose to stay fairly sequestered as much as possible. I had more talent than any of them but that meant that my sudden bursts of emotion were a bit more potent than theirs were too.
It meant I couldn’t afford to let them get the better of me, especially when I had to teach. Here I was, letting this frustration take me over because of a few unknowns. It was silly and much more indicative of an apprentice than someone of my experience. But judging myself so harshly would do no good.
I walked the last hundred feet and pulled my thoughts together, focusing them to razor sharp points that fractured on the energy of the fifty students seated on the mats at my destination. I read frustration there too, in some of them. A small, rueful smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Nothing like first hand experience to guide the way, I suppose. My feet moved a bit more slowly the closer I got to the open air classroom. I sucked in a few dense, heavy breaths as I heard the last of the mantras and stepped silently around the corner.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Losing Air
(prompted by sunday scribblings topic - regret. This is Parsippany's point of view. It's kind of a jump forward in the story that I have been writing so far. Check out the category of "freewriting" on this blog to read the other parts too.)
She regretted the necessity of dishonesty. How cruelly that need tormented her now – stuck on a failing ship in the wide, dark, open sea of space. If only they could have gone together. If only she had turned her back on the duty she had to protect them all to protect the one person that meant everything to her. But no, she couldn’t have done it. Even now, pressing the oxygen mask against her cheeks to suck the last breath out, she knew she couldn’t have ignored her responsibilities. And her lover, Cedar, was out there somewhere, searching for a brother long lost in the storm of civil war on a planet far away. Ah, that she couldn’t see Cedar’s face one last time before the end. That was the most piercing regret of all.
How had she let this happen?
Her vision began to break apart at the edges, her head becoming light with lack of good air. She barely recognized the sharp clang of the hatch and jolt of the ship when the sensors indicated that someone was about to board. And then she thought this must be the end, because beautiful and strong, the image of Cedar’s face kneeling over her was the last thing she saw as she lost consciousness.
She regretted the necessity of dishonesty. How cruelly that need tormented her now – stuck on a failing ship in the wide, dark, open sea of space. If only they could have gone together. If only she had turned her back on the duty she had to protect them all to protect the one person that meant everything to her. But no, she couldn’t have done it. Even now, pressing the oxygen mask against her cheeks to suck the last breath out, she knew she couldn’t have ignored her responsibilities. And her lover, Cedar, was out there somewhere, searching for a brother long lost in the storm of civil war on a planet far away. Ah, that she couldn’t see Cedar’s face one last time before the end. That was the most piercing regret of all.
How had she let this happen?
Her vision began to break apart at the edges, her head becoming light with lack of good air. She barely recognized the sharp clang of the hatch and jolt of the ship when the sensors indicated that someone was about to board. And then she thought this must be the end, because beautiful and strong, the image of Cedar’s face kneeling over her was the last thing she saw as she lost consciousness.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Definitely Not That
(Sunday Scribbling: Pilgrimage.)
The apprentices were nervous. Curious, yes, as anyone would be on the first trip away from their home planet, but there was an undertone of anxiety in their actions and murmured comments that fell far wide of soothing. I hadn’t had much need to interact with novices while I had been living with Parsippany the last few years. She participated in their training as much as any of the other Healers did, I suppose, but I couldn’t remember ever having a conversation about it with her. If I hadn’t been so keyed up from running to catch the shuttle and leaving my lover behind, I might have found it amusing.
But I was keyed up and it wasn’t amusing. Not right now. They knew who I was and while relationships like mine with Parsippany weren’t commonplace, they happened just often enough to make it a topic of conversation. On the planet it was fine. You had the mitigating effect of repetition and daily exposure. But here on the ship, speeding out into the emptiness of space, everything was new and strange to them.
After we were underway, I lingered a bit in my cabin. It would be my only refuge for the next two weeks. It was small, utilitarian as all spaces were on a shuttle of this size, and it would soon enough be stifling and claustrophobic. In this moment, though, it was the separation I needed from the prying and hopeful eyes of the young Healers on board. The smell of the ship was soothing and I let the rattle of the engines work out the lingering anxiety while I sat and breathed deeply.
Only a few minutes had passed before I heard the irritating squawk of my door. When I opened it, there stood one of the crew. He was weathered and tall enough to make navigating the short walkways of the ship a burden. Quite good looking, too, if one was looking for that sort of thing.
“The captain would like a word,” he said succinctly. His voice had exactly the tenor of gruffness I had expected.
I nodded but followed without comment. When the captain asks for you, it’s not really a request. My curiosity was raging, though. Regardless of what he might have heard about my past, I was only a passenger on this flight. Surely he wouldn’t censure me before anything had even happened. The slight anxiety crawled back up my spine as we moved our way up the ladders and short passages of the hallways to the bridge. The crewman spared no glance in my direction to ascertain whether I followed him.
We entered the bridge with a more measured pace. I could sense the crewman take in the atmosphere of the room before he spoke.
“Captain. The passenger you requested.”
“Thank you, Giles.” Said the captain as he walked over to the doorway in which I was still standing. Protocol hadn’t abandoned me so much that I wasn’t aware of needing permission to step foot onto the bridge of a ship of which I wasn’t crew.
“Come,” he said and lifted a hand to gesture me forward. I walked towards him, both looking at him and trying to take in the faces of the other crew members as well. There was suspicion there, I saw, and worry. And a tinge of resignation. This wouldn’t be good. You didn’t want to see all of those on the faces of the people who were in charge of navigating you through space.
He looked closely at my clothes before he started speaking again. Looking for what, I wasn’t sure. “Please forgive the intrusion. I find I must ask a few questions to see if you might be able to help us.”
“Help you?” I asked, quizzical.
“Do you pilgrimage with the others on board?” his face was a little abashed as he asked. I could tell he wasn’t used to this sort of delicacy.
“Pilgrimage? “ I pondered. “No, I’m not….” I stuttered because I was so taken aback. Maybe because I assumed he should be able to tell that I was not part of their group. But what was he to think? I had embarked from their planet, on a shuttle that left from the colony site. Any Seekers would have taken one of the larger resort shuttles back to their own planets. And then I understood the appraisal of my clothes. He was confused.
“I’m not a Healer although I have lived on the planet for some time.” I explained. “I have. . . other reasons for traveling.” Because what I was on was definitely not a pilgrimage. Surely, there was a word somewhere in some lexicon that meant the opposite of pilgrimage. I was actually traveling half the speed of light through space away from everything I held holy and sacred – away from her.
The apprentices were nervous. Curious, yes, as anyone would be on the first trip away from their home planet, but there was an undertone of anxiety in their actions and murmured comments that fell far wide of soothing. I hadn’t had much need to interact with novices while I had been living with Parsippany the last few years. She participated in their training as much as any of the other Healers did, I suppose, but I couldn’t remember ever having a conversation about it with her. If I hadn’t been so keyed up from running to catch the shuttle and leaving my lover behind, I might have found it amusing.
But I was keyed up and it wasn’t amusing. Not right now. They knew who I was and while relationships like mine with Parsippany weren’t commonplace, they happened just often enough to make it a topic of conversation. On the planet it was fine. You had the mitigating effect of repetition and daily exposure. But here on the ship, speeding out into the emptiness of space, everything was new and strange to them.
After we were underway, I lingered a bit in my cabin. It would be my only refuge for the next two weeks. It was small, utilitarian as all spaces were on a shuttle of this size, and it would soon enough be stifling and claustrophobic. In this moment, though, it was the separation I needed from the prying and hopeful eyes of the young Healers on board. The smell of the ship was soothing and I let the rattle of the engines work out the lingering anxiety while I sat and breathed deeply.
Only a few minutes had passed before I heard the irritating squawk of my door. When I opened it, there stood one of the crew. He was weathered and tall enough to make navigating the short walkways of the ship a burden. Quite good looking, too, if one was looking for that sort of thing.
“The captain would like a word,” he said succinctly. His voice had exactly the tenor of gruffness I had expected.
I nodded but followed without comment. When the captain asks for you, it’s not really a request. My curiosity was raging, though. Regardless of what he might have heard about my past, I was only a passenger on this flight. Surely he wouldn’t censure me before anything had even happened. The slight anxiety crawled back up my spine as we moved our way up the ladders and short passages of the hallways to the bridge. The crewman spared no glance in my direction to ascertain whether I followed him.
We entered the bridge with a more measured pace. I could sense the crewman take in the atmosphere of the room before he spoke.
“Captain. The passenger you requested.”
“Thank you, Giles.” Said the captain as he walked over to the doorway in which I was still standing. Protocol hadn’t abandoned me so much that I wasn’t aware of needing permission to step foot onto the bridge of a ship of which I wasn’t crew.
“Come,” he said and lifted a hand to gesture me forward. I walked towards him, both looking at him and trying to take in the faces of the other crew members as well. There was suspicion there, I saw, and worry. And a tinge of resignation. This wouldn’t be good. You didn’t want to see all of those on the faces of the people who were in charge of navigating you through space.
He looked closely at my clothes before he started speaking again. Looking for what, I wasn’t sure. “Please forgive the intrusion. I find I must ask a few questions to see if you might be able to help us.”
“Help you?” I asked, quizzical.
“Do you pilgrimage with the others on board?” his face was a little abashed as he asked. I could tell he wasn’t used to this sort of delicacy.
“Pilgrimage? “ I pondered. “No, I’m not….” I stuttered because I was so taken aback. Maybe because I assumed he should be able to tell that I was not part of their group. But what was he to think? I had embarked from their planet, on a shuttle that left from the colony site. Any Seekers would have taken one of the larger resort shuttles back to their own planets. And then I understood the appraisal of my clothes. He was confused.
“I’m not a Healer although I have lived on the planet for some time.” I explained. “I have. . . other reasons for traveling.” Because what I was on was definitely not a pilgrimage. Surely, there was a word somewhere in some lexicon that meant the opposite of pilgrimage. I was actually traveling half the speed of light through space away from everything I held holy and sacred – away from her.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Late
(Just a short freewrite for today)
I was running late and they didn't hold shuttles for latecomers. Dammit, all those goodbyes for nothing if I was going to be here for another day until the next shuttle. Her kisses still flamed on my lips but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I would think on it later. Later, when I had two weeks to spend trying not to go crazy on a crowded ship a few light years away from her.
My legs pounded out the steady beat of late travelers everywhere, hoping there had been some sort of delay that would save me. The dark clothes I wore made me stand out as I ducked through security and sprinted the last short way to the gantry. Wearing black wasn't forbidden on this planet, it was just . . . out of place. It was too jarring, too stark. It was the blackness of space and it didn't fit here where the very essence of life settled like warm orange clouds all around you. But where I was going - where I was going demanded some acquiescence and I wouldn't get far if I was dressed in clothes like Parsippany's.
I could see the crew's preparations for departure but the door was still open. Thank god, the door was still open! They let me pass with impatient looks and muttered curses but still, I got in. The goodbyes had been worth it.
I was running late and they didn't hold shuttles for latecomers. Dammit, all those goodbyes for nothing if I was going to be here for another day until the next shuttle. Her kisses still flamed on my lips but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I would think on it later. Later, when I had two weeks to spend trying not to go crazy on a crowded ship a few light years away from her.
My legs pounded out the steady beat of late travelers everywhere, hoping there had been some sort of delay that would save me. The dark clothes I wore made me stand out as I ducked through security and sprinted the last short way to the gantry. Wearing black wasn't forbidden on this planet, it was just . . . out of place. It was too jarring, too stark. It was the blackness of space and it didn't fit here where the very essence of life settled like warm orange clouds all around you. But where I was going - where I was going demanded some acquiescence and I wouldn't get far if I was dressed in clothes like Parsippany's.
I could see the crew's preparations for departure but the door was still open. Thank god, the door was still open! They let me pass with impatient looks and muttered curses but still, I got in. The goodbyes had been worth it.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Parsippany
(This piece of writing got launched from a sunday scribbling about "organic." I've used the same characters as my last freewriting exercise last week. They've started coming in more clearly so you might see more scenes with them as the weeks go on.)
The packing was automatic. Open case, insert shirt, fold, fold, tuck into the edge. There wasn’t much to put in the case but I packed with careful motions anyway, trying to draw out the action to last longer because I was unsure. I was unsure of leaving her. Our life on her planet seemed like a dream about to wink out of existence at the slightest pressure. But I had faced these feelings before. They were painful, sure, but not unmanageable. Just breathe through them. You’ve faced worse, I told myself again. Deep breath, fold, fold, tuck, next piece, breathe again.
Quiet steps. She came in to sit on the edge of the window with a small smile in place. Of course, she knew what I was feeling. Even if we had not been together for the last three years, she would have known. Damn Healers, I thought with a sense of resigned love. Why do they have to see everything? But she was quiet as I packed. She knew when to talk and when to listen (don’t they all?), she didn’t press for more. And how could I not love her for that alone? My dear Parsippany, not blinking an eye when I told her I had to follow the dream of the boy. Just to make sure, I had told her.
She had known the life of organic things. There was no forcing here. There might be gentle prodding, strong encouragement, or the kind of silence that brings the truth forward like a knife – but not force. Things grew or did not grow, you helped them be so or you did not. She knew my heart well enough by now to know I had to let it go where it would. And she trusted it would find its way back to her. One way or another, I knew it would.
“You must go?” she asked quietly, again. She would only ask this one time more.
“We’ve tried,” I said, a small note of weariness marking my words. “The other Healers can find nothing, either." Silence. Acceptance. "I have to make sure he is okay. Do you see any other way?” My question practically a plea.
“No,” she admitted. Her dress moved with the slightest sound as she moved to take my hand and put her cheek against mine.
And there she was, letting the moment be what it would be - which was the beginning of a goodbye. She let the force between us grow at its own pace, filling the room quickly.
The packing was automatic. Open case, insert shirt, fold, fold, tuck into the edge. There wasn’t much to put in the case but I packed with careful motions anyway, trying to draw out the action to last longer because I was unsure. I was unsure of leaving her. Our life on her planet seemed like a dream about to wink out of existence at the slightest pressure. But I had faced these feelings before. They were painful, sure, but not unmanageable. Just breathe through them. You’ve faced worse, I told myself again. Deep breath, fold, fold, tuck, next piece, breathe again.
Quiet steps. She came in to sit on the edge of the window with a small smile in place. Of course, she knew what I was feeling. Even if we had not been together for the last three years, she would have known. Damn Healers, I thought with a sense of resigned love. Why do they have to see everything? But she was quiet as I packed. She knew when to talk and when to listen (don’t they all?), she didn’t press for more. And how could I not love her for that alone? My dear Parsippany, not blinking an eye when I told her I had to follow the dream of the boy. Just to make sure, I had told her.
She had known the life of organic things. There was no forcing here. There might be gentle prodding, strong encouragement, or the kind of silence that brings the truth forward like a knife – but not force. Things grew or did not grow, you helped them be so or you did not. She knew my heart well enough by now to know I had to let it go where it would. And she trusted it would find its way back to her. One way or another, I knew it would.
“You must go?” she asked quietly, again. She would only ask this one time more.
“We’ve tried,” I said, a small note of weariness marking my words. “The other Healers can find nothing, either." Silence. Acceptance. "I have to make sure he is okay. Do you see any other way?” My question practically a plea.
“No,” she admitted. Her dress moved with the slightest sound as she moved to take my hand and put her cheek against mine.
And there she was, letting the moment be what it would be - which was the beginning of a goodbye. She let the force between us grow at its own pace, filling the room quickly.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Sleepless
(A 10-minute freewriting exercise)
I was lying on my back facing the ceiling and wishing the images would go away. They were too clear, too pressing, too real to move away as quickly as I wanted them too. And I couldn’t write the dream off to stray wanderings of my thoughts. He was not someone to come up in conversation or even a person I thought of every day. Why did he have to come tonight? Why did he come unbidden when he had hurt me enough in the past?
My thinking must have been too loud, my emotions too out of check for her to sleep silently anymore. She stirred next to me, her arm reaching out to push some invisible strand of energy away from my abdomen. How she knew these things was far beyond me, a mere human in her strange world. In her sleepy haze her fingers made strange circles only the width of a hair above my skin. And I felt like I always did when she moved me. I felt like stirred water, shimmering and swirling, the molecules unsettled and unsure. The dream moved silently around inside me again, I could see her feel around the edges of it to test its truth – a meter only she could see and hear.
And I sighed suddenly, letting the feeling of desperation have a sound at least, if it could not have a voice in this dark night. In my dream I had held my horror and grief in check. Could I do the same in this quiet room where she would accept it all? I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know anything anymore except that I wanted to find the boy from the dream and demand assurances to which I had no right any longer.
I was lying on my back facing the ceiling and wishing the images would go away. They were too clear, too pressing, too real to move away as quickly as I wanted them too. And I couldn’t write the dream off to stray wanderings of my thoughts. He was not someone to come up in conversation or even a person I thought of every day. Why did he have to come tonight? Why did he come unbidden when he had hurt me enough in the past?
My thinking must have been too loud, my emotions too out of check for her to sleep silently anymore. She stirred next to me, her arm reaching out to push some invisible strand of energy away from my abdomen. How she knew these things was far beyond me, a mere human in her strange world. In her sleepy haze her fingers made strange circles only the width of a hair above my skin. And I felt like I always did when she moved me. I felt like stirred water, shimmering and swirling, the molecules unsettled and unsure. The dream moved silently around inside me again, I could see her feel around the edges of it to test its truth – a meter only she could see and hear.
And I sighed suddenly, letting the feeling of desperation have a sound at least, if it could not have a voice in this dark night. In my dream I had held my horror and grief in check. Could I do the same in this quiet room where she would accept it all? I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know anything anymore except that I wanted to find the boy from the dream and demand assurances to which I had no right any longer.
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