She doesn’t know whether to apologize to Life or wait for Life to apologize to her. They are, you see, at a standstill, both out of compliance with their agreements – at least as she sees it – and neither one will give.
She is pretty sure Life owes her something – things everyone else got plenty of – and he’s just holding out. Life wonders why she has squandered all his gifts and is still ungrateful. He gave her some choice bits, after all, things others would kill for. Or die for. Or die from lack of. (He’s not quite sure how that works.) But they want it, and she’s got it, and she’s not even happy. So they sit there, glaring at one another or, more often, staring away from one another, rarely speaking.
But he sneaks peeks when she’s not looking, uncertain, looking for words to explain his dilemma. It’s not about choice, you see. He’d give her everything if he could. But it doesn’t work that way. It’s a dance of sorts, an organic process: the more you use, the more you get. Like the people who say you gotta spend money to make money. Something like that. Life begets life. And she keeps hers in the back of the closet, gathering dust.
She sneaks peeks at him, too, but from a long distance. She thinks he is miles away. She’s sure he’s ignoring her. She misses the moments when his hand is just by hers. She mistakes his caress for catastrophe. He tried to kiss her once. He can’t begin to explain what happened then.
But he won’t leave her. He believes in her. Believes that someday she’ll see the gifts she’s been given, and if she can, when she finally does, when she turns on the light and lets loose the sails and takes them all out for a drive, well then, she’ll finally feel him where he wants to be, arm in arm, hand in hand, facing forward, running. And oh…what a sight they will be! And oh…what a noise they will make! And they will…oh yes…oh yes, they will.
© Deborah Edler Brown
Image courtesy of Victor Habbick / FreeDigitalPhotos.net