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theatrical_muse
Apr. 13th, 2008 10:56 pm"Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us without words?"
Fred has lots of words.
She always has a lot of words, truthfully. When she's talking and rambling and stumbling over people and ideas that both seem so much bigger than her, or when she's discovered something new with all the amazing brightness it can bring to a room. When she has found someone that she likes in that way. Not the kind where you have to sort out the whys and hows and how muches, because really. Honestly. Mostly? It's never that complicated, not the liking part. The loving?
Well now, that's the loving isn't it.
But still, the words are always there. Keeping her company and counting off the numbers of Pi in her head digit by digit, the sort of the story she doesn't mind being lonely in appreciating. Sometimes epics just get that much bigger as their audiences get smaller.
So still she's got them, the words.
Even when she'd forgotten the sound of her own voice, her own language. When there's no one to speak it to and even then, hear it spoken back. They're still there, in her head and in her dreams and decorating her walls. They are always there. They might be the only thing that are, no matter what.
...no matter what.
Until now.
Now, as she's stumbling and crying and cracking all over both of them. Because she sees them, and they see back. Because she's talking to them, and they are talking right back. And not even any voices or words but the voices and words. The ones that matter most. Her parents. These are the words of skinned knees and sweet dreams. Of family and faith, right where it's first found. Where is it born.
It's all there. So many, many words. Breaking over all three of them like a storm and Fred feels through her skirt where they are all soaking the other through. And she still can't say them. Not the words that have always been there. Just in her chest and her throat and it's not moving anymore.
Not anywhere that they can hear.
"Why didn't you come find me, and bring me home."
Fred has lots of words.
She always has a lot of words, truthfully. When she's talking and rambling and stumbling over people and ideas that both seem so much bigger than her, or when she's discovered something new with all the amazing brightness it can bring to a room. When she has found someone that she likes in that way. Not the kind where you have to sort out the whys and hows and how muches, because really. Honestly. Mostly? It's never that complicated, not the liking part. The loving?
Well now, that's the loving isn't it.
But still, the words are always there. Keeping her company and counting off the numbers of Pi in her head digit by digit, the sort of the story she doesn't mind being lonely in appreciating. Sometimes epics just get that much bigger as their audiences get smaller.
So still she's got them, the words.
Even when she'd forgotten the sound of her own voice, her own language. When there's no one to speak it to and even then, hear it spoken back. They're still there, in her head and in her dreams and decorating her walls. They are always there. They might be the only thing that are, no matter what.
...no matter what.
Until now.
Now, as she's stumbling and crying and cracking all over both of them. Because she sees them, and they see back. Because she's talking to them, and they are talking right back. And not even any voices or words but the voices and words. The ones that matter most. Her parents. These are the words of skinned knees and sweet dreams. Of family and faith, right where it's first found. Where is it born.
It's all there. So many, many words. Breaking over all three of them like a storm and Fred feels through her skirt where they are all soaking the other through. And she still can't say them. Not the words that have always been there. Just in her chest and her throat and it's not moving anymore.
Not anywhere that they can hear.
"Why didn't you come find me, and bring me home."
