On, In, and Around Mondays: Sharing the Mystery
I made a start, but I always seem to falter when it comes to fiction. She knows this about me.
"Did you ever finish?" she asked.
"I'm on chapter two."
"I can read it to you," she said.
And so she did, this weekend. On my bed. In the kitchen. On the deck at her grandparents' home.
Sometimes I would catch myself daydreaming. About work or bills. About taxes or my poets. Her voice never faltered. She laughed, sighed, caught my eye, touched my hand. Sometimes she turned to the back of the book or to the footnotes. "Chopin never wrote anything for solo violin, isn't that funny? I love these notes!"
Then she told me this is why Doyle didn't like the Holmes stories. They were inaccurate, unlike his other works which he spent far more time researching. But no one liked the other works much. Who cared about accuracy, when the Holmes stories were better?
I type these words and I suddenly wonder, "Was it taxes I daydreamed about, while my dark-haired girl shared her beloved Holmes with me? Or am I making that up? Did she really touch my hand? Or was it my arm? When we remember, we alter memories. We cannot know for sure what happened. Only approximations.
But I remember this, surely. Very surely. She took the time to read to me. I listened, I watched, and... we loved.
On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.
If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)
This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...