Friday, July 14, 2006

Note in bottle: Relatives

Graciousness has left the building. Reality, that glinty-eyed old shrew, slams the door behind her and huffs a good riddance.

Graciousness doesn’t so much walk away as she flows. And when she leaves, she shimmers, evaporates gracefully, mist in the sun. You stand for a long time, watching the place where she used to be, thinking maybe…

But reality is banging around the place in her unlaced slap-soled shoes, skirt hem safety-pinned up. Her face is a strip mine. She’s gleefully pointing out all the spots you missed. Here and here and how could you not see this? Reality plops herself into a chair, a sack of mortal bones and blubber hitting wood, and demands to know where the hell you think you’ve been? And who the hell you thought you were there with…

I often forget they’re sisters.

Always time for family is my motto.