One foot on the speckled frozen surface, another on the shore, she skittered a stone toward the center of the lake, sending it like a prayer toward the middle. She felt the ice groan through the sole of her boot, imagined its slow heaving out there past where she could see. It had been an entire winter of this wondering if the lake would ever thaw again, whether what lay beneath her would finally give way.
All eyes on the situation
February 4, 2010She locked the door and closed all the blinds now, in the manner that she used to carry an umbrella or keep an emergency kit in the car. Out there, the world swirled dark and confusing, and she had stopped yearning to see out at any of it. Inside, when she didn’t have to leave for any reason, she lined up her books like sentries, considered the pictures on the walls all eyes on the situation.
Sliced
February 2, 2010On the page, a boat slices water, and the mind’s eye sees liquid parting. But a slice, in food’s context, indicates something flat, whether it be thick or paper-thin. Bread, cheese, tomato, prosciutto: one reads they were sliced, and sees them arranged on the plate.
The heart, too, requires lingual precision. Spellbound feels differently than charmed, than fascinated, than transfixed. The heart can want, can wish, can demand, but still sees deficiency and responds by not requiring. As my heart tacks in search of its harbor, I’m sorry is not the same as I regret.
Left unsaid
January 30, 2010“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have shown up,” he said. “I like talking to you.”
She stammered around for a bit.
“Tell me what you want to say,” he said. “You should be honest.”
I may have found a kindred spirit, she thought. I adore how when we talk I discover unexpected combinations of words, I want to kiss you for days, every time you text message me I smile even if it doesn’t say anything, really.
“I like you a lot,” she said. “I want to see where this goes.”
Where it finally begins
January 28, 2010In that moment, it felt as if a conversation were continuing, not starting, as if we’d been on opposite sides of the room at a cocktail party and had finally made our way back to each other. Later, I clasped my shirt around me, watching him map the molecular structure of corn syrup in the air, and wondered, Is this where it finally begins?
Updrafting
January 26, 2010Several times the next day, I ended up at my window, staring at the raging sky and wishing for calmer weather. Time slipped against itself, sandpaper-rough and grating, and I watched the seagulls dip and soar through the edges of the rainstorm. Jealous of their agenda, I picked the most merciful tasks from my list, and attempted, in my own way, to follow the updrafts of the afternoon.
Fiery foods
January 24, 2010His business trip coincided with the Fiery Foods Show, and he returned with three jars of habañero jelly, dried chilies, and a bottle of tongue-singeing hot sauce. “These were my favorites,” he said. We carried the jelly, cream cheese, crackers and beer to the table, where we ate and drank silently, filling our mouths with the first heat in months. I wondered if he’d kiss me later, even if the heat would have dissipated, carried away by the blandness of its accompaniments. I wondered if there were enough fiery foods in the world to start things up again.
