train of thought just staring into the luminescence of his eyes. Grace, do you remember what she read to you?
I had to blink a few times, and finally closed my eyes to block out the silver glimmer that demanded my attention so that I could think. The book that Miss Maggie had held in her hands was old, some of the pages severely dog-eared and yellowed with age. I could hear the rhythm in her voice as she had read the lines that were written. There was a strange familiarity to the words that were muffled in my mind.
“I can hear the rhythm. I can hear it, but the words…they’re lost on me.”
It happened so quickly, I barely noticed the movement. Robert had sat up and left me to retrieve something, only to return to the exact same position, his arms holding me up, my face above his. Only this time, he was holding me up with one hand. In the other, he held a book.
“That’s the book that Lark gave to me for Christmas,” I noted, and reached for it; the leather cover was unmistakable, the smell of an old book just as intoxicating to me as a new one. I thumbed through the pages until I found the one that I had felt drawn to, the one that always pulled at me. “Al Aaraaf ,” I breathed.
The words that had had no structure, no form in my mind, suddenly gained an almost impossible clarity. This poem represented, in so many ways, the love I felt for Robert…
“But I don’t get it. It’s such an intense piece. Why did she choose this to read to me?” I asked, my fingers touching the words as though each letter connected me to Robert even more so.
Robert’s hand covered mine and together we traced the lines that he had whispered to me on that first night he had stayed… I looked at him and waited for him to answer.
She did not know why she chose it. It just seemed to call to her. You needed an angel to help you, and she had nothing else to give, I suppose. Even she knew that I was your future.
“But why would I block that part out? Why would I choose to not remember something that significant?”
You chose to block out many things about that time in your life, Grace. It was the way your mind coped. But you see, Maggie wasn’t just … how did you put it?
“Window shopping.”
Yes, window shopping. Maggie wasn’t just window shopping when it came to you. She was fully invested in your recovery, and your future. She might not have been as significant a … shopper as you would have liked, but she was still there.
I avoided looking into his eyes because he was right. He knew he was right; he had said it, and I couldn’t deny that doing so meant it was the truth. Miss Maggie had, indeed, been a part of my life. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still bothered by it. It didn’t seem right, or fair, that I had missed out on knowing her in the way that she knew me. I felt…robbed.
“I don’t know why she didn’t just let me in…” I finally muttered, more to myself than to anyone in particular.
Really, Grace. The woman has died, with no children or grandchildren, no family or any real friends around to mourn her, and all you can think about is yourself? He sat up with a huff, and I immediately felt guilty. I had been selfish and uncharitable, unwilling to empathize with the loneliness that Miss Maggie must have felt, and that was everything that an angel was not—I had offended Robert immensely.
“Robert, I’m sorry,” I was able to get out before he left me alone on the bed to pace my room.
You were just told that someone you cared for has died, Grace. I told you that she cared for you a great deal, that she was there to help you when you were in need of it the most—she helped your father by doing that as well … and the only thing you can think about is how you feel, how you were denied something. Why? You give more care and concern for Graham’s father, who’s done nothing but treat you with
I had to blink a few times, and finally closed my eyes to block out the silver glimmer that demanded my attention so that I could think. The book that Miss Maggie had held in her hands was old, some of the pages severely dog-eared and yellowed with age. I could hear the rhythm in her voice as she had read the lines that were written. There was a strange familiarity to the words that were muffled in my mind.
“I can hear the rhythm. I can hear it, but the words…they’re lost on me.”
It happened so quickly, I barely noticed the movement. Robert had sat up and left me to retrieve something, only to return to the exact same position, his arms holding me up, my face above his. Only this time, he was holding me up with one hand. In the other, he held a book.
“That’s the book that Lark gave to me for Christmas,” I noted, and reached for it; the leather cover was unmistakable, the smell of an old book just as intoxicating to me as a new one. I thumbed through the pages until I found the one that I had felt drawn to, the one that always pulled at me. “Al Aaraaf ,” I breathed.
The words that had had no structure, no form in my mind, suddenly gained an almost impossible clarity. This poem represented, in so many ways, the love I felt for Robert…
“But I don’t get it. It’s such an intense piece. Why did she choose this to read to me?” I asked, my fingers touching the words as though each letter connected me to Robert even more so.
Robert’s hand covered mine and together we traced the lines that he had whispered to me on that first night he had stayed… I looked at him and waited for him to answer.
She did not know why she chose it. It just seemed to call to her. You needed an angel to help you, and she had nothing else to give, I suppose. Even she knew that I was your future.
“But why would I block that part out? Why would I choose to not remember something that significant?”
You chose to block out many things about that time in your life, Grace. It was the way your mind coped. But you see, Maggie wasn’t just … how did you put it?
“Window shopping.”
Yes, window shopping. Maggie wasn’t just window shopping when it came to you. She was fully invested in your recovery, and your future. She might not have been as significant a … shopper as you would have liked, but she was still there.
I avoided looking into his eyes because he was right. He knew he was right; he had said it, and I couldn’t deny that doing so meant it was the truth. Miss Maggie had, indeed, been a part of my life. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still bothered by it. It didn’t seem right, or fair, that I had missed out on knowing her in the way that she knew me. I felt…robbed.
“I don’t know why she didn’t just let me in…” I finally muttered, more to myself than to anyone in particular.
Really, Grace. The woman has died, with no children or grandchildren, no family or any real friends around to mourn her, and all you can think about is yourself? He sat up with a huff, and I immediately felt guilty. I had been selfish and uncharitable, unwilling to empathize with the loneliness that Miss Maggie must have felt, and that was everything that an angel was not—I had offended Robert immensely.
“Robert, I’m sorry,” I was able to get out before he left me alone on the bed to pace my room.
You were just told that someone you cared for has died, Grace. I told you that she cared for you a great deal, that she was there to help you when you were in need of it the most—she helped your father by doing that as well … and the only thing you can think about is how you feel, how you were denied something. Why? You give more care and concern for Graham’s father, who’s done nothing but treat you with
Similar Books
