Cassandra’s Tears

Tears of joy, tears of pain, we are reflected in the salt-water pools we create. So let us build a fleet of paper boats and sail them on our ocean of indecision, laughing at the wind-whipped white-crested waves that would wash over us, drowning us in our own despair, yet somehow never vanquishing us in the end.

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Location: Lennoxville, Quebec, Canada

Thursday, May 31, 2007

Don’t Sit Under the Chestnut Tree...

     There was nothing for it, Marshall was going off to war and Deanna had made up her mind weeks ago that she wasn’t going to cry, that she would be strong, that she wouldn’t make a fuss. After all, if Marshall loved his country more than he loved her, she should at least be glad that he wasn’t running to the arms of another woman, although sometimes she wondered if this whole going-off-to-war thing weren’t in some way the same thing.

     Things hadn’t been great the past while. As a matter of fact, Deanna had been considering ending the relationship right up until Marshall got the letter telling him he was drafted. She realized that giving him back his ring and telling him she had changed her mind would not be a good idea just then. After all, he was going to be fighting for her freedom as well as everyone else’s and she owed it to him to give him something to hope for. Maybe her feelings would change with him gone. You know, they did say that distance made the heart grow fonder, although she had always subscribed more to the saying: Out of sight, out of mind.

     “Give me a kiss, Deanna,” said Marshall. The bus station was crowded and Deanna was feeling a bit shy about a public display of affection, but there were lots of young men in uniform and they were all hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, so she figured it was all right if she let Marshall kiss her this time. She stood up on her tiptoes, lips pursed, head tilted backwards, and he bent down and gently kissed her mouth.

     Suddenly Deanna felt lightheaded, maybe because of the pose she was in, her neck stretched to its full length like that, and she started to faint, everything going black. She didn’t feel the hard bus station floor as she landed on it, nor the bench as her head made contact with a loud crack. In fact, she didn’t regain consciousness at all until after Marshall and all the other soldiers were already gone, their bus having arrived and left while she lay inert, the general excitement ensuring that she didn’t receive medical care until it was already too late and she awoke with partial amnesia, the events of the past year totally erased from her memory.

1 Comments:

Blogger Rain said...

This is very interesting, this site/blog of yours. I wish I had the patience to be so careful and thoughtful in my writing... only my poems I guess... anyway, I have spent a few days reading now, very interesting... indeed...

11/27/2007 4:51 PM  

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