Anhedonia
“When he felt most loved, he felt most _
burdened.” Stephen Dobyns
When she loved him she burdened him. She knew he felt a pull but he always resisted it. They went to an old refurbished hotel in Venice and asked if they might see the rooms. They inspected a single room and a double room and thanked the assistant manager for his trouble. He replied that perhaps they would be guests of the hotel someday and they both said perhaps they would. She saw him drift away like the twigs she once dropped into the Merced River in springtime when the falls were full. He looked like a toy man on a toy raft as he left her, but she knew the raft would stay afloat, land him in a safer harbor than she could ever be. All that time they had spent climbing under the hawks flying with the grasses at their knees, on horseback one freezing clear autumn morning seeing the wild foxes, were things he took away with him when he left. She couldn't feel pleasure anymore. The doctors told her this was a disorder called anhedonia which meant all things in life lose their luster; she thought though, that anhedonia was such a pretty word she was convinced it was a flower or a song.
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Other stories by Sian Barbara Allen
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this is so sad and beautiful. Then end is perfect, a killer but perfect.
Wow! "She saw him drift away like the twigs she once dropped into the Merced River in springtime when the falls were full. He looked like a toy man on a toy raft as he left her,..." This is good stuff. Thanks for letting me read this piece.
Great story, full of magic moments, but I hate that last line.I have this logic problem--all mine--in this regard: when you have anhedonia, you can't find a word "pretty," although, and here is the hell part, you might think that if you could feel you would find the word-ironically, pretty. Still, FAVE+.
a beautiful, even cadence in the voice, the regret restrained so that the tiny piece takes you in...the twigs and grasses, cold air and full water, the sneaky line where they inspect both a single and a double room *
Anhedonia is a word I have long loved, so I was drawn to this by title alone. Wonderful succinct paragraph filled with terrific images and a wonderful underlying story. James makes a very interesting point and I cannot decide whether suffering from anhedonia would eliminate a person's ability to distinguish pretty words from ugly ones...
Really lovely.
Felt the pain in this as clearly as if it were my own, the loss ...
Magic, yes, easily there.
fave
So delicate, wistful, and well done. Enjoyed this much.
"climbing under the hawks flying with the grasses at their knees"
Wonderful!
*
Anhedonia--original title of "Annie Hall."
A story to be re-read. I did. better and better.
Exquisite work here. It is my understanding, James, that if you suffer from anhedonia you can distinguish pretty words from ugly words through past knowledge, but you would not have the capacity to experience the prettiness or the ugliness of the word or what it described. . . . . fave
Extremely interesting and well written story, would have liked it to go on.
Wonderful breath of imagery in this piece, Sian -
"All that time they had spent climbing under the hawks flying with the grasses at their knees, on horseback one freezing clear autumn morning seeing the wild foxes, were things he took away with him when he left."
A great read.
I love this!!! "She saw him drift away like the twigs she once dropped into the Merced River in springtime when the falls were full." And the last two lines!!! Sublime!!! *****
Lovely story and yes, a killer ending.