The Secret Winter (Cont'd)
Searchers
Linda lifted her head from the buzzing window pane. She looked round. The stale air taste and bus-vomit odors met her senses and she felt dry. Looking out through the dirty glass she watched the road slipping past. Lines and paint, zooming parallel towards infinity.
She sat up straight in her chair and turned to the old man sleeping in the seat next to her. His arms folded, his head was cocked upwards and his mouth was agape. He made a slight guttural sound, but continued in his slumber. Lindsey breathed a sigh and turned towards the window again.
It was mid-December and the verdant blur of ferns began to lull her into a daydream. She brought her legs up against her breast and lost her thoughts in a stare. Images of the old house floated through her head: the lock on the front door that she could never figure out as a young girl; the old phonograph that no one ever used; and the cozy fireplace with the quaint, tarnished picture frames on the mantlepiece.
The Fall semester had just ended and she was weary. She was floundering in that big city by the bay, and she was in need of a breather. So when her last exam let out she made her way with winter-wisped steps to her dorm room, grabbed her suitcase, and with little more than a mute smile to her deaf room mate, she was out the door.
Gradually coming to from her little reverie, Linda put her feet back down and sat up in a stifled stretch. She cast a glance down at her watch, not really registering the time, and turned into the cabin of the late 70s interior of the old Greyhound. Pushing herself up a little she looked over the seat in front of her at the little hills of heads, popping up like so many wavy gophers on a barren plain. She sank back down and again looked at her watch. 4:00PM. They would be arriving soon.
Bending down a little she reached for her backpack and took out her diary. She brought her legs up again and opened the little worn leather-bound against her knees. The page facing her was an entry from the previous week.
My room mate lost it today on the phone today. I can't deal with this bullshit much longer, I haven't the slightest idea how she landed herself a boyfriend... Only five more days, five more days and I'm out of here.
Linda sighed once more and shifted in her seat. She hesitated a moment; and then, with forced courage, she turned back to one of the first entries.
There in the middle of the page was an oily polaroid lovingly taped to the beige paper. In it, two happy figures were lovingly squeezed in the camera frame. Two sets of lips were lovingly locked in immature defiance. She scanned one of the faces and then the other. Upon the former, honest bliss. Upon the latter...well, who knew.
Linda looked out of the window again at the roadside scene turning dark. Stars began to flicker on the indigo blanket of sky spread out before her. A murky orange paint trail was slithering off behind the trees.
Linda turned to the next entry. The fast-greying page was almost blank except for an excerpt from an old book of poetry she had found in her Dad's study last summer.
For when I pass these solemn nights
When bleakest chill surrounds,
I seek that shelt'ring canyon's walls
And let my dreams resound.
For all the leaves upon the ground
I dream of springtime clear.
I dream of gardens long forgot
And a river full of tears.
But though I wither in this place;
Though I wish this winter gone;
From my visions I do tinder make
And tend the fire 'til dawn.
The girl closed her diary and replaced it in her backpack.
Night had descended; the cabin lights came on; and outside the cold northern wind blew a tender requiem.
Linda lifted her head from the buzzing window pane. She looked round. The stale air taste and bus-vomit odors met her senses and she felt dry. Looking out through the dirty glass she watched the road slipping past. Lines and paint, zooming parallel towards infinity.
She sat up straight in her chair and turned to the old man sleeping in the seat next to her. His arms folded, his head was cocked upwards and his mouth was agape. He made a slight guttural sound, but continued in his slumber. Lindsey breathed a sigh and turned towards the window again.
It was mid-December and the verdant blur of ferns began to lull her into a daydream. She brought her legs up against her breast and lost her thoughts in a stare. Images of the old house floated through her head: the lock on the front door that she could never figure out as a young girl; the old phonograph that no one ever used; and the cozy fireplace with the quaint, tarnished picture frames on the mantlepiece.
The Fall semester had just ended and she was weary. She was floundering in that big city by the bay, and she was in need of a breather. So when her last exam let out she made her way with winter-wisped steps to her dorm room, grabbed her suitcase, and with little more than a mute smile to her deaf room mate, she was out the door.
Gradually coming to from her little reverie, Linda put her feet back down and sat up in a stifled stretch. She cast a glance down at her watch, not really registering the time, and turned into the cabin of the late 70s interior of the old Greyhound. Pushing herself up a little she looked over the seat in front of her at the little hills of heads, popping up like so many wavy gophers on a barren plain. She sank back down and again looked at her watch. 4:00PM. They would be arriving soon.
Bending down a little she reached for her backpack and took out her diary. She brought her legs up again and opened the little worn leather-bound against her knees. The page facing her was an entry from the previous week.
My room mate lost it today on the phone today. I can't deal with this bullshit much longer, I haven't the slightest idea how she landed herself a boyfriend... Only five more days, five more days and I'm out of here.
Linda sighed once more and shifted in her seat. She hesitated a moment; and then, with forced courage, she turned back to one of the first entries.
There in the middle of the page was an oily polaroid lovingly taped to the beige paper. In it, two happy figures were lovingly squeezed in the camera frame. Two sets of lips were lovingly locked in immature defiance. She scanned one of the faces and then the other. Upon the former, honest bliss. Upon the latter...well, who knew.
Linda looked out of the window again at the roadside scene turning dark. Stars began to flicker on the indigo blanket of sky spread out before her. A murky orange paint trail was slithering off behind the trees.
Linda turned to the next entry. The fast-greying page was almost blank except for an excerpt from an old book of poetry she had found in her Dad's study last summer.
For when I pass these solemn nights
When bleakest chill surrounds,
I seek that shelt'ring canyon's walls
And let my dreams resound.
For all the leaves upon the ground
I dream of springtime clear.
I dream of gardens long forgot
And a river full of tears.
But though I wither in this place;
Though I wish this winter gone;
From my visions I do tinder make
And tend the fire 'til dawn.
The girl closed her diary and replaced it in her backpack.
Night had descended; the cabin lights came on; and outside the cold northern wind blew a tender requiem.
posted by Lord Horatio at 11:14 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home