Brigit's Flame August Week 1: Shadows of Self
I wasn't too sure about getting an entry in this time, as it's been such a difficult week. But, for whatever it's worth, it's behind the cut.
Esther loved cemeteries, and the one across the street from her sister’s house was old. It was small, probably originally just a family plot, but some of the graves went back to before the Civil War. Esther would always insist on taking a walk to see it when she visited Evelyn, stopping for awhile by four markers bearing the names of siblings, all of whom died within two weeks of each other. “Probably died from an illness,” she’d think to herself, imagining a careworn mother frantically tending her children’s sickbeds, and then losing them all, anyway. She often wondered how someone could bear that much pain.
Today, she had come up here alone, finding that the dirt path leading up the hill from the road seemed steeper than it used to be. She had told Evelyn that she needed some time by herself and was taking a walk. Spending this weekend with her sister was helping some, much better than trying to manage life at home, especially with Stacy and Corey underfoot with their callous understanding and selfish demands. Esther needed time to curl up on her bed and cry, or wail if she wanted to, which would only elicit derision in the two teenage children she still had at home.
Esther’s heart was broken.
Reaching the top of the hill, she saw the worn stones spread out in the grass before her. It was a very warm summer evening, not yet twilight, with the sun edging down toward the horizon. Esther picked her way among the stones, looking for a comfortable place to sit, a perfect place to grieve. She was still in shock that Danny had wanted to break things off. It had blindsided her, come without any warning she could have foreseen. There had been nothing in the easy way they were with each other, or in their exquisite lovemaking, that had provided any kind of harbinger. “I just don’t want to move forward with the relationship,” he had told her the day she had driven, heartsick and frantic, to his house to discuss what had happened between them. No, actually, she realized, to try to change his mind. Esther had thought that she could. She begged and pleaded, asked him to give it more thought - maybe he had made the decision rashly, or for the wrong reasons. But suddenly this man, who only a few days before had held her in his arms, loving her, was withdrawn and firm. “This talk isn’t going to change my mind,” Danny had said.
She had started wearing his socks.
He had given her the socks earlier in the year, during the very beginning of spring when the nights were still cold. She was staying over on a work night, and during the laughing and teasing while getting ready for bed, Esther had mentioned that her feel were cold. Danny took a pair of soft, white socks - the kind he loved- out of the dresser drawer and handed them to her.
“You can wear these if you want,” he said. “I don’t usually share my socks with anyone. The only other person who’s worn a pair is my daughter.”
Esther took them from him and smiled. She had kept them in the drawer of the nightstand on her side of the bed for when she needed them.
That’s where she took them from the day she had tried to talk him out of ending everything. At one point, as her crying and desperate attempts to convince him reached a lull, she had asked him if she could check her email. It was a way of getting him upstairs, to more familiar and memory-laden territory. Once there, their conversation strayed to normal banter, and she found herself asking if they could take a nap together. Surprisingly, Danny agreed. He even held her close for a few minutes before he drifted off to sleep. Esther couldn’t relax into sleep herself. She reached over with her hand and caressed his back, slid it down his arm beneath the short sleeve of his shirt. She kissed the back of his neck and stroked his hair. Surely, she thought, he’ll wake up and want to love me again. When he did awaken, two hours later, Danny sat up and looked at her sadly. He started to put on his shoes.
“Danny,” Esther said, her voice choking and tears beginning to seep from her eyes, “Make love to me.”
Danny looked at her, his face quizzical.
“What are you saying, Esther? We just broke up.”
She took the socks from the drawer before following him downstairs.
Now, sitting near the headstones of the four children, Esther took off her shoes and removed the socks from her feet. She had given everything else of his back two days before, and had received her things back from him. Even the toothbrush, as if she were going to actually use it, she thought. But she had kept the socks. They were warm and comforting, and the only tangible thing she had left, something to hold on to as she stumbled through the pain. She felt as insubstantial as the long shadows of the gravestones around her, and dropped the socks to the ground as she began to cry.
Esther loved cemeteries, and the one across the street from her sister’s house was old. It was small, probably originally just a family plot, but some of the graves went back to before the Civil War. Esther would always insist on taking a walk to see it when she visited Evelyn, stopping for awhile by four markers bearing the names of siblings, all of whom died within two weeks of each other. “Probably died from an illness,” she’d think to herself, imagining a careworn mother frantically tending her children’s sickbeds, and then losing them all, anyway. She often wondered how someone could bear that much pain.
Today, she had come up here alone, finding that the dirt path leading up the hill from the road seemed steeper than it used to be. She had told Evelyn that she needed some time by herself and was taking a walk. Spending this weekend with her sister was helping some, much better than trying to manage life at home, especially with Stacy and Corey underfoot with their callous understanding and selfish demands. Esther needed time to curl up on her bed and cry, or wail if she wanted to, which would only elicit derision in the two teenage children she still had at home.
Esther’s heart was broken.
Reaching the top of the hill, she saw the worn stones spread out in the grass before her. It was a very warm summer evening, not yet twilight, with the sun edging down toward the horizon. Esther picked her way among the stones, looking for a comfortable place to sit, a perfect place to grieve. She was still in shock that Danny had wanted to break things off. It had blindsided her, come without any warning she could have foreseen. There had been nothing in the easy way they were with each other, or in their exquisite lovemaking, that had provided any kind of harbinger. “I just don’t want to move forward with the relationship,” he had told her the day she had driven, heartsick and frantic, to his house to discuss what had happened between them. No, actually, she realized, to try to change his mind. Esther had thought that she could. She begged and pleaded, asked him to give it more thought - maybe he had made the decision rashly, or for the wrong reasons. But suddenly this man, who only a few days before had held her in his arms, loving her, was withdrawn and firm. “This talk isn’t going to change my mind,” Danny had said.
She had started wearing his socks.
He had given her the socks earlier in the year, during the very beginning of spring when the nights were still cold. She was staying over on a work night, and during the laughing and teasing while getting ready for bed, Esther had mentioned that her feel were cold. Danny took a pair of soft, white socks - the kind he loved- out of the dresser drawer and handed them to her.
“You can wear these if you want,” he said. “I don’t usually share my socks with anyone. The only other person who’s worn a pair is my daughter.”
Esther took them from him and smiled. She had kept them in the drawer of the nightstand on her side of the bed for when she needed them.
That’s where she took them from the day she had tried to talk him out of ending everything. At one point, as her crying and desperate attempts to convince him reached a lull, she had asked him if she could check her email. It was a way of getting him upstairs, to more familiar and memory-laden territory. Once there, their conversation strayed to normal banter, and she found herself asking if they could take a nap together. Surprisingly, Danny agreed. He even held her close for a few minutes before he drifted off to sleep. Esther couldn’t relax into sleep herself. She reached over with her hand and caressed his back, slid it down his arm beneath the short sleeve of his shirt. She kissed the back of his neck and stroked his hair. Surely, she thought, he’ll wake up and want to love me again. When he did awaken, two hours later, Danny sat up and looked at her sadly. He started to put on his shoes.
“Danny,” Esther said, her voice choking and tears beginning to seep from her eyes, “Make love to me.”
Danny looked at her, his face quizzical.
“What are you saying, Esther? We just broke up.”
She took the socks from the drawer before following him downstairs.
Now, sitting near the headstones of the four children, Esther took off her shoes and removed the socks from her feet. She had given everything else of his back two days before, and had received her things back from him. Even the toothbrush, as if she were going to actually use it, she thought. But she had kept the socks. They were warm and comforting, and the only tangible thing she had left, something to hold on to as she stumbled through the pain. She felt as insubstantial as the long shadows of the gravestones around her, and dropped the socks to the ground as she began to cry.