She was really good at three things: 1. Baking sweet things. 2. Loving immensely. 3. Researching history. The numbers don’t necessarily correspond to the effiency with which she did one or another of those three things. Nor, should it suggest to you readers that she enjoyed doing those three things in chronological order. It’s not a numerical system of importance, it’s more fluid; like an infinity loop; like grief. Which seems proper because currently, she was bereaved. She wasn’t sure what stage she was in, only that grief wasn’t a linear progression and thus, she could be in any. She could even be in a stage she’d already been in before. She was married. Married in the way that was somehow for some reason rarer to findthese days. She and her husband believed they were meant to be, obligated to be, wanted to be, worked hard to be: together forever. They took Judeo-Christian vows they believed in, stood in front of a preacher, and said “I do.” She didn’t regret marrying him for a second, though, her marriage had led to an imbalance in the ratio to how much she researched history compared to how much she baked and loved. She was okay with that? She thought. Because she had Jon and, Jon, well Jon was really a good guy. So good. The kind of good that makes you stop, stare, and wonder where time goes. Why it moves forward? Why does it always have to move forward? You see, Jon came into her life and he wrapped his armed around her and he never let her go. Jon told her: “Hon, I’m going to protect you from all the bad in this world and I’ll never let you get hurt again.” Because you see, she’s been hurt a lot in her life. It had aged her twice the amount it ought to have. So, they ran away. Straight into the welcoming arms of the Wyoming visitors center and their bright blue big skies. They bought a house on a piece of land and Jon worked the land. He worked it like it wasn’t 2018, but 1930. Like he was desperate for it to turn out produce. And she, she baked, she made cakes, and pies, and cookies for neighbors who knew her name and smiled and waved as she rode to town on her bike that was red and had a yellow basket. They had a wooden porch made of oak that was softly sanded but not stained. They had cedar rocking chairs that felt sturdy and grounding when they sat in them. They had a swing made of ropes and a railing with five posts that kept their roof on when the snow came. Buffalo came to their porch but she tried so hard not to pet them There were elk, and wild animals that could hurt her and if there was one thing the world couldn’t do it was hurt her. Jon wouldn’t allow it. She was happy there. Author note: This story is a part of a series of short stories wherein I talk about moments of female activity. It doesn’t necessarily have to be true and it’s not necessarily fiction either. It’s just an emotion and an event in a timeline of other events.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Hi There,This page is dedicated to all the books I read and all the things I write. Archives
February 2020
Categories
All
|