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After a while, Fred came to the quick and steady decision that she was tired of being found. She written on the walls. Just the idea of it made her cheeks flush in self-disgust. And she'd gone and left the door open, so anyone could see. And she still wasn't sure just what the outcome of that was. If opinions had changed. Or if, something even worse, eyes had. It certainly hadn't brought Cordy back.
She was tired of the finding herself, too. The looking had gotten so hard lately. The lifting and the panning. It was summer vacation all over again, back bent and peeling in the overbright sun, looking and waiting for the reward to shimmer and glimmer in her pan. Some sort of result to look, and point to. Something to remind her that it was all real, and whatever this was? The work that wasn't, but still sometimes felt like it all the while? The results, the shimmer that she needed. The reaction, the glimmer that she longed for.
And in the while after that, it occured to her that she was just plain tired. Maybe not the best time to go back outside, but there really wasn't anything for it. It would be her first time going out the front doors, knowing that Cordelia wasn't somewhere in all of the space on the other side, occupying the place that was all her own. It's be the first time she couldn't call, or text, while on the road, catching up whatever little bit of news they had time to share. It'd be the first time she couldn't look at coffee, whatever size shape or origin, and not be able to smile. Truthfully? The worse it was, the more of a smile it was rewarded with. It was the first time for each and every one of those things, but it wasn't the last.
She paused in the bedroom -- the one without the writing on the walls -- just long enough to grab a change of clothes and settle on the edge of the bed, cradling the phone in her ear.
Cradling....there were just some words, if Fred's opinion, that the world was better off having in it for a long, long time.
( Read more... )
She was tired of the finding herself, too. The looking had gotten so hard lately. The lifting and the panning. It was summer vacation all over again, back bent and peeling in the overbright sun, looking and waiting for the reward to shimmer and glimmer in her pan. Some sort of result to look, and point to. Something to remind her that it was all real, and whatever this was? The work that wasn't, but still sometimes felt like it all the while? The results, the shimmer that she needed. The reaction, the glimmer that she longed for.
And in the while after that, it occured to her that she was just plain tired. Maybe not the best time to go back outside, but there really wasn't anything for it. It would be her first time going out the front doors, knowing that Cordelia wasn't somewhere in all of the space on the other side, occupying the place that was all her own. It's be the first time she couldn't call, or text, while on the road, catching up whatever little bit of news they had time to share. It'd be the first time she couldn't look at coffee, whatever size shape or origin, and not be able to smile. Truthfully? The worse it was, the more of a smile it was rewarded with. It was the first time for each and every one of those things, but it wasn't the last.
She paused in the bedroom -- the one without the writing on the walls -- just long enough to grab a change of clothes and settle on the edge of the bed, cradling the phone in her ear.
Cradling....there were just some words, if Fred's opinion, that the world was better off having in it for a long, long time.
( Read more... )
