They met at the gazebo behind the old elementary school. Glynnis spread tiptoes and watched him clomp up the hill, his fists stretching knit jacket pockets. A confident moon hid any insecurity, his posture straight, not stiff. A joyful shiver tickled her soul, delight in knowing she was wanted. She couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t matter. This was about connection, not attraction.
They met online in a community activism forum. Evan amused himself reading her passionate battles with experts, until he realized he was on her side, even when she was wrong. He stood up for her once, and she wrote to thank him. She sounded innocent, irresistible, so unlike the others.
They met in second grade in Mr. Westley’s class, before he was fired for reading Bible stories. Glynnis knew all the stories and corrected Mr. Westley when he missed a moral. Evan adored the tales, more horrific than his brother’s comics, terror dripping from frameless watercolor pages. He knew she didn’t remember him.
They stepped together as he entered the gazebo, her backward move instinctive. The moment paused as avatars unmoving they sought inhuman reflex. Pixels to pores and breezing tendrils, she pinched a stray curl from glossy lips, his fantasy in living clay. Words and symbols, eloquence and poise, months of careful construction reduced to scaffold this instant as his fingers unfurled.
They stepped together toward the view they could not see, subtle squints at moonlight licks on twisting river tails. Evan grasped rotting wood, shooting electric sins to ground in timeless earth. Her pudding voice slid over familiar words, soothing repetition in mumbling bubbles that floated beyond reach and popped with moonbeam needles.
They stepped together and melted in first touch as he exhausted her words in wet acquiescence. Life was only his fingers on her waist, seeking spine and releasing energy he no longer claimed as his own. He pressed harder, sending his past into her forgiving bones, praying for a future without lies. Glynnis opened to his gifts, his firm pressure burying her secrets in layers of hope and acceptance. At once they both existed, and were no more, present instant by instant.
Knowing warmth parted them in morning ignorance. Their final touch on shadowed path spoke nothing. They stepped away together, private icons revealed through foggy beams, the dust of missing generations. He teased away her curl in fluttery fingertips, exploring his new lightness in her butterfly laugh. This time he would not sever the connection.
Wow! The first part threw me. I thought they were in elementary school. I think I misunderstood that part, but the rest of it was very, very interesting. I really liked the imagery!
I’ve been known to confuse people
Thank you for reading and leaving a comment!
I’m glad you found time to post for fridayflash! Your vivid imagery is back…connecting in cyberspace.
Thanks, Laura. This one was rough. I’ve missed #fridayflash so much, but just haven’t had the time. I wrote this while chasing the little one around, but I figure any practice is good for me! Thanks for reading.
Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389 Hope I get time to read others!
Reading @jentropy: Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389 Hope I get time to read others!
loved how you kept the ethereal feel alive throughout the piece, very nice.
Thank you, Craig.
I missed you! This is beautifully written, of course.
~2
@jentropy Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389 Hope I get time to read others!
RT @jentropy Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389 Hope I get time to read others!
RT @jmstro: RT @jentropy Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389
RT @jentropy Finally a #fridayflash from me. Missed Connection http://www.jentropy.com/archives/389
I love the way you use language, it’s almost prose poetry. Really evocative.
The style of this piece is very interesting. The imagery is very rich and detailed.
Nicely done.
Oh, wow, yes. I love – and envy – what you do with language, imagery. Thank you for the wonderful read.
There is so much to like about this piece. Your imagery is wonderful, it kept me on the cusp of confusion but never tipped me over.
Another challenging and vivid piece of prose. Great to have you back. Like the old world meets new feel of this.
Glad you made it back. You do wonderfully vivid imagery, painting with words, really.
You redesigned your website, didn’t you? Looks fantastic.
~jon
Thanks, 2! I missed participating. I just need a few more hours in the day. Maybe I should write a story about that!
Thank you, Pippa. I still haven’t researched prose poetry to find out more about it. I hear that a lot, though. Maybe I should learn more about it and see if it would be a better fit for me.
Thanks, Netta. I’ve only been writing fiction for six months or so, but my current style is nothing like it was when I started. I’m not sure how it evolved into this.
Thanks, Kevin! I don’t think it’s anything to envy. You have your own unique style. We all have a voice and that’s what makes it so much fun to read each other’s work!
Thanks, Chris. I think I’m all about the cusp of confusion. Maybe I should make that my blog tagline!
Thanks, Dan! I struggled blending some of the pieces of this, but it was a good exercise. I still get most of my blog traffic from your blog links!
Jon, thanks for the compliments and for hosting this all for us. I did change my blog theme. I was bored with the old one! I have been thinking a lot lately about painting with words. I think it’s true. In my mind, most of my pieces are just a single frame image in my head and I just describe them.