Apologies

I haven't been posting new things to my blog for the past four days because our internet connection went down on Monday and was only fixed today.  For all of you who visited during that time, my sincere apologies.  I will start posting again immediately!

Self-protection

            Ursula sent Andy a long email, in which she denounced him as an emotional cripple.  She also compared him to her father, who had never loved anything but the family dog.  Neither one of them (Andy and her father, not the dog) had any idea what emotional intimacy was.   I’m sure you’ve already stopped reading by now, she sniffed at the end, but she was wrong.  Andy read the whole thing.   He even showed it to Hal, who had a good chuckle over it.  “Women,” Hal laughed.  “Always so damn superior.  Talk about needing a psychiatrist, huh?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, whadya want with a chick named Ursula?  I’m telling you—stick to the women with normal names.  The ones who sound like they should be in a Bond movie are always psychopaths.” 

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” Andy answered.  But he wasn’t smiling.

The Lost Crossing

Old truths fill the

black hole where

I buried the leaking need

for you

I know all about incurable wounds

            So much and for so many weepy and

            lonely afternoons

            I meant to leave you

            for so much, my friend

                        and I did

Camouflage

Her room looked as if Kitty had merely stepped out for a moment, as opposed to forever.  The sweater she’d been knitting sat in a basket next to the couch; some of her drawings were scattered on the table; and a book she’d been reading laid face down on the couch cushion. 

The King lowered himself down onto the bed.  He glanced at the book—a translation of the Interior’s history—before he turned his attention to the drawings.  Although quite impressed by her skill, Philippe realized with some sadness that Kitty drew what she saw, not what she felt.  Even the few drawings of himself that he found told him nothing.  He would never know the secrets of her well-fortified heart.

A Child's Dream

            “Oh, no,” Meg said, surprised at her own vehemence, “you’ve made a mistake.  Andy and I just know each other from when we were kids—that’s it.  I don’t mean anything to him.”

            “Then why," Alturis patiently returned, "does he stand on the corner, gazing at your house for hours at a time?”

            Megan frowned.  She had never noticed that.

            Smiling, Alturis took another bite of Meg’s pound cake.  “He’s a strange man,” Alturis said.  “From what I understand he has dozens of girlfriends in Chicago, and yet he can’t bring himself to ask you out for dinner.  I wonder why?”

            “Maybe because I’m just his friend and you’ve misunderstood this whole thing entirely?”

            “Or maybe because you are the only one who’s ever meant something to him.”

            “That’s just wonderful,” Megan retorted, suddenly no longer afraid.  Why be afraid?  He was going to kill her anyway.  “You should get your own talk show—since you seem to have people all figured out, that is.  Too bad you’re a raving lunatic.  Maybe you can do a podcast from the federal penitentiary?”

             Alturis smiled as he took a bite of cake.  But the smile never reached his eyes.  

Left behind

Diary entry, November 21, 1983

Today I threw up and was sick.  Mom and Steve fought again.  Mom and Steve are both slamming around.  I hate it when they fight.

Lost

Now our half-truths ship out

under cover of a cloud-filled sky

the sun you once spoke of

never any friend of mine

                                

can you feel it rain

can you?