Let. Out. Valentine. Emotion.
Smile at the next person who walks by you. Hug, or virtually hug, a loved one. Kiss your mate. Now, practice these 3 things for the next 30-days, take 2 Conversational Hearts, and don’t call me in the morning. See where smiling, hugging, kissing, and conversations lead. Mindfulness practice to de-stress from the heady scents of roses, chocolates, and straining to get the words just right.
I thought I’d try something different in celebration of love risen from the ashes. Articles on the history of Valentine’s Day abound, so I won’t bore you with another. Instead, please enjoy a scene from my Work in Progress (WIP) entitled “I See You.”
Here they were again. He was at the same table. Table 59. It was their table. How had he done that? How had he remembered? They’d laughed together about the table number because of its proximity to another number with which they were intimately familiar. She’d nearly forgotten their shared secret over that barely remembered table number and a secret grin played at her lips. As she looked toward him, he smiled his lopsided Cheshire grin and she had the strangest sensation he could see her. She gasped again at the sight of him.
Nick could feel her presence on the air before she crossed the street. Or rather, he smelled it. Ginny carried a scent he’d never been able to place. He knew she didn’t like perfume, but her scent was intoxicating. She smelled of the earth after a summer rain, the wet pine needles in a forest, and something sweet. Honey, maybe? The smell of her wafted toward him and he instinctively turned in her direction. He’d been lounging in exaggerated confidence he didn’t feel. He was nervous. So, nervous he thought his beating heart would jump out of his skin. His hands were shaking. Feelings he’d never experienced and wasn’t properly prepared for consumed him. Get yourself together man! It’s been two years. Surely the heated anger has cooled. She did agree to meet after all.
Though he was still in shock she’d agreed to this meeting, he’d thought about her every day since their fight. Angry words that had echoed in his mind melted away when he felt her touch his arm. He still couldn’t believe the sudden turn that day had taken.
It had begun much like today, but then in tandem with a painting they’d viewed together, Ginny repainting the picture with descriptive words and he visualizing it in his mind’s eye as she described it, their day had taken on the pure description of the painting. It was Time Transfixed by the Belgian surrealist, Rene Magritte. Something in the way he responded to her description set her off; almost like a memory fully restored of a terrible tragedy that is best forgotten. The locomotive stabbed as a dagger in the fireplace with the nothingness reflected in the mirror above except for a clock and candlesticks.
Suddenly, Ginny had Seen the room as it had once been and in the mirror’s reflection saw Nick behind her in the distance, though he stood next to her. He’d been in the room before the nothingness and time stopped and consumed it. She’d had the sudden inexplicable feeling that he was the cause and that any moment she’d become one of those trapped in time. Though he sensed her feelings rather than heard them, her fear and anger set them on a path that nearly destroyed them.
The surreal painting had become a surreal day and at the end, they’d both exploded in extreme anger and said things that should never have been said. He fervently hoped those words had been forgotten or at least mellowed over the years. And then suddenly, two years was a long time ago, and it was time to let that go of that day.
© 2019 by Lisa Street Rogers