somewhere close to home
from "echo", by francesca lia block, my favorite author of all time:
It was wrong. I wanted you for myself. But it wasn't time yet.
She was shaking. He walked with her. She was trying not to cry. Maybe they had all been her angels, in a way. Delivering her to the next place. Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form- a little girl fighting death, a white horse who could have been a father once, a boy on the beach.
Echo stopped at the first market and bought some fruit and muffins. Then she was in front of her apartment building. Someone had hosed down the pavement and the heat was already making it steam. She smelled blueberries-had she bought blueberries?-and the Pacific Ocean at night. It smelled like her childhood. It was like before anyone left, anyone got sick, anyone died. She looked up at her window and thought she saw her grandmother Rose's wedding dress stir like a ghost.
"Why didn't you come to me before?" she asked him. "Why did it take you so long?"
He bent his head against his chest. He looked as if his back ached. His eyes were pleading. It wasn't the time yet. Now it's time.
She reached for him, touched his warm back.
Then she reached up inside his T-shirt and felt them. They tickled her hands. They were matted, damp with sweat. He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, and nodded.
Echo, on the streets of Manhattan where anything can happen if you believe in it enough. Just like anything can happen in the canyons and underground clubs of Los Angeles if you believe, For magic is belief. Her father had believed in her mother. Her mother believed in the white horse. It had taken Echo this long to believe in Echo and that this man could love her enough.
She tugged gently. The flossy feathers pulled away in her hands like cotton candy, the shabby wings disintergating, falling from his shoulders, leaving his back bony and naked and so warm in her hands.
In Echo's apartment, Rose's wedding dress was filled with light. It looked alive. Echo lay on the bed and the man took her in his arms.
Then Storm gave Echo back her tears, the ones she had given him so long ago, gave them back deep into her womb, where they would become a child who would never doubt. WHo would know that magic is belief and who would believe.
And here I am poised above with my arms spread flying and there are halos of light spinning out of us and yes this is me becoming holy human and my own self.
It was wrong. I wanted you for myself. But it wasn't time yet.
She was shaking. He walked with her. She was trying not to cry. Maybe they had all been her angels, in a way. Delivering her to the next place. Maybe any love we ever have is an angel in whatever form- a little girl fighting death, a white horse who could have been a father once, a boy on the beach.
Echo stopped at the first market and bought some fruit and muffins. Then she was in front of her apartment building. Someone had hosed down the pavement and the heat was already making it steam. She smelled blueberries-had she bought blueberries?-and the Pacific Ocean at night. It smelled like her childhood. It was like before anyone left, anyone got sick, anyone died. She looked up at her window and thought she saw her grandmother Rose's wedding dress stir like a ghost.
"Why didn't you come to me before?" she asked him. "Why did it take you so long?"
He bent his head against his chest. He looked as if his back ached. His eyes were pleading. It wasn't the time yet. Now it's time.
She reached for him, touched his warm back.
Then she reached up inside his T-shirt and felt them. They tickled her hands. They were matted, damp with sweat. He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, and nodded.
Echo, on the streets of Manhattan where anything can happen if you believe in it enough. Just like anything can happen in the canyons and underground clubs of Los Angeles if you believe, For magic is belief. Her father had believed in her mother. Her mother believed in the white horse. It had taken Echo this long to believe in Echo and that this man could love her enough.
She tugged gently. The flossy feathers pulled away in her hands like cotton candy, the shabby wings disintergating, falling from his shoulders, leaving his back bony and naked and so warm in her hands.
In Echo's apartment, Rose's wedding dress was filled with light. It looked alive. Echo lay on the bed and the man took her in his arms.
Then Storm gave Echo back her tears, the ones she had given him so long ago, gave them back deep into her womb, where they would become a child who would never doubt. WHo would know that magic is belief and who would believe.
And here I am poised above with my arms spread flying and there are halos of light spinning out of us and yes this is me becoming holy human and my own self.