My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

0 gloves

She reviewed the tape one last time, checking over the transcript.  There was very little conversation during this most recent session.  Sometimes she preferred things that way.  The less talking there was the less time she had to ponder all the 'what ifs' that tended to plague her when meeting someone.  Plus, it made the transcribing a lot easier.  Her finger hit the save button and closed the program down.  She looked down at the transcript, at the generic use of 'female' and 'male'.  When she had first started this she had used the terms 'me' and 'him', but after many many disappointing episodes, she found it easier this way.  It allowed her to distance herself from the whole process; she could squelch the hope and the disappointment by pretending it wasn't her. 

Carefully she reread over the center of her notes, the ones she did from memory.  She closed her eyes and opened her mind for a brief moment allowing the visions to replay themselves in her mind.  The nice thing about the replay is that they lacked the emotions and feelings that enveloped her during each of the sessions.  She opened her eyes, looked over the words she had written, and felt satisfied that they were accurate.  Closing the notebook, she put down the pencil and grabbed the gloves that sat next to her.  Slowly she pulled on one long shoulder-length glove and then the other.  Today her signature apparel was bright pink with alternating thin and thick black stripes running their length and width creating a checkered pattern.  She brushed her fingers along her shoulders were her blouse met her gloves assuring that there was no gap.  Satisfied that she was well covered, she stood and left the analysis room.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

0 with a touch

Male: Hey.
Female: Hi.
Male: You know who I am?
Female: Yes.
Male: Are you ready?
Female: Yeah...
Male: It won’t hurt.
Female: will...

[He held out his hand to her palm up. She hesitated for a moment then slowly placed hers in his.]

The scenes flashed in front of her like she was on a speeding train. She could only catch glimpses of the different events if she focused just right. He brushed back her hair, trailed his fingers along her chin line and tipped her head up for a kiss. She could feel more than she could see and was innately aware that this was their first kiss. Now she is walking toward him slowly, she can't hear the music in the background but he's decked out in a tux. It is their wedding day. She catches glimpses of them watching tv, dancing in a cheesy little bar (where she feels the recognition of this being one of their favorite little dating spots), making love under the stars. Again her focus holds a bit longer and she catches a glimpse of herself in a store window. Her belly well swollen with life. She sees his hand rest gently on her stomach and she raises her gaze to look at him in the mirror. The love in his eyes is unmistakable. As the scenes whiz by she can feel all of the emotions that come with each passing moment...the love...the anger...the joy...the sadness.... She finds herself in a hospital room. He is holding her hand. She can feel there is something wrong. She doesn't know what, but she feels it. She can see it in his face. He too knows it. She jumps ahead. A small grave stone staring back at her. The sorrow overwhelms her. Time passes though she barely notices it with the immense pain that wraps itself around her heart. She sees herself walking along the sidewalk, his hand in hers. She watches as she looks into his eyes and sees what she has become over the past few months. She steps to the right, stepping down off the curb into oncoming traffic. His hand slips away from her.

[She pulls her hand abruptly out of his hand.]

Male: I'm sorry.
Female: Me, too.

[He turned and walked out.]