It's amazing, isn't it? How a fresh space can make words flow?
Last
night I sat in an uncomfortable chair under horrible lighting and took
the eighteen minutes my husband spent behind closed doors being scanned
to write a new little scene.
It goes something like this...
Joseph
watched the girl disappear into the darkness, his breath creating a
foggy cloud on the glass at the very place where her face had been. He
thought of her eyes, of their depth and the curiosity they reflected,
and he thought how their colour was the very same colour he saw looking
back at himself any time he looked in the mirror.
“What is it?” his mother asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and causing him to jump.
“Nothing,” he said, turning away from the glass but taking the memory of those curious eyes with him. “Just a raccoon, maybe.”
“To
bed then,” his mother said, following him up the stairs and waiting
patiently while he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth. “Goodnight,
my love,” she said when he emerged. “Sleep well. May God guide your
prayers.”
“Yes, Momma,” Joseph kissed her on the cheek and moved
to back away from her but she clasped her hands on either side of his
face.
“I love you more than life,” she said, her face cast with strange shadows.
“I know, Momma.”
“You are my world.”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes I don’t know if I am dizzy with the spinning or dizzy with the lack of it.”
Joseph said nothing. He didn’t know what she meant.
“Love is the greatest and the heaviest gift,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his forehead.
“Goodnight,
Momma,” Joseph said. He could feel the rumble of a car coming up the
driveway and he watched as her face changed with the realization.
“Goodnight, JoJo.”
He
slipped into his bedroom and shut the door, hearing the familiar sound
of the key turning in the lock and her bare feet padding down the stairs
to answer the door though there had been no knock.
Joseph
stripped down to his undershirt and shorts and lay across his bed,
staring at the ceiling. Downstairs his mother giggled. He felt sickness
in his belly. He grabbed the nail from his side table and turned it over
and over in his hand as he traced the shadows of his room with squinted
eyes.
Bed springs groaned. Another giggle. Joseph flipped over
and buried his face in the pillow, pulling it around his ears to drown
the sounds that liars make, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to
conjure up the image of the girl at the window. He focused on her face.
He breathed in her image. He scratched at his arm and thought of her
eyes and drifted to sleep with her on his mind and his mother earning
her breakfast on the opposite side of the wall.
This is so dark and gritty! It's unusual to see you write like this but I like that you are branching out from what the world has known Alanna Rusnak to be. Can't wait to read more!
ReplyDeleteDark and gritty is the kind of writing I like to read so I take this as an incredible compliment - thanks :)
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