Friday Fiction - Chance

From her bedroom window, she looks out -- scraggly trees dot the horizon.  She can see the land dip toward the path to the canyon.  The house is quiet.  There is a rustling in the eaves from the dove’s nest.  Yesterday they all climbed a ladder to look at the soft, beautifully pink eggs.  “The palest of pale pink” her daughter had said.  So delicate.  The parents circled close to the ladder, beating their wings in an effort to shoo away the peering eyes. 

She closes her eyes, leaning against the window frame, cherishing the moment – her, the children, her husband.  A moment that felt like a family again.  She had felt a part of something bigger than herself.  A fleeting feeling.  Gone soon after, as they each carried on with their day. 

So much time in her life dedicated to this family – to creating a home full of fun and life.  Not realizing that filling her time with all things family meant she was erasing herself.  She is so good a being a good friend, mom, wife, daughter – you name it.  But what about her? A friend told her recently she needed to figure out what she liked to do.  She has a chance to learn about herself.  What does she like? 

Ugh.  How ridiculous to be 42 and not have a sense of what she wants. 

Pushing away from the window, she bangs down the stairs, drains the cold remains of her coffee and bursts through the back door.  Must get out of here.  The drive to run, flee, is overwhelming at times.  Usually she has to shove it down.  But today, she has no plans, no one needs her.  She can do anything she wants.  So why does she feel so trapped? 

The last time she did something just for herself – something that made her happy – well that kind of blew up.  Maybe less drama, she smiled wryly, remembering.

The bookstore – she loves books – something to lose herself in. Patting her pocket, feeling the lump of her wallet and phone, she strides off with purpose toward the canyon trail, towards town.   

Friday Fiction

The wind rushes over the top of the gorge, overpowering even the bird calls.  Deep inside, silence is marred only by the crunch of gravel under her Keens.  There is no sun down this far and she shivers, at once wishing for a jacket but also relishing feeling cold.  Feeling cold is . . . well, it’s feeling something.  Better than nothing, right?  She sighs, feeling a familiar waive of sadness sweep over her.  Alone time should be helpful, but when she is alone, there is nothing to interrupt her thoughts…questions…longing…

Ow – her toe jammed something hard.  She squints in the dim light and sees an old signpost.  Probably either very old – gold rush days – or from the old tourist trap mining tours set up near by.  No matter to her, so long as she is alone.  In no mood for company today.

Trudging on, the gorge widens and she sees the fork up ahead.  Relief.  The walls were becoming oppressive.  She is much more of a view person – open spaces.  Why the gorge called to her today, she doesn’t know.  But being enveloped by the steep barren walls did seem to bring some comfort for a time.

Up ahead, to the right, the gorge banks steeply down.  She sees the smooth sandy sides and smiles, knowing that what looks like danger levels out to the hidden beach on Red creek.  Farther past the beach is the path to town. Her steps slow, her hand combing through her hair, other arm hugging her body.  Seeming to hold herself together and give strength.

Sighing…she turns left, up a gentle slop - the easy road.  One more turn and their house beckons, comforting lights, laughter coming from inside.  Taking a deep breath, she straightens up, puts on a smile and opens the door.