A View From The Garden (another viginette) (standard:romance, 987 words)
Author: Cyrano	Added: Mar 30 2012	Views/Reads: 2891/2190	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Friendship...what is it?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“I hate you, Mr. Frank...when something or someone occupies your mind so
much that you forget me; I hate you for allowing that.” 

Shame is a strong and powerful emotion; it has a feeling all of its own,
and one that sits uneasily on the page, quite different from 
embarrassment. I'm not good at shame. Embarrassment, well, yes, I 
perfected this in life. The hardest thing to do, I have found, is to 
feel helpful toward a friend going through a period of shame. All these 
years the memory of my love, and how I failed in its duty every 
Christmas since, not the rest of the year, but Christmas Eve, the ghost 
returns, I hear the beating, know the failure. Oh God! 

“I'm sorry, Lori...” I'm guilt's target and her aim is true, no one
person ever missed me, not once. 

“I love you...“ she whispers, “...just be here for me, okay?” 

Clichés, like spitting blood, mark a bruise on the page, rupturing our
character on the inside. 

Our perspective's change when the position we observe is from a
different viewpoint. 

“I will, Lori. It won't happen again.” 

She rolls my ears over, touches my face; love comes through her fingers,
cooling my skin, inflating a ruptured heart. 

“Put me down here, Mr. Frank.” 

The sky is opening less pale. I cannot think of being alone, feeling a
hand on my cheek, an urge for a child to be free. Maybe she came out of 
a dream, maybe through the gate, after weeping, lying on her side, 
because she'd been alone with whatever she needed. There are times when 
I care so little I want to maim the story's concept, really hurt it, 
but then the story is my pride and joy; still is. 

“Help me with the gate, Mr. Frank?” She looks over her shoulder at me. 

“I'll be here at home, working. Nothing comes to me but you. Come back
soon, okay?” 

It is a strange feeling, this writing: the unfamiliar, yet familiar; the
real, deep sadness and yet heart stopping relief. I would miss her so 
much. At the same time, for my purposes, she isn't leaving fast enough. 
I cannot wait another minute to start caring so much.


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