It is an understated memory, and reminds me of the way my bottom drawer always stays slightly rolled open. The stuff in the drawer, which, from the outside you can almost see, would only really be noticeable if you knew exactly what you were looking for. It would hardly seem significant.
It was just that, unexpectedly, I seemed to be frozen in time. I was in the middle of a room congested with bodies, judgments, and conflicting notions of reality. It didn’t matter; it didn’t matter who was there. It didn’t matter, and I didn’t care. It was a miraculous instance where I just stopped.
Others—the other people who were breathing, talking, distracting—didn’t notice, and wouldn’t notice it (certainly not at first, certainly not these people). And when it started (haltingly, like a stammerer before a congregation of hardy listeners, or grippingly, like one of those stories my brain seizes from me that I never intend to forget) a small, intense, and clandestine smile pulled itself over my face. Images that bore no relevance—or even existed—outside this moment seeped out from behind my eyes to hover like wraiths in front of me. Suspended. And it felt as if, perhaps, if I were to stare at them long enough, that they would take form and become real. If I stared at them hard enough, maybe I could force the forgotten dream to manifest itself in my waking mind. But they didn't, because they were insubstantial.
It wasn’t like I was seeing something that wasn’t there, like I was hallucinating, it was just that the act of recalling this thing, this memory, was deeply significant. It was deeply significant, as I’ve stated, because I just didn’t care. It was a memory that could be deemed haunting, or daunting—both, really—and the act of me not caring was like opening the dreaded closet door in the dark, only to discover that the noises didn't belong to scary monsters.
Not at all—they were just figments of a perception of a reality of a person who no longer exists as they had before.
. . . And then it was the peace that followed, like a fine mist felt on the face after an intense heat, that held me, stuck me, struck me, affixed me to that spot. Froze me where I stood. Not in a forceful, violent manner. It simply held me, gently, in a state of mind I could honestly say was peace. Peaceful.
I don’t understand this at all. Your writing is magnificent though!! I swear I could find this in a book somewhere or in a movie as a narrator informing its audience of what is going on, for some strange reason. You really have a talent/gift girly!! I remember you saying you don’t know what direction you are going career wise, and I think either producing plays/movies or script writing would be your thing! Well just an idea I thought I’d throw at you! I’m jealous of you in a way, no matter how hard I try, and my writing would never be up to par with yours. We do have very different styles as well. Yours is sooo meant for a book!! I’ll be looking out for your first novel!!
ReplyDeleteJeannn, I don't understand the story either that much. You truly are a detailed writer and can see that you have a major passion for writing. I definitely think that you should be a play writer, like you talk about in class. My writing is nothing in comparison to your writing. haha. I'm sorry that I didn't quite understand your story but im sure that if you told me in person and summed it up in about one paragraph I would understand it haha. Yes, you definitely need a career in writing.
ReplyDeleteI think this is fascinating. I understand it completely, or your intent at least, the style. I feel like this describes a moment that I had when I realized I was no longer a child, but a full blown adults with responsibilities and childhoods years I could never get back. I don't think this is the experience your having but this is just such a vague description of such a strong moment. I love how you truly bring the reader into the emotions and moment.
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