Sorry, no update tonight after all. I promise two tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
The Seven Wonders of You
It is often hinted that every man's heart is a restless and tireless nomad, always in search of a new expanse of virgin vistas of flesh to conquer and consume, but this is not always the case. The lucky few find a place of permanent residence where every day brings about a new surprise which renews the desire to remain in a single location. Those who explore the world in continual search of the next sight do not imbibe the essence of the location they are so eager to view and then leave. As mankind wandered throughout the world, it realized there were magical and fantastic places that separated themselves from all others--their immense beauty unmatched and unchallenged. Known as the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, they are a list of renowned sites that pique the interest of every person privy of their existence. While man developed an affinity and appreciation of those exotic and magnificent locales, they have the unfortunate reality of paling to the seven wonders of you.
Victoria Falls
Across the world lies Victoria Falls, a barrage of water which flows from the Zambezi River. Several tributaries feed that waterway, like individuals coming together, the emotion focused into a single point of focus, unstoppable. The rush of them becoming one, creating something that others have no option outside of stopping to observe in awe of the immensity of that which surrounds them, draws the attention of all men who know the strength of that bond. From great heights falls an enormous amount of water with deafening effect, a natural beauty that has immobilized man without equal. People have paused to absorb the stunning spectacle through the lens of a camera only to be denied, incapable of reproducing the enchanting encounter. The force of the raging waters create a shroud of mist that obscures all of the hidden treasure it possesses, so that man must engage with her directly, not through another medium. Film cannot imprison what the heart and mind perceive in the presence of this wonder, refusing to be captured or artificially duplicated. The wonder makes it known that she is an unmatched entity. Only the sound of my heart pounding at the sight of you can produce a louder auditory sensation, making the feelings share between the two of us known to the world beyond our own flesh. When first laid eyes upon by European eyes, Dr. Livingstone remarked, "Scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight." Angels were to be considered the lucky ones until the day we stumbled upon one another. It's difficult to know or understand how such beauty had remained hidden for so long, even as it sang loudly and continually to announce its existence. And as it crashes back into the Zambezi, the water sweeps toward India, no accident of nature to be sure.
Aurora Borealis
Every year thousands of people make a pilgrimage to the north in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis in order to make the effort and time of that journey to the furthest reaches of the globe a worthwhile experience. When I first took notice of the gleam contained within your eyes and smile, I had discovered my own Northern Lights, a magnificent display of sublime perfection that I hope will be a permanent fixture and give purpose to my own odyssey through life. Pity those who trek those many miles to the north in hopes of a miracle of timing, that their arrival will coincide with the generosity of nature; your smile and eyes are not so stingy as to withhold the marvels which they contain. John Lubbock said, "Earth and sky, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more than we can learn from books." Those dancing lights are little more than inattentive students to the luminescence of your eyes and smile, professors in the knowledge of what life has to offer. For my own education, the yearnings of the heart to continue to aimlessly wander was quelled, satisfied finally with a vista worthy of a lifetime of admiration.
Mount Everest
Mount Everest stands as a monument to the possibilities of achievement, the heights to which we can reach, always reaching skyward for something more. As I continue to ascend the mountain of love, a worthwhile but challenging endeavor, I am neither wearied nor worried, but invigorated by each newly discovered piece of revealed land. I am left breathless by the rarefied air, but pushed onward nonetheless by a renewed sense of wonder of what lies beyond the next seemingly insurmountable hill or ridge, and that is what encourages my progress, wanting to discover what treasured memory will be offered next. Tom Whittaker described the towering rock as a "physical and symbolic manifestation of overcoming odds to achieve a dream." The dream of every person is to find a perpetual happiness, or one that seems to attain such a desired state despite the occasional interruption. For most, such a condition is believed to be as likely as being struck by lightning, but there are the fortunate few who have traversed the terrain and know of its existence, hidden to many, but larger than love to those who find it. Many of our own odds have been overcome, making each of our steps forward all the more miraculous and precious. the slings and arrows of a relationship are as treacherous as the slopes of the great mountain known as Mount Everest, but the expedition to the heights of each offers rewards that exceed the travails, something proven by your presence in my life.
Grand Canyon
The depth and width of the Grand Canyon has fascinated man for thousands of years, a revered place of utmost importance to Native American tribes. Worshiped for its beauty, pilgrimages were made in order to immerse one's self in the majesty of the rocky formation, forced forward by an unnamed need to reflect upon the enormous spectacle. But the depth of your heart is far more sublime than that tiny ditch by comparison. A contradiction, despite my size, I feel large by my position in it. To feel as a part of that incomparable place--your heart--is to create something new, valuable, timeless. It has been said, "You cannot see the Grand Canyon in one view, as if it were a changeless spectacle from which a curtain might be lifted, but to see it you have to toil month to month throughout its labyrinths." In much the same way, there are many pathways through your expansive heart and I want to explore every inch and mile, no matter how rough the terrain may become. While many would feel humbled and small in the presence of such a wonder, knowing I tread in such places makes me feel greater, not lesser, than I am.
Paricutin
In Mexico there is a volcano named Paricutin, one that mankind was fortunate enough to see form, almost as if from nothing, refusing to stay in that state of absence. No one was aware of what lay below until suddenly it flowed forth, growing rapidly from what initially appeared to be nothingness. Within a week there was a mountain of a volcano, a wonder of the world, where previously there had existed only mundane farmland. Much like a volcano, your bad day has the power to affect my own, not due to any possibility of you taking it out on me, but because what affects you has an equal impact upon me. Through this, I've learned why ancient civilizations believed sacrifices were necessary to ease the heart of a volcano. The French have a proverb that states, "Don't dance on a volcano," but that is a gamble every lover must risk, knowing they might befall a peril, yet knowing as well that the rewards are greater. The spoils of such a dangerous waltz would make worthwhile any possible cataclysmic end.
Harbor of Rio de Janeiro
The Harbor of Rio de Janeiro has a savior looking over the lay of the land as He offers safe harbor to all of those who would seek shelter after their wearying travels. With majestic mountains surrounding the whole of the location, they are like arms that embrace a loved one, arms that offer protection and ward off the apparitions that chase us throughout life. Your own arms offer their own safety against the world that wishes to intrude every step of the way. Those arms are steadfast in their grip, refusing to surrender to the onslaught of the elements. To give way to those many intrusions would be to betray who you are, to ask a mountain to be something other than it is--an impossibility. Seneca once observed that, "If a man knows not what harbor he seeks, any wind is the right wind." Thankfully the right wind, a divine one I am sure, captured my mast and guided me to the harbor that I needed with open arms awaiting.
Great Barrier Reef
Off the coast of Australia lies the Great Barrier Reef, a grand and beautiful body of coral that offers a home to all of those who would need one. Much like that, you are always willing to offer help to those in need, with open arms you invite outsiders to the protection of your heart. Thriving within you is life that rivals and exceeds that of the reef. Compared to you, it is a barren, deadened husk. Captain James Cook, who had crashed on that natural structure on one of his voyages, once commented, "I had ambition not only to go further than any man, but as far as it was possible for a man to go. With you by my side, I feel as though I have gone further, accomplished more than most men without ever moving an inch.
Most men believe that a nomadic existence within the world of dating is where the adventure lies, but they are incorrect. A woman, one worth the name and the pursuit, is not a single wonder or vista; they are an endless array of surprises and adventures. Your countless wonders have only begun to be discovered. Like Earth, it is arbitrary to limit the number to seven when there are many other attributes worthy of admiration as well. Through the years ahead, I look forward to uncovering all you have to offer with the faintest of hopes that I can provide even half of the same in return.
I hope you have enjoyed reading this piece. Thank you for your time and I hope to get back onto a regular schedule soon.
Thanks for reading. Remember to follow me on twitter -- @calvinsrocks
Victoria Falls
Across the world lies Victoria Falls, a barrage of water which flows from the Zambezi River. Several tributaries feed that waterway, like individuals coming together, the emotion focused into a single point of focus, unstoppable. The rush of them becoming one, creating something that others have no option outside of stopping to observe in awe of the immensity of that which surrounds them, draws the attention of all men who know the strength of that bond. From great heights falls an enormous amount of water with deafening effect, a natural beauty that has immobilized man without equal. People have paused to absorb the stunning spectacle through the lens of a camera only to be denied, incapable of reproducing the enchanting encounter. The force of the raging waters create a shroud of mist that obscures all of the hidden treasure it possesses, so that man must engage with her directly, not through another medium. Film cannot imprison what the heart and mind perceive in the presence of this wonder, refusing to be captured or artificially duplicated. The wonder makes it known that she is an unmatched entity. Only the sound of my heart pounding at the sight of you can produce a louder auditory sensation, making the feelings share between the two of us known to the world beyond our own flesh. When first laid eyes upon by European eyes, Dr. Livingstone remarked, "Scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight." Angels were to be considered the lucky ones until the day we stumbled upon one another. It's difficult to know or understand how such beauty had remained hidden for so long, even as it sang loudly and continually to announce its existence. And as it crashes back into the Zambezi, the water sweeps toward India, no accident of nature to be sure.
Aurora Borealis
Every year thousands of people make a pilgrimage to the north in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis in order to make the effort and time of that journey to the furthest reaches of the globe a worthwhile experience. When I first took notice of the gleam contained within your eyes and smile, I had discovered my own Northern Lights, a magnificent display of sublime perfection that I hope will be a permanent fixture and give purpose to my own odyssey through life. Pity those who trek those many miles to the north in hopes of a miracle of timing, that their arrival will coincide with the generosity of nature; your smile and eyes are not so stingy as to withhold the marvels which they contain. John Lubbock said, "Earth and sky, are excellent schoolmasters, and teach some of us more than we can learn from books." Those dancing lights are little more than inattentive students to the luminescence of your eyes and smile, professors in the knowledge of what life has to offer. For my own education, the yearnings of the heart to continue to aimlessly wander was quelled, satisfied finally with a vista worthy of a lifetime of admiration.
Mount Everest
Mount Everest stands as a monument to the possibilities of achievement, the heights to which we can reach, always reaching skyward for something more. As I continue to ascend the mountain of love, a worthwhile but challenging endeavor, I am neither wearied nor worried, but invigorated by each newly discovered piece of revealed land. I am left breathless by the rarefied air, but pushed onward nonetheless by a renewed sense of wonder of what lies beyond the next seemingly insurmountable hill or ridge, and that is what encourages my progress, wanting to discover what treasured memory will be offered next. Tom Whittaker described the towering rock as a "physical and symbolic manifestation of overcoming odds to achieve a dream." The dream of every person is to find a perpetual happiness, or one that seems to attain such a desired state despite the occasional interruption. For most, such a condition is believed to be as likely as being struck by lightning, but there are the fortunate few who have traversed the terrain and know of its existence, hidden to many, but larger than love to those who find it. Many of our own odds have been overcome, making each of our steps forward all the more miraculous and precious. the slings and arrows of a relationship are as treacherous as the slopes of the great mountain known as Mount Everest, but the expedition to the heights of each offers rewards that exceed the travails, something proven by your presence in my life.
Grand Canyon
The depth and width of the Grand Canyon has fascinated man for thousands of years, a revered place of utmost importance to Native American tribes. Worshiped for its beauty, pilgrimages were made in order to immerse one's self in the majesty of the rocky formation, forced forward by an unnamed need to reflect upon the enormous spectacle. But the depth of your heart is far more sublime than that tiny ditch by comparison. A contradiction, despite my size, I feel large by my position in it. To feel as a part of that incomparable place--your heart--is to create something new, valuable, timeless. It has been said, "You cannot see the Grand Canyon in one view, as if it were a changeless spectacle from which a curtain might be lifted, but to see it you have to toil month to month throughout its labyrinths." In much the same way, there are many pathways through your expansive heart and I want to explore every inch and mile, no matter how rough the terrain may become. While many would feel humbled and small in the presence of such a wonder, knowing I tread in such places makes me feel greater, not lesser, than I am.
Paricutin
In Mexico there is a volcano named Paricutin, one that mankind was fortunate enough to see form, almost as if from nothing, refusing to stay in that state of absence. No one was aware of what lay below until suddenly it flowed forth, growing rapidly from what initially appeared to be nothingness. Within a week there was a mountain of a volcano, a wonder of the world, where previously there had existed only mundane farmland. Much like a volcano, your bad day has the power to affect my own, not due to any possibility of you taking it out on me, but because what affects you has an equal impact upon me. Through this, I've learned why ancient civilizations believed sacrifices were necessary to ease the heart of a volcano. The French have a proverb that states, "Don't dance on a volcano," but that is a gamble every lover must risk, knowing they might befall a peril, yet knowing as well that the rewards are greater. The spoils of such a dangerous waltz would make worthwhile any possible cataclysmic end.
Harbor of Rio de Janeiro
The Harbor of Rio de Janeiro has a savior looking over the lay of the land as He offers safe harbor to all of those who would seek shelter after their wearying travels. With majestic mountains surrounding the whole of the location, they are like arms that embrace a loved one, arms that offer protection and ward off the apparitions that chase us throughout life. Your own arms offer their own safety against the world that wishes to intrude every step of the way. Those arms are steadfast in their grip, refusing to surrender to the onslaught of the elements. To give way to those many intrusions would be to betray who you are, to ask a mountain to be something other than it is--an impossibility. Seneca once observed that, "If a man knows not what harbor he seeks, any wind is the right wind." Thankfully the right wind, a divine one I am sure, captured my mast and guided me to the harbor that I needed with open arms awaiting.
Great Barrier Reef
Off the coast of Australia lies the Great Barrier Reef, a grand and beautiful body of coral that offers a home to all of those who would need one. Much like that, you are always willing to offer help to those in need, with open arms you invite outsiders to the protection of your heart. Thriving within you is life that rivals and exceeds that of the reef. Compared to you, it is a barren, deadened husk. Captain James Cook, who had crashed on that natural structure on one of his voyages, once commented, "I had ambition not only to go further than any man, but as far as it was possible for a man to go. With you by my side, I feel as though I have gone further, accomplished more than most men without ever moving an inch.
Most men believe that a nomadic existence within the world of dating is where the adventure lies, but they are incorrect. A woman, one worth the name and the pursuit, is not a single wonder or vista; they are an endless array of surprises and adventures. Your countless wonders have only begun to be discovered. Like Earth, it is arbitrary to limit the number to seven when there are many other attributes worthy of admiration as well. Through the years ahead, I look forward to uncovering all you have to offer with the faintest of hopes that I can provide even half of the same in return.
I hope you have enjoyed reading this piece. Thank you for your time and I hope to get back onto a regular schedule soon.
Thanks for reading. Remember to follow me on twitter -- @calvinsrocks
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Penny for Your Thoughts, Parts Nine through Thirteen
Decisions had been made so there was no point in pushing the topic, as doing so would only further entrench the woman in her position. At the doorway to which she was kind enough to usher him, he turned back to face her, offering, "I'll call you later, okay?"
Jason's eyes moved from one object to another in the room, having a recollection about almost every piece, even the mundane. The man was sentimental, allowing each one to be imbued with an emotion he felt at a particular moment.
"Just wait until I call you, all right?" Her hand grasped the edge of the door, wanting to close it and push this conversation into her past.
"All right, of course, if that's what you want." Once more his eyes caught sight of his shoes, a view he had become accustomed to over the course of the morning.
She nodded, trying to lead him in the direction of her thought, to get him to accept her suggestion like a hypnotist. "I think it's best, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed, in direct contradiction to what he really felt and thought.
"Okay then." Sheila started to push the door closed but her boyfriend, who was going to make that transition to ex-boyfriend, once the door rested back in its home, lingered where the door wanted to be, or at least where its captain wished to steer it. "What?" she asked, annoyed at the man's persistence.
Jason pointed at the jacket that Sheila donned--his jacket. "Can...can I have my jacket?"
She pulled the article of clothing tight around her as if it were an important item that comforted her. "What?" It was a reaction he didn't expect, one that stoked hope in him. His face was alight with that--she wanted to keep it, something to remember him by.
***************************************
If he had another jacket in the apartment, he would have surrendered it. He explained, "It's cold outside and that's the only jacket I have here." The fact that Sheila acted in such a manner gave him a glimmer of hope, so he reached out. "Unless, you know, it means a lot to you."
All of a sudden her arms were no longer pulling the jacket close to her body. "No, no. Not at all." She stripped the piece of sewn fabric from her back and tossed it at the man with more force and intent than one would a cherished object. "Take it."
I made her angry by asking for it, Jason thought. Holding it at arms length toward the woman, he offered, "Seriously, if you want to keep it, it's fine."
She shook her head. "I'm okay."
Looking at the jacket in stunned wonder, Jason somehow managed to say, "Thank you." There was apparently a misunderstanding on Jason's part about Sheila's initial reaction when she had pulled it close.
He grabbed a hold of the door knob and slowly pulled it shut as Sheila's heavy hand pushed it closed, even as his hand attempted to cause the door to yield to his desires, to ease the momentum of their demise. In the end, regardless of the pace of the door, the result was going to be the same--two people heading in their opposite directions but still on the same trapeze line that was created from the threads of Fate.
Bewildered by every act, every word, every emotion that took place on the other side of the door, he pulled the jacket over his shoulders. Almost as instantly the fragrance of her favorite perfume wafted upwards to his nose, a ghost of the past, the near past. It overflowed with the fragrance, a tormenter that would hound his every step until several washed would exorcise the woman completely from his life--washes he would avoid giving it for quite some time. Despite Sheila's assurances, Jason was well-aware that what just happened was in fact a break-up. This was the third fight like this one, over nothing of consequence.
*************************************
Most people would have cursed Fate for the unfortunate turn of events, but Jason had lived on the excess of Fortune over the course of the preceding two years, he couldn't in good conscience turn on it. The only path to follow at this point is to toss one's self to its winds and whims again, allowing it to carry one where it may.
Having no plans for the day outside of spending a few hours with Sheila until he had to make his way to work that afternoon, Jason had little problem deviating from his itinerary. Until three o'clock, when he would have to be at work, it was up to the Moirae to carve the stone of his life into some recognizable feature of a statue to which he could cling.
His feet carried him with no particular destination in mind, no shepherd to father the right and left foot to anywhere. Wherever his body was pointed, they would go, although their carrier was no more aware of where that would be than he was of the cause of Sheila's assault on their relationship.
As he arrived at the park, an uneasiness washed over him as he was surrounded by the unbridled passions of couples. Much like the returning birds, couples had a distasteful desire to announce spring with a near endless display of affection. The man did not hate these people for that which they had but for that which he lacked. While most were blissfully ignorant of the difference, Jason was altogether familiar with the attributes which separated the two from being synonymous.
There was a certain mockery that life had devised on this particular canvas of nature. Every step that projected him forward was met anew with another couple, another display, another sword thrust deep at his heart. Below the surface of each kiss was an undercurrent which threatened to devour him in an uncertainty, one that could easily pull him into an abyss of depression.
********************************
Is there anything worse on God's green earth than seeing another couple enjoying each other's embrace right after you've broken up? There are those who would take a seat on a park bench and being enumerating a mental list of every flaw that existed between the pair and why it wouldn't work. With the majority of couples, that's all it a took, a cursory look. Their friends, their family, even strangers in the supermarket were keenly aware of the pitfalls that would entrap them, but polite company and civilization's manners prevented such an open display.
Jason was not given to such bitter recriminations, even when he was at his lowest point. Due to this rare characteristic, seldom found in modern man, but deeply rooted within the core of this person, Jason passed them with a smile that still maintained the fires of warmth that the act normally would carry.
Children ran to and from, tossing balls to one another and then chasing after them when they were overthrown and the other proved incapable of catching them. Isn't that always the case? We always want the ball but someone, either intentionally or accidentally, keeps us from it by overthrowing or we are incapable of holding onto it.
Sheila had always been more practical than the man who wandered the pathways of Fate. Passion was always given homage and tribute to by the hands of Jason. If something struck his fancy, he would do so. Shaking his head, the man told himself, "We were never going to work out."
********************************************
Somewhere during the course of his silent reverie, Jason had veered off the well-worn path and onto the grass, meeting the edge of the pond, walking around its edges with the intent of making its full circumference, that is until an unmoving sentinel was standing in his way.
This sentinel was made of copper in the shape of Henri Abelard, a local folk hero of Calvin's Rocks, his hand thrust forward, palm up in search of an offering.
"How goes it, brother?" Jason pulled himself up by the leg of the unmoved statue in order to hoist himself onto the slab which supported it. With an arm wrapped around the waist of the copper man, Jason suggested, "Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine."
Jason's eyes moved from one object to another in the room, having a recollection about almost every piece, even the mundane. The man was sentimental, allowing each one to be imbued with an emotion he felt at a particular moment.
"Just wait until I call you, all right?" Her hand grasped the edge of the door, wanting to close it and push this conversation into her past.
"All right, of course, if that's what you want." Once more his eyes caught sight of his shoes, a view he had become accustomed to over the course of the morning.
She nodded, trying to lead him in the direction of her thought, to get him to accept her suggestion like a hypnotist. "I think it's best, don't you?"
"Yeah, yeah," he agreed, in direct contradiction to what he really felt and thought.
"Okay then." Sheila started to push the door closed but her boyfriend, who was going to make that transition to ex-boyfriend, once the door rested back in its home, lingered where the door wanted to be, or at least where its captain wished to steer it. "What?" she asked, annoyed at the man's persistence.
Jason pointed at the jacket that Sheila donned--his jacket. "Can...can I have my jacket?"
She pulled the article of clothing tight around her as if it were an important item that comforted her. "What?" It was a reaction he didn't expect, one that stoked hope in him. His face was alight with that--she wanted to keep it, something to remember him by.
***************************************
If he had another jacket in the apartment, he would have surrendered it. He explained, "It's cold outside and that's the only jacket I have here." The fact that Sheila acted in such a manner gave him a glimmer of hope, so he reached out. "Unless, you know, it means a lot to you."
All of a sudden her arms were no longer pulling the jacket close to her body. "No, no. Not at all." She stripped the piece of sewn fabric from her back and tossed it at the man with more force and intent than one would a cherished object. "Take it."
I made her angry by asking for it, Jason thought. Holding it at arms length toward the woman, he offered, "Seriously, if you want to keep it, it's fine."
She shook her head. "I'm okay."
Looking at the jacket in stunned wonder, Jason somehow managed to say, "Thank you." There was apparently a misunderstanding on Jason's part about Sheila's initial reaction when she had pulled it close.
He grabbed a hold of the door knob and slowly pulled it shut as Sheila's heavy hand pushed it closed, even as his hand attempted to cause the door to yield to his desires, to ease the momentum of their demise. In the end, regardless of the pace of the door, the result was going to be the same--two people heading in their opposite directions but still on the same trapeze line that was created from the threads of Fate.
Bewildered by every act, every word, every emotion that took place on the other side of the door, he pulled the jacket over his shoulders. Almost as instantly the fragrance of her favorite perfume wafted upwards to his nose, a ghost of the past, the near past. It overflowed with the fragrance, a tormenter that would hound his every step until several washed would exorcise the woman completely from his life--washes he would avoid giving it for quite some time. Despite Sheila's assurances, Jason was well-aware that what just happened was in fact a break-up. This was the third fight like this one, over nothing of consequence.
*************************************
Most people would have cursed Fate for the unfortunate turn of events, but Jason had lived on the excess of Fortune over the course of the preceding two years, he couldn't in good conscience turn on it. The only path to follow at this point is to toss one's self to its winds and whims again, allowing it to carry one where it may.
Having no plans for the day outside of spending a few hours with Sheila until he had to make his way to work that afternoon, Jason had little problem deviating from his itinerary. Until three o'clock, when he would have to be at work, it was up to the Moirae to carve the stone of his life into some recognizable feature of a statue to which he could cling.
His feet carried him with no particular destination in mind, no shepherd to father the right and left foot to anywhere. Wherever his body was pointed, they would go, although their carrier was no more aware of where that would be than he was of the cause of Sheila's assault on their relationship.
As he arrived at the park, an uneasiness washed over him as he was surrounded by the unbridled passions of couples. Much like the returning birds, couples had a distasteful desire to announce spring with a near endless display of affection. The man did not hate these people for that which they had but for that which he lacked. While most were blissfully ignorant of the difference, Jason was altogether familiar with the attributes which separated the two from being synonymous.
There was a certain mockery that life had devised on this particular canvas of nature. Every step that projected him forward was met anew with another couple, another display, another sword thrust deep at his heart. Below the surface of each kiss was an undercurrent which threatened to devour him in an uncertainty, one that could easily pull him into an abyss of depression.
********************************
Is there anything worse on God's green earth than seeing another couple enjoying each other's embrace right after you've broken up? There are those who would take a seat on a park bench and being enumerating a mental list of every flaw that existed between the pair and why it wouldn't work. With the majority of couples, that's all it a took, a cursory look. Their friends, their family, even strangers in the supermarket were keenly aware of the pitfalls that would entrap them, but polite company and civilization's manners prevented such an open display.
Jason was not given to such bitter recriminations, even when he was at his lowest point. Due to this rare characteristic, seldom found in modern man, but deeply rooted within the core of this person, Jason passed them with a smile that still maintained the fires of warmth that the act normally would carry.
Children ran to and from, tossing balls to one another and then chasing after them when they were overthrown and the other proved incapable of catching them. Isn't that always the case? We always want the ball but someone, either intentionally or accidentally, keeps us from it by overthrowing or we are incapable of holding onto it.
Sheila had always been more practical than the man who wandered the pathways of Fate. Passion was always given homage and tribute to by the hands of Jason. If something struck his fancy, he would do so. Shaking his head, the man told himself, "We were never going to work out."
********************************************
Somewhere during the course of his silent reverie, Jason had veered off the well-worn path and onto the grass, meeting the edge of the pond, walking around its edges with the intent of making its full circumference, that is until an unmoving sentinel was standing in his way.
This sentinel was made of copper in the shape of Henri Abelard, a local folk hero of Calvin's Rocks, his hand thrust forward, palm up in search of an offering.
"How goes it, brother?" Jason pulled himself up by the leg of the unmoved statue in order to hoist himself onto the slab which supported it. With an arm wrapped around the waist of the copper man, Jason suggested, "Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine."
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Posting Schedule
I've decided to keep a regular schedule with my postings with Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday being the days new material will be added. Some weeks might see more but I've decided to commit to that. Hopefully it keeps me focused. Thanks to everyone who is reading.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Blog Map
This is what my blog map looks like so far. Help me make that map a little greener by sharing this link wherever you can. It will be greatly appreciated.
If you have any questions regarding the stories I've posted so far, please email me at johnwfrazierjr@gmail.com and I'll answer as soon as I can. I apologize for the infrequent updates, but I have a lot on my plate right now.
Thanks for reading. Hopefully you've been enjoying what I've posted.
If you have any questions regarding the stories I've posted so far, please email me at johnwfrazierjr@gmail.com and I'll answer as soon as I can. I apologize for the infrequent updates, but I have a lot on my plate right now.
Thanks for reading. Hopefully you've been enjoying what I've posted.
Big Bang Theory POP! figures
While I like the figures posted below--and will probably buy them--I have a problem with Raj and Howard cast as red shirts. Stuart's a red shirt. Krimpke is a red shirt. Leslie Winkle is a red shirt. Raj and Howard? No way! They are the McCoy and Scotty to Leonard and Sheldon.
Penny for Your Thoughts, Parts One through Eight
As Jason moved towards Abelard Park, he looked over his shoulder in
the direction of the apartment he had practically lived in for the past
several months. The building wasn't visible from where he stood, but
its imposing shadow was still cast over him. With each step that he
took, that apartment and all that it contained were becoming his
increasingly more distant past, something he could reminisce over but
could never return to. Little did he know, along with the person he was
leaving behind, he was absconding with the fortune of the place.
On any given normal day, the man would not be found walking the asphalted over paths of nature that man had devised; the tell-tale evidence of this fact that any stranger could surmise was the somewhat soft center of his structure, a slightly bulging belly. For some reason he was drawn to the park after the turn of events. This wasn't an ordinary day, however, as he had discovered when a gently tossed breeze of words caused a hurricane of repercussions, moving outward and sweeping the unsuspecting man along for the ride.
Somewhere during the course of heated words, it became quite clear that the argument was more than a passing storm and had been brewing for longer than he had suspected. He would never become aware of the fact that it had been building strength for months and that a poor turn of phrase would feed the system that had settled in over them like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. In reality, this approaching catastrophe had been nurtured unknowingly during each conversation, every word uttered.
Thinking back, replaying every syllable of every word in his mind, hoping to find some inflection that might have been misinterpreted, the man shook his head at the mystery, unable to disentangle the Gordian knot, and, as any who have studied the decaying pages of myth and legend know, there is but one solution to that eternal puzzle.
**********************************************
Part Two
Springtime in the park has an unforgiving way of reminding those without a lover, or on their way to soon being without one, of their failures, not just as a significant other to some particular person or another, but as a human who is supposed to find their completion within the heart and soul of another. This thought danced around in his mind, demanding his attention with the sight of each couple that had settled into arms that formed their own knots. He had felt Sheila and he had been knotted together, too. Over these last few weeks, the binding had loosened until it had come completely undone and now he had tripped over the loose strings, stumbling into the ever open arms of being single.
Most people in the weakened and frail condition of being a spurned lover would lash out at those who were still contained in the welcoming bonds of a lover's embrace, but the young man could not force himself into such a state of mind. The slings and arrows of his internal workings were targeted at himself, at her, and whatever it was that had exactly happened a little over ten minutes ago.
The sword was to fall on his own union, not theirs.
Again he shook his head, more vigorously this time, as he wondered, "What exactly DID happen?" The mystery refused to relinquish its secrets to his prying eyes, hiding away the key evidence from his fingers.
***********************************************
Part Three
When he was first invited to share her bed, he had landed upon its eastern shores. As she increasingly stayed out of this room, he, at first, resisted the urge to move westward, but his own Manifest Destiny had slowly taken root and could not be denied. The problem with that doctrine, however, is that the natives have to be obliterated in order for growth to continue. His eyes were cast upon the door.
Looking at the door that led to the remainder of the apartment, he wondered what he had done wrong and how much longer he would be punished for whatever slight he had perpetuated upon the woman. There were only two way to approach the situation as he saw it. One, he could barrel into the room fueled by anger, taking an accusatory tone and launching an attack that the woman probably expected and had prepared for; or two, he could simply walk on eggshells in the vain hope that this flirtation with separation was temporary and that a peaceful coexistence was possible.
Obviously there was only one option, so he glued on a smile and exited the room, peeking around the corner. That illusory mask he had been fastening over his true emotions, removing them from sight, but the visage remained identical and authentic. Leaning against the door, he stared at his girlfriend who was adorned in his favorite jacket.
Her hand was pushed deep into the pocket, finding tranquility within its material. As he rested upon the doorjamb, he allowed himself to believe, to fancy that she had found some comfort with something familiar of his, a sign that she was weakening. Why she couldn't have found that cuddling next to him in the expanse of the bed eluded the man, but settled on the fact that sometimes the whole thing is a bit too much and we must settle for the tiny piece, a nibble here and a nibble there, slowly wearing down the form.
********************************************
Part Four
If the widening of one's lips into a smile can make enough sound to wake a person, his smile must have succeeded in causing such a commotion for the young lady's eyes flew open with a startle as she bolted upright almost as quickly. Her hand pulled from the jacket with a jolt, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, her hand still clenched, which she then stared at and then at him. With a quick yawn and a wipe of her eyes with the balled up fist, the woman asked, "How long have you been watching me?"
He shook his head, almost dismissing the question altogether. "Not long, maybe a few minutes."
Her hand found the pocket again. "You shouldn't stare at people when they're sleeping," she scolded. "It's creepy."
"It's difficult to resist with you," he said cutely with a boyish charm in a vain attempt to ingratiate himself with the woman who had abandoned the bed to him all of those preceding weeks.
Slumping forward, she put her hand on the back of her neck, massaging it in a primitive manner, trying to work the kinks, caused by the hard sofa and wayward springs, from her muscles. "You'll give someone a heart attack." There was a resignation in the words, a fatigue.
He moved next to her and pushed her tiny hands to the side, his own hands beginning to knead those knotted regions of her upper back. "Your neck wouldn't be bothering you if you had come to bed." The words slipped more accusatory than he had intended. As is often the case, the dressing is far more important than what lies underneath, the presentation making some things more palatable than they would be otherwise.
**********************************************
"There was this movie I was watching. I must have fallen asleep." The answer came quickly after a pause, rattled off in a quick succession like a coached witness in a courtroom.
"Oh."
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes accusatory at the one word response. "What? You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that," he protested, his hands continuing to work the areas that needed tending but neglecting the more crucial ones, internal areas that were well-hidden and incapable of being alleviated.
Pulling away from her lover, the woman stood and turned, wagging a finger in the man's face. "I hope not. This is MY place and I won't be questioned like some child."
Before a response could even be uttered, a defense hoisted for his own protection, the woman had spun again and stomped off in the direction of the kitchen. Calling after her, he said, "I was watching you sleep!" He pleaded to no avail. Shaking his head, he said to himself, "That's all."
After a few minutes of allowing the boiling pot to cool off, the man followed her into the kitchen. She sat at the table staring at the kettle she had placed on the stove. The woman refused to use a microwave like most modern people would. To even suggest otherwise would elicit an argument on the virtues of patience and how there was an inherent difference in the taste. There she sat, staring at the kettle, waiting for it to come to a boil. Her back was to him and he wasn't sure if she knew he was there or not.
Clearing his throat, he announced his presence, committed to not making the same mistake he had made when he watched her sleeping.
"Yes?" she answered flatly. He wondered, was it from the freshness of a new day she wasn't quite ready to greet?
"Penny for your thoughts?" he offered.
*******************************************************
Part Six (added 10/5/13)
Her head snapped around in a way that would have made Linda Blair proud. With eyes as wide as the plate that rested upon the table, she turned to the man, demanding, "What did you say?"
The act was so out of the ordinary, so unexpected that the man raised his hands in defense with a laugh of uneasiness. "What?" In his mind, he assumed that these uncharacteristic motions were the result of a bad night's sleep on a couch that was barely suitable for sitting, let alone slumber.
"What did you say?" she repeated? A finger wagged in his face again. "Was I talking in my sleep? Is that why you were staring at me?"
"What?" He was dumbfounded by the sudden inquisition over a few words that were supposed to lighten the heavy mood which had settled into the cozy domicile, displacing them. Instead it seemed as though he were the one being displaced.
"What made you say that? To use those words?" There was no request. It was as binding as a royal edict.
"It's....it's just a saying."
"Just a saying," she echoed back at him. Her eyes searched his face before they fell to the floor in a silent penance for what had transpired. The hysteria had been tempered for a temporary moment.
"It's said all the time," he continued, sensing a shift in the words of the discussion.
"In the two years I've known you, you've never--not once!--said that! NEVER!" The volume of her words exploded forth again. The eye of the hurricane had passed quickly, providing a respite that was nowhere near the length he would have liked. "Why did you say it?" There was a plea within those words, seeking some sort of understanding in the randomness of life.
He pointed at the kettle which was throwing steam into the air, having a soft, melodic whistle. "You were just staring at the kettle, lost in thought. I was hoping it might spark a conversation, that's all. But I guess I should have been happy with the silence."
The whistle to the kettle was like that of a train making a call for its last passengers to come aboard for their departure. Little was he aware that his ticket had already been purchased without the man's knowledge.
*************************************************
If the man had allowed the woman to simmer down, none of the proceeding would have followed, but he didn't, casting his penny phrase into the sea of life, allowing the ripples to be thrown outward. There are no accidents in life, though, with each event pushing us in the direction we are supposed to take even when we didn't know or consciously make the decision.
She shook her head and plopped down into the chair. "I've had enough, Jason."
"Enough of what?" Ignorance is the refuge of cowards who lack the fortitude to stand up to the frailties of the gifts we were offered and now are taken away. When they have expired, as far too many do, we do not want to accept their demise. They were supposed to last forever. We promised. She promised.
Her eyes locked with his. "Come on now, Jason. Us. I've had enough of us." Her hand motioned at the distance between the two of them. Not so long ago, there wouldn't have been any and now there appeared to be an ocean, a growing gulf.
"What did I do?" He took several steps toward, trying to shrink the breadth of distance, chasing after the woman who retreated from his every verbal and physical approach. There had to be a reason. Nothing happened without a reason.
"You didn't DO anything," she allowed, resigned from the conversation.
"How does that make any sense?"
"This who floating through life thing, it was funny at first, maybe even endearing, but now--"
"Look, I've told--"
"Yeah, I know, I've heard it enough times--Fate, the great unknowable, always provided for you. It was cute the first one hundred times."
He stood there in disbelief, staring at his girlfriend of the last few years and gave an almost imperceivable shake of the head. Normally it would go unnoticed, however, when a person is angry, they have a heightened sense of every nuanced motion another makes. "What, Jason? What? What are you shaking your head at?"
There was no sense in being covert now, so the man shook his head far more noticeably now, taunting his girlfriend. "You never understood when I told you those things. You always thought YOU were the most important part of that equation, but you had it all backwards. Fate, that was the key component, not you. It got me through these last few years."
The words touched a nerve as the woman flew out of the chair, knocking it to the ground as she did so. Pointing at herself, she yelled, surely loud enough to announce the presence of the argument to all of the neighbors who surrounded them, "That wasn't FATE that got you through the last couple of years. That was ME! I'VE gotten you through the last couple of years!"
The woman was attempting to stake out the territory that Jason had already laid claim to in the name of Providence. It was an attempt to prove that she, not Fate, was the dominant factor in his life. "I don't mean that you aren't important, Sheila, I'm not. It's just--" The man hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just that I think Fate delivered you to me."
Jason looked at her like a loyal pet, but his loyalty was divided among the woman and the force that he believed brought them together. To him it was a beautiful dance which he appreciated and believe she would do the same. But not everyone has an undying allegiance to the apportioners of our great unknown but well-charted future. He was sure that this would assuage the woman's anger and doubts.
With a sigh, Sheila rubbed her temples with her index and middle finger in tight concentric circles. As she leaned over, she righted the chair which she had thrown aside earlier and then found her place in it again. "I'm exhausted," she announced.
***********************************
Part Eight
Looking at his shoes, Jason asked, "Can't we discuss this, Sheila?"
She crossed her arms on top of the table before here and rested her forehead upon them. The words were mumbled as she said, "I don't think there's anything more for us to talk about."
That was her problem, he contemplated. She THOUGHT about love, but you can't do that. Love is about believing, feeling, faith.
Unable to hear her words or perhaps wanting to disbelieve the words that were launched in his direction, Jason responded, "I'm sorry?" Maybe the words were an apology for something he had done to her or something she perceived he had done to her. Only the man knows the intent of those few words.
All we know is that Sheila repeated the words, making sure to raise her head and face so that the target of her words could not mistake any of the syllables she uttered. "I said that I don't think there's anything more for us to talk about."
"Please, just--" he started to protest, ready to raise a defense not only of himself but of them and their time together.
The glare that emanated from her eyes had the effect that the lights of a police car have--a sudden arresting stop as he sidled to the side, allowing her to have her say. "I think you should go, Jason."
On any given normal day, the man would not be found walking the asphalted over paths of nature that man had devised; the tell-tale evidence of this fact that any stranger could surmise was the somewhat soft center of his structure, a slightly bulging belly. For some reason he was drawn to the park after the turn of events. This wasn't an ordinary day, however, as he had discovered when a gently tossed breeze of words caused a hurricane of repercussions, moving outward and sweeping the unsuspecting man along for the ride.
Somewhere during the course of heated words, it became quite clear that the argument was more than a passing storm and had been brewing for longer than he had suspected. He would never become aware of the fact that it had been building strength for months and that a poor turn of phrase would feed the system that had settled in over them like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. In reality, this approaching catastrophe had been nurtured unknowingly during each conversation, every word uttered.
Thinking back, replaying every syllable of every word in his mind, hoping to find some inflection that might have been misinterpreted, the man shook his head at the mystery, unable to disentangle the Gordian knot, and, as any who have studied the decaying pages of myth and legend know, there is but one solution to that eternal puzzle.
**********************************************
Part Two
Springtime in the park has an unforgiving way of reminding those without a lover, or on their way to soon being without one, of their failures, not just as a significant other to some particular person or another, but as a human who is supposed to find their completion within the heart and soul of another. This thought danced around in his mind, demanding his attention with the sight of each couple that had settled into arms that formed their own knots. He had felt Sheila and he had been knotted together, too. Over these last few weeks, the binding had loosened until it had come completely undone and now he had tripped over the loose strings, stumbling into the ever open arms of being single.
Most people in the weakened and frail condition of being a spurned lover would lash out at those who were still contained in the welcoming bonds of a lover's embrace, but the young man could not force himself into such a state of mind. The slings and arrows of his internal workings were targeted at himself, at her, and whatever it was that had exactly happened a little over ten minutes ago.
The sword was to fall on his own union, not theirs.
Again he shook his head, more vigorously this time, as he wondered, "What exactly DID happen?" The mystery refused to relinquish its secrets to his prying eyes, hiding away the key evidence from his fingers.
***********************************************
Part Three
When he was first invited to share her bed, he had landed upon its eastern shores. As she increasingly stayed out of this room, he, at first, resisted the urge to move westward, but his own Manifest Destiny had slowly taken root and could not be denied. The problem with that doctrine, however, is that the natives have to be obliterated in order for growth to continue. His eyes were cast upon the door.
Looking at the door that led to the remainder of the apartment, he wondered what he had done wrong and how much longer he would be punished for whatever slight he had perpetuated upon the woman. There were only two way to approach the situation as he saw it. One, he could barrel into the room fueled by anger, taking an accusatory tone and launching an attack that the woman probably expected and had prepared for; or two, he could simply walk on eggshells in the vain hope that this flirtation with separation was temporary and that a peaceful coexistence was possible.
Obviously there was only one option, so he glued on a smile and exited the room, peeking around the corner. That illusory mask he had been fastening over his true emotions, removing them from sight, but the visage remained identical and authentic. Leaning against the door, he stared at his girlfriend who was adorned in his favorite jacket.
Her hand was pushed deep into the pocket, finding tranquility within its material. As he rested upon the doorjamb, he allowed himself to believe, to fancy that she had found some comfort with something familiar of his, a sign that she was weakening. Why she couldn't have found that cuddling next to him in the expanse of the bed eluded the man, but settled on the fact that sometimes the whole thing is a bit too much and we must settle for the tiny piece, a nibble here and a nibble there, slowly wearing down the form.
********************************************
Part Four
If the widening of one's lips into a smile can make enough sound to wake a person, his smile must have succeeded in causing such a commotion for the young lady's eyes flew open with a startle as she bolted upright almost as quickly. Her hand pulled from the jacket with a jolt, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, her hand still clenched, which she then stared at and then at him. With a quick yawn and a wipe of her eyes with the balled up fist, the woman asked, "How long have you been watching me?"
He shook his head, almost dismissing the question altogether. "Not long, maybe a few minutes."
Her hand found the pocket again. "You shouldn't stare at people when they're sleeping," she scolded. "It's creepy."
"It's difficult to resist with you," he said cutely with a boyish charm in a vain attempt to ingratiate himself with the woman who had abandoned the bed to him all of those preceding weeks.
Slumping forward, she put her hand on the back of her neck, massaging it in a primitive manner, trying to work the kinks, caused by the hard sofa and wayward springs, from her muscles. "You'll give someone a heart attack." There was a resignation in the words, a fatigue.
He moved next to her and pushed her tiny hands to the side, his own hands beginning to knead those knotted regions of her upper back. "Your neck wouldn't be bothering you if you had come to bed." The words slipped more accusatory than he had intended. As is often the case, the dressing is far more important than what lies underneath, the presentation making some things more palatable than they would be otherwise.
**********************************************
"There was this movie I was watching. I must have fallen asleep." The answer came quickly after a pause, rattled off in a quick succession like a coached witness in a courtroom.
"Oh."
She looked over her shoulder, her eyes accusatory at the one word response. "What? You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that," he protested, his hands continuing to work the areas that needed tending but neglecting the more crucial ones, internal areas that were well-hidden and incapable of being alleviated.
Pulling away from her lover, the woman stood and turned, wagging a finger in the man's face. "I hope not. This is MY place and I won't be questioned like some child."
Before a response could even be uttered, a defense hoisted for his own protection, the woman had spun again and stomped off in the direction of the kitchen. Calling after her, he said, "I was watching you sleep!" He pleaded to no avail. Shaking his head, he said to himself, "That's all."
After a few minutes of allowing the boiling pot to cool off, the man followed her into the kitchen. She sat at the table staring at the kettle she had placed on the stove. The woman refused to use a microwave like most modern people would. To even suggest otherwise would elicit an argument on the virtues of patience and how there was an inherent difference in the taste. There she sat, staring at the kettle, waiting for it to come to a boil. Her back was to him and he wasn't sure if she knew he was there or not.
Clearing his throat, he announced his presence, committed to not making the same mistake he had made when he watched her sleeping.
"Yes?" she answered flatly. He wondered, was it from the freshness of a new day she wasn't quite ready to greet?
"Penny for your thoughts?" he offered.
*******************************************************
Part Six (added 10/5/13)
Her head snapped around in a way that would have made Linda Blair proud. With eyes as wide as the plate that rested upon the table, she turned to the man, demanding, "What did you say?"
The act was so out of the ordinary, so unexpected that the man raised his hands in defense with a laugh of uneasiness. "What?" In his mind, he assumed that these uncharacteristic motions were the result of a bad night's sleep on a couch that was barely suitable for sitting, let alone slumber.
"What did you say?" she repeated? A finger wagged in his face again. "Was I talking in my sleep? Is that why you were staring at me?"
"What?" He was dumbfounded by the sudden inquisition over a few words that were supposed to lighten the heavy mood which had settled into the cozy domicile, displacing them. Instead it seemed as though he were the one being displaced.
"What made you say that? To use those words?" There was no request. It was as binding as a royal edict.
"It's....it's just a saying."
"Just a saying," she echoed back at him. Her eyes searched his face before they fell to the floor in a silent penance for what had transpired. The hysteria had been tempered for a temporary moment.
"It's said all the time," he continued, sensing a shift in the words of the discussion.
"In the two years I've known you, you've never--not once!--said that! NEVER!" The volume of her words exploded forth again. The eye of the hurricane had passed quickly, providing a respite that was nowhere near the length he would have liked. "Why did you say it?" There was a plea within those words, seeking some sort of understanding in the randomness of life.
He pointed at the kettle which was throwing steam into the air, having a soft, melodic whistle. "You were just staring at the kettle, lost in thought. I was hoping it might spark a conversation, that's all. But I guess I should have been happy with the silence."
The whistle to the kettle was like that of a train making a call for its last passengers to come aboard for their departure. Little was he aware that his ticket had already been purchased without the man's knowledge.
*************************************************
If the man had allowed the woman to simmer down, none of the proceeding would have followed, but he didn't, casting his penny phrase into the sea of life, allowing the ripples to be thrown outward. There are no accidents in life, though, with each event pushing us in the direction we are supposed to take even when we didn't know or consciously make the decision.
She shook her head and plopped down into the chair. "I've had enough, Jason."
"Enough of what?" Ignorance is the refuge of cowards who lack the fortitude to stand up to the frailties of the gifts we were offered and now are taken away. When they have expired, as far too many do, we do not want to accept their demise. They were supposed to last forever. We promised. She promised.
Her eyes locked with his. "Come on now, Jason. Us. I've had enough of us." Her hand motioned at the distance between the two of them. Not so long ago, there wouldn't have been any and now there appeared to be an ocean, a growing gulf.
"What did I do?" He took several steps toward, trying to shrink the breadth of distance, chasing after the woman who retreated from his every verbal and physical approach. There had to be a reason. Nothing happened without a reason.
"You didn't DO anything," she allowed, resigned from the conversation.
"How does that make any sense?"
"This who floating through life thing, it was funny at first, maybe even endearing, but now--"
"Look, I've told--"
"Yeah, I know, I've heard it enough times--Fate, the great unknowable, always provided for you. It was cute the first one hundred times."
He stood there in disbelief, staring at his girlfriend of the last few years and gave an almost imperceivable shake of the head. Normally it would go unnoticed, however, when a person is angry, they have a heightened sense of every nuanced motion another makes. "What, Jason? What? What are you shaking your head at?"
There was no sense in being covert now, so the man shook his head far more noticeably now, taunting his girlfriend. "You never understood when I told you those things. You always thought YOU were the most important part of that equation, but you had it all backwards. Fate, that was the key component, not you. It got me through these last few years."
The words touched a nerve as the woman flew out of the chair, knocking it to the ground as she did so. Pointing at herself, she yelled, surely loud enough to announce the presence of the argument to all of the neighbors who surrounded them, "That wasn't FATE that got you through the last couple of years. That was ME! I'VE gotten you through the last couple of years!"
The woman was attempting to stake out the territory that Jason had already laid claim to in the name of Providence. It was an attempt to prove that she, not Fate, was the dominant factor in his life. "I don't mean that you aren't important, Sheila, I'm not. It's just--" The man hesitated, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just that I think Fate delivered you to me."
Jason looked at her like a loyal pet, but his loyalty was divided among the woman and the force that he believed brought them together. To him it was a beautiful dance which he appreciated and believe she would do the same. But not everyone has an undying allegiance to the apportioners of our great unknown but well-charted future. He was sure that this would assuage the woman's anger and doubts.
With a sigh, Sheila rubbed her temples with her index and middle finger in tight concentric circles. As she leaned over, she righted the chair which she had thrown aside earlier and then found her place in it again. "I'm exhausted," she announced.
***********************************
Part Eight
Looking at his shoes, Jason asked, "Can't we discuss this, Sheila?"
She crossed her arms on top of the table before here and rested her forehead upon them. The words were mumbled as she said, "I don't think there's anything more for us to talk about."
That was her problem, he contemplated. She THOUGHT about love, but you can't do that. Love is about believing, feeling, faith.
Unable to hear her words or perhaps wanting to disbelieve the words that were launched in his direction, Jason responded, "I'm sorry?" Maybe the words were an apology for something he had done to her or something she perceived he had done to her. Only the man knows the intent of those few words.
All we know is that Sheila repeated the words, making sure to raise her head and face so that the target of her words could not mistake any of the syllables she uttered. "I said that I don't think there's anything more for us to talk about."
"Please, just--" he started to protest, ready to raise a defense not only of himself but of them and their time together.
The glare that emanated from her eyes had the effect that the lights of a police car have--a sudden arresting stop as he sidled to the side, allowing her to have her say. "I think you should go, Jason."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)