Wait For Me

My prompt at Search Engine Stories this week is –  wait for me

 

This is a  little bit of a bleak story but my muse is in the doldrums.

Hope it’s not too stark…..

 

 

 

 

The chair in the garden remains unmoving in the bad weather, I think it has taken root, certain of your return. The grass grows darker around its legs, softer, as if preparing a cushion for your feet. A single rose has broken from the bush against the stone wall, the same colour as the ruby ring you gave me when we first met, it hangs like a ripe fruit, brushing the back of the chair.

 

The words you left me with, so innocuous when heard individually, have a combined power that can bring me to my knees. To utter them is now a forbidden thing.

 

My senses are different now. Without you they are as fragile as rice paper. Sometimes it hurts to open my eyes.  I imagine traces of you in corners, in shadows. Sometimes the smell of you lingers on sheets washed over a hundred times since you’ve been gone. Sometimes I hear nothing but your absence.

 

At night the garden is colourless. The chair is thrown into relief against the moonlight, blanched as a face in pain. When I can’t sleep I hover by the window, looking out again and again, checking to see if the chair remains empty. A trick of the light, a cloud against the moon, casting indistinguishable figures on the ground, gives me hope that maybe one day I will look out into the garden and see you for real.

 

In the morning the sky blazes into view. I imagine footsteps, a knock at the door, that the endlessness will shift, that something will come next. But the last words you uttered enfold me like a curse.

 

Wait for me.

I will return.

My faith in the power of the words is waning. My heart.

It has been more than twenty years.

When will you come?

 

 

 

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24 thoughts on “Wait For Me

  1. It’s interesting how you gave the chair such a focal point and it’s own power, in this story Selma. Yes, it is sad but well written and evocative.

    Hope things are on the upswing again soon. We’re all with you, dear!

    Hugs, G

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  2. You know sometimes I get a little heart-jump with a certian phrasing that is perfect.

    ‘Sometimes I hear nothing but your absence.’

    This is one of them. So absolutely true.
    Sad is not bad, Selma. I find it’s sometimes a good place to write from. Nice.

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  3. This was very visual, and the emotions are so real. You’ve done an absolutely marvelous job with this, Selma. I’m too behind in everything to get to the prompt this week, but I’ll write something while I’m at the beach. Better late than never…right?

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  4. GERALDINE – I just couldn’t get the chair out of my head, so it did assume a life of its own. Once again, thank you for your encouragement.

    PAISLEY – I was just about to email you to see how you’re doing. Is your back better? I know how debilitating a bad back can be. Great to hear from you – and you’re right, imagine a love that monumental. Wow!

    LAURI – you are very kind to me. I appreciate your feedback on a story I feel fell short a bit. Cheers.

    KAREN – it’s never late when it comes from you, my dear. You sound so well-traveled and urbane when you say you will write something at the beach. I love it!

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  5. JASON – oh, definitely. Plunges you into a perpetual state of waiting, unable to stop, unable to move forward. I think I’d rather know up front that I was being left!

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  6. so sad, over twenty years is a long time, but if the love is strong, it will come back to you, that is he will come back, I like the usage of the empty chair as a reference to someone being gone, remains me of that O Henry story, the last leave, where this woman held her hope on a single leaf

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  7. Great story, Selma, there’s a lot going on in it -trope wise. It can bear numerous readings. Thanks, David.

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  8. NASRA – I would love to hear your story. Please let me know if you finish it. Thanks so much for stopping by.

    MELEAH – You know, you’re right. I guess I was trying to convey that if you really love someone, then you’ll wait for them. No matter how long it takes.

    LINDA – it’s funny when you’ve written something like this, afterwards you do think – ‘I wonder what happened to the guy?’ The characters stay in your head for a bit. i really appreciate your feedback.

    LISSA – oh, now that story is so romantic. I am blown away by the image of the single leaf. WOW!

    DAVID – how kind you are. Thanks heaps (that’s a good Aussie one, isn’t it? I used to say it all the time at school.)

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  9. Hi Selma, here’s another toilet based witticism/criticism for you,

    “I could eat alphabet soup and shit better lyrics” -Johnny Mercer.

    Cheers, David.

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  10. This hits on a personal note as I have been secretly waiting for someone for over twenty years now. And hoping that I am being waited on, as well. The quietness is deafening. The gloom is real. It’s a curse, I think.

    I feel powerless, sometimes. Or could it be that I’m simply afraid to use the power I may, in fact, have? I don’t know. Don’t want to know.

    Very powerful piece, Selma.

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  11. I don’t know… Sometimes the anticipation of love’s return is better than imagining nothing on the horizon. Sometimes the anticipation of love’s return is what gets me through the day. Lovely post, Selma.

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  12. DAVID – no probs. I have posted comments in the wrong spot many times myself. What a great quote and you know, in Johnny Mercer’s case it was probably true. The guy was a genius!

    CHRIS – oh, my dear, I feel so sad for you after reading your comment. I think you should use the power you have to end the anguish of the waiting. Hugs to you, my friend.

    GYPSY – I know. Three little words with such power. Such a theme in literature and music throughout the ages. They blow me away, really.

    AUTUMN – aww, thank you Autumn. You are so kind!

    EPIPHANY – I know what you mean. Waiting may be sad at times but it is also hopeful. And the power of that can’t be denied. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all.

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