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The wooden desks, so new only a few years ago, had softened, as if malleable from student caresses and bumps.
Ilona’s group lived side-by-side in parallel relationships, unlike the intertwined, gossipy nature of the other social circles.
The power of her words came incidentally; she longed for a stronger constitution.
Everyone she knew assumed they knew her, and as a result, the conversations remained at the surface level, pleasantries about the day and general interests.
Why ask anything deeper when you knew the person, after all? She knew from her reading that people regard those they know well as flat and stagnant, that how they are is how they will always be. Strangers are afforded a more generous hand, one that honors their hopes with a reverence for the possibility of change.
Her mind drifted to her once imagined view of the glamorous people in the building, each pane framing a story. She was now one of the stories, gin-stocked and all.
A moment’s decision, her heart echoed, can bring so many wonderful things.
Ilona smiled demurely, surmising her best route at this point was to keep as still as possible in the hopes the room would follow suit.
She lay awake, watching the moonlight shine through the eyelet curtains as it created a pattern on the wall that resembled a distorted sphere of vibrating stars.
When Janine spoke to him, her words and tone evoked the belief that he remained a beautiful person still capable of many beautiful things.
The universe vaporized almost everyone he had ever truly loved, whisking them to the heavens. His transition, however, assumed the form of a slow decay, and he knew he was in store for a gradual metamorphosis, one soaked in remorse.
After a minute of biting her lip, Ilona whispered, “Patrick wants to marry me, Mama. Marry me, me. Can you believe it?” Cupping her daughter’s face into her palms, her mama lowered her eyes to her meet her daughter’s, their noses barely brushing. “Yes, dear. Of course I believe,” she said, closing her eyes, forehead to forehead, with her youngest daughter.
He wondered how a simple word had come to represent such a complexity of emotions.
And she had always thought the idea of paralysis in the face of adversity was hyperbole.
He sometimes offered these compliments in a jovial, self-deprecating manner in the company of friends, but he also asserted his love, eyes closed and with unquestionable solemnity, on countless occasions.
anything to distract herself from the welling emotions that threatened to break through the pristine package she had diligently worked to assemble.
She wove Our Fathers, Hail Marys, and Glory Bes into the fourth movement of the nocturnal symphony. As the sky turned to lapis and cerulean, she found herself seated on the bench, the formality of prayer complete. Feeling quelling words, she placed her left hand on her heart with her right palm up. She sent love and peace to Patrick in heaven and to her son in his bedroom upstairs.
With its gentle hands, the wind spiraled the fallen, yellow leaves that lay in front of Robert’s home.
seeds, delicately positioned, each one resting with an intention that quietly spoke of the order of the universe.
People often talked about giving others their time in the sun to enjoy the spotlight. Cadmus extended this thinking to suffering.
but the alcohol had tilted the balance of his nostalgia into a haunting, a thin veil separating the two.
How could a God who created sand dollars and sea anemones damn her for asking questions?
Taking a few deep breaths, she offered a prayer to St. Christopher for safe travel for her, her momma, and her daddy. She held doubts as to its effectiveness, but she surmised no harm could come from whispering but a few words to the heavens.
She never realized her daddy’s smile could illuminate his face so.
trying to make good use of the time insomnia attempted to steal.
baffled at how to help his only child find a peace she had yet to know.
“I feel like there is a purpose to all this … just like Mr. Lopez talks about themes in literature. It’s like I have a theme. I just need to figure it out.”
believing in her heart that the truth had more to do with the sky and sea than it did with man’s word.
You are a beautiful thinker, Delphina.
Delphina glanced down the aisle to her right to see a man studying her, the weight of his eyes having summoned her attention. He was older but quite handsome, his kind face drawing her interest. They stared at one another for several seconds, and despite its peculiarity, there was no awkwardness. Another man approached him, breaking the spell as the two headed to the other side of the store. Stationery in hand, she meandered down the aisle in the hope of catching one more glimpse. He must have had the same urge, because he looked back and met her countenance again, his eyes widening in
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“My mother liked irises.” She turned to see the man’s deep brown eyes studying hers. His gaze was not flirtatious, but she was drawn to him in a way she struggled to understand. “I like them, too,” Delphina replied, carefully returning the iris to its rightful place in the vase. “They represent the Greek goddess Iris. She helps guide souls from earth to heaven,” he continued, their eyes locked. “Do you attend Rice? You look very familiar to me.” “No, I attend the University of Houston.” “Ah, and what is your course of study?” he asked, a gentle smile breaking across his face. “English. I plan
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They were tears born from some inexplicable place within that left her doubting her ultimate sanity.
Delphina knew she was a fragile being, one who hoped to meet a man who would understand her fragility and ride out her tempestuousness, one who would embrace the thoughtfulness that accompanied it. But she had a lot of work ahead of her for that to ever become a possibility.
He found it odd that tragedy often instigated contact. When severe illness or death was at the door, his family called, but only when it was too late to do anything other than an offer a last-minute apology or a prayer for the repose of the soul. He understood the need for resolution, but this was not it. It was a form of closure, but a real attempt to bridge the chasm should be made without the threat of death.
her ear to his chest, the pulse of his heartbeat kissing her temple,
His words echoed the same message etched in waves, pebbles, and vines that she had relied on as a young child to bring her peace.
The anxiety she held since her childhood acted as water, ready to fill any vessel.
A tree knows that it needs to grow, extend its roots, and in doing so contributes to the world, all without the interference of free will.
The uneasiness that had plagued her most of her life now had a form: the powers and limits of free will.
Delphina swells nurse love and regret once nourished in the collective womb that feeds us all the record is found from the constellations to a drop of cerulean a microcosmic blueprint of the Universe east to west; the compass marks time and if the needle intersects our sojourns but once more a lattice of benediction, atonement Agape
