The Anniversary
Dear Kevin,
You walked by the rose on the table. I watched you. I saw you pause. "Did I give that to her?" You might have praised it then, its strong red swirl in the center, contained in vivid blue glass. I watched you decide that, no, you hadn't given it to me.
You were correct.
It was a dazzling day, with unexpected sun. I walked before dark. I met squirrels and dogs. I hoped for an eagle and celebrated shining crows instead.
I haven't seen anyone in love for a very long time. I used to notice these youngsters all the time, sliding arms around each other, heads moving in the direction of a kiss. Is it me, or is it just winter?
Today we are married ten years. I thought my world would change. It did.
You remember the names of countless senators and foreign dignitaries and football stars. You remember the layers of rock in the Grand Canyon. You remember greetings in at least twelve languages. You remember James Joyce's birthday. For whom do you remember these things? Who will admire you when you recite your hard facts?
Ten years ago I blazed with promise. I would always love you. I have kept this promise, as I always will. Today I will not speak of it to you, though it feels lonely to recite my knowledge to the brook below the bridge behind the recreation center.
If I told you, you might rush around and jump through hoops. But I don't want you like a tiger doing homework in the circus, leaping through flames, or roaring on demand. Indifference is deadly, yes. Still, I don't want it traded for apologetic drill.
I admire everything about you. Blue eyes. Strong shoulders. Exquisite mind. How you complete the New York Times crossword puzzle without cheating. How your hair gleams in sunlight. Your skin against the marble motion of the sky. Your voice against a background of water. The way you touch the back of my neck.
Today I am exhausted from the endless effort of hope.
I wonder what threatens you to keep you aloof, adorned with the rote memory of rock formations. Limestone. Coconino sandstone. And still you are, as always, the bright angel on my trail.
Today I will not show you memories or celebrations. You don't care, or not enough, and I can't care for you.
Thank you for starting the fire. I treasure the glow, the coarse solidity of silence.
Love,
Robin
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Author's Note
From one of my Tango characters to another.
Other stories by Beate Sigriddaughter
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Ferociously good.
5 stars.
*****
Oh, this sings so strong and clear.
"Indifference is deadly, yes. Still, I don't want it traded for apologetic drill."
I like Robin, her clarity, her truth.
Wonderful stuff. Keep going!
"Today I am exhausted from the endless effort of hope." Yes. Oh, yes.*
yes.
I am so glad Robin's response is fire rather than ice. I love this character. Love what I've read of this novel so far.
Reads like water rushing over pebbles in a dark stream.
so perfect
stars
Yes, great character, Robin, compelling voice, engendering respect and admiration. Yet I can empathize with Kevin, also, having been in his situation a number of times myself. Very well done.*
Gorgeous. The honesty cuts deep. So, so great. *
nice nice & oh, so sad and dark
Each word of this is well placed and together they sing. What a fantastic piece!
Like Meg, I'm getting a deep sadness, even though the bright angel is still quietly ablaze; I get a sadness, disappointment, psychological fatigue. Beautiful, word perfect. *
This is beautiful. So sad and vulnerable.
"Today I am exhausted from the endless effort of hope."
Hoping that things will be different. Even in tiny ways. It would be exhausting.
*
Exquisite, Beate! "Today I will not speak of it to you, though it feels lonely to recite my knowledge to the brook below the bridge behind the recreation center." Sublime and leaves you feeling vulnerable, like Harley said. ******
"Today I will not show you memories or celebrations. You don't care, or not enough, and I can't care for you."
Beate, the pain and lack of hope here is so present, it makes me want to weep with sorrow for the emptiness of this person's life.
I've walked this road and it is a lonely one. *
A nice, sad picture here.
quiet, sizzling tune; flame that keeps hurting, subtly
The fire and grit and excellent characterization made this for me. I love epistolary stories.
*
Simply fantastic, Beate. So moving in a lovely understated manner. Quiet touch.
Fave.
This is beautiful, Beatte. I'm looking forward to reading more of your work.
"a tiger doing homework in the circus" "Today I am exhausted from the endless effort of hope."
What lines! Poetry right there- rather exquisitely crafted. *
"This particular character in my novel is a sometimes poet so I get to let my own inner poet off the leash when I write in her voice." Don't we all? You should let your inner poet run free more often!
a rose in vivid blue glass, he did'nt remember.
"Is it me, or is it just winter?"
Now there is a line that will take off your skin.
Beautiful story, Beate
*
yes, yes, yes. a joy to read your brilliant prose.
Mesmerizing. Fave.
Beautiful writing, Beate, filled with powerful, evocative imagery. Bravo!
"Today I am exhausted from the endless effort of hope." Ah, anyone who can't relate to that is either very lucky, or dead. Well done!!
I feel as though I've been snooping in someone's private life--what all great fiction does--create a world and transport us to it.*
"I treasure the glow, the coarse solidity of silence." love this! Whatever happened to letter novels.
Pamela, Jane, Marcus, thank you so much for your wonderful comments. Jane, I do want to show exactly the inner workings of three tango dancers, so your words are encouraging.
I like the address, its tone, and Robin's sense of realisation through this letter and from her act of setting her thoughts down. It conveys so much.
I enjoyed this. A beautiful flower cut at the base, MIA. *
It has all been said.
I, too, love this piece.