THE LADY

On Friday, March 22nd, I posted ‘Prologue to a Story’ in Blogit. It was a short piece, with words that kept coming into my head while I was relaxing in my Jacuzzi. At the time it was imperative that I get it ‘onto paper’ before retiring for the night. I admit that I wondered if it had anything to do with the date being my deceased sister’s birthday – she would have been 66 this year.

Since then, the lady of that story has been fading in and out of my thoughts; nothing concrete, more like a ghostly essence nudging my shoulder now and then, giving me glimpses of her complicated character, the life she lived, the lessons she learned...or didn’t. I realised that she is not at all like my sister. She’s a stranger, but one who seems intent on keeping me company more often lately.

I woke at 3 AM this morning and knew I had dreamed about her. My eyes were not yet open and I was remembering her reactions to certain events. Although blurred, I could visualize part of her face, the way she wore her hair, the lift of her shoulders when things didn’t go her way. She is really not like anyone I have ever met before, and I feel some unease in her determination to invade my life. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep, without success. I think I was muttering something about ‘damned ghost stories’ when I gave up and got out of bed.

Has it finally happened then? I’ve read more than once about authors (our own Pat_B. among them) whose characters develop a mind of their own as the writing progresses. I’ve never had the pleasure, and I’m sure it is a pleasure, of experiencing such a thing. I’ve been busy taking notes for Helen’s story, and have another scribbler with jottings for my brother’s autobiography; this new lady is most persistent and there is no doubt that she has decided she has priority over the others.

A couple of published articles do not an author make. I certainly have no claim to that vocation, but if this lady thinks I am the one to tell her story, I’ll do so.

So weird – now that I have agreed, it’s like she’s standing beside me. I can almost see her SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

PS. I hadn't posted the Prologue to a Story here in March - thought maybe you would like to know what I'm talking about. :)

PROLOGUE TO A STORY

She opened her eyes to the hum of the machines that surrounded her bed. It took her a second to determine where she was, what she was doing there. A slight movement caused her to look over, and she found him sitting by her side, the warmth of his gaze touching her.

“Hey.’ He said softly. She grimaced.

“I’m still alive.” Even if it was a whisper, he could discern the flat tone. He nodded.

“Yes,” he agreed. She looked away.

“What in hell for?” Frustration evident now.

After a moment’s hesitation, he answered her. “Maybe because too many people will miss you when you go.”

“Wrong answer!” she grunted. He smiled again. Nothing could change that feisty temperament.

“Well, then...,” He spoke slowly, the smile still in his voice. “Maybe they’re not ready for you wherever you’re going. They’re worried. They need more time to prepare.” As he said it, he believed it.

No reaction to his words, but he suspected she was pleased.

“Right answer” she thought as she closed her eyes and slipped back into the drug-induced sleep. He sat watching her, then reached to take her limp hand in his own.

“And if you come back, be the same,” he pleaded. “Don’t change.”

Through the layers of fog, she heard his request, and sent her answer back.
”God forbid.”