disenchantment
Rain taps gently against the windows, blurring my vision of the garden. The view from the library brings flowers and sun most days, but not today. I'm trapped in my thoughts and the gloom and the ever present feeling nothing in my life holds the least bit of meaning.
More than being a failure, the world hasn't even noticed my book exists. I should have simply lit pieces of paper on fire and tossed them from the balcony, enjoying the flutter of sparks falling to the ground. Some days I want to tell George to seal off the library to keep me from engaging this insanity of pretense - writer? Nobody even knows I'm alive.
"Do you wish to ride today?"
"In the rain, George?"
He pours coffee and takes a spot near me, studying me staring at the rain. "You enjoyed riding in the rain once upon a time."
I remember. Closing my eyes, I drift into the memory of that day all those years ago. It's feels like yesterday from another life, both close and eternally out of reach. The taste of the rain as I laughed, the mirth in his eyes as he watched me ride, and George's concern and paternal warnings not to push the horse too much in the deepening mud of the track.
"I wish he were here. I'd give anything to speak with him again."
Tilting his head to one side, he spreads butter on a blueberry muffin, eyes remaining on me, watching and studying. "You can visit with Ray anytime you wish. I can escort you, just say the word."
"I don't know George. I don't want to speak of that today." I sigh and take the coffee cup in my hands, enjoying the warmth on my skin. "You said the FBI wants to have lunch. Tell me what they want, George.
He begins to explain, but I don't hear a word of it. In my mind I'm prancing on the horse in the rain, all those years ago. If I push myself into the corners of my memory I can hear him laughing. That's how I want to remember him. Laughing and watching me ride in the rain of Connecticut summer.
More than being a failure, the world hasn't even noticed my book exists. I should have simply lit pieces of paper on fire and tossed them from the balcony, enjoying the flutter of sparks falling to the ground. Some days I want to tell George to seal off the library to keep me from engaging this insanity of pretense - writer? Nobody even knows I'm alive.
"Do you wish to ride today?"
"In the rain, George?"
He pours coffee and takes a spot near me, studying me staring at the rain. "You enjoyed riding in the rain once upon a time."
I remember. Closing my eyes, I drift into the memory of that day all those years ago. It's feels like yesterday from another life, both close and eternally out of reach. The taste of the rain as I laughed, the mirth in his eyes as he watched me ride, and George's concern and paternal warnings not to push the horse too much in the deepening mud of the track.
"I wish he were here. I'd give anything to speak with him again."
Tilting his head to one side, he spreads butter on a blueberry muffin, eyes remaining on me, watching and studying. "You can visit with Ray anytime you wish. I can escort you, just say the word."
"I don't know George. I don't want to speak of that today." I sigh and take the coffee cup in my hands, enjoying the warmth on my skin. "You said the FBI wants to have lunch. Tell me what they want, George.
He begins to explain, but I don't hear a word of it. In my mind I'm prancing on the horse in the rain, all those years ago. If I push myself into the corners of my memory I can hear him laughing. That's how I want to remember him. Laughing and watching me ride in the rain of Connecticut summer.