Finals happened. Life happened. I'm still here. Bewildered and confused? (To borrow from Shannon Hale) Like an unsteady Jenga tower in relation to sanity? Yeah. But I am here, darn it!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Posted by Edge at 7:03 PM
Thursday, November 25, 2010
(Mostly in the past six months)
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The ring consisted of a simple ebony circle set in the dirt, and it contained two combatants. The first was a man, about twenty-five years old and six feet tall, lanky enough to be languid. He rolled one wrist in a circle, then the other, and repeated the motion with his shoulders. He proceeded to crack each knuckle systematically, not the half-conscious habit of someone filled with nerves. Most lazy bystanders would peg him as a playboy European, or even American, just talented enough a fighter to try his luck in the ring. The only indications otherwise were the way he moved, and the outlines of weapons sheathed on his back, hidden by his black duster. A few raindrops fell, striking and rolling from the jacket, which had the discreet shimmer of expensive fabric.
Monday, November 8, 2010
She emptied the cup of flour into the bowl, watching the residual cloud rise like vapor. He sat at the table, snickering at some meme-based website, probably. It shouldn't bother her he assumed control of her computer, she told herself as she shook powdered cinnamon into the bowl. Picking up a fork, she began pressing the flour and cinnamon into the butter-egg-sugar confection at the bottom of the bowl, mixing it in slow, circular motions. It did, though, a silly little thought nagging the corner of her mind.
Posted by Edge at 10:52 PM
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
It's one of those days where I feel I should put a modicum of effort into my appearance (why exactly, I don't know, it's not like today will probably be any different than the average three-class Tuesday), but will probably end up wearing these ridiculously comfortable Under Armour men's soccer shorts and a Nike T-shirt instead. (To my credit, the shirt is new, yellow-orange, and has the word 'Nike' in pink script. Thass right, y'all, PINK. By technicality, I will be wearing pink. Contain your shock to a few respectful gasps.) I've recently fallen in love with fitted Nike T-shirts, because they are made for those of athletic persuasion, and actually make me look like I have a waist without being Spandex-like and clinging to every inch of my body (in which case, I would also be wearing pink, on my face, from embarrassment).
Posted by Edge at 8:24 AM
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Rafe leaned over his chocolate milkshake, voice low. "It's all a conspiracy, you know."
"I have a name."
"Meh. I like Sugar better than Emily." Rafe tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Yup. Sugar."
"Geeze, cut it out." I couldn't say it with much irritation. Mostly because I liked the nickname the same way I liked peppermint mochas - far too much. I mean, Rafe was mind-meltingly droolingly heart-beating-like-a-helicopter gorgeous. Lanky limbs, caffe latte skin, soulful brown eyes, swishy black hair, a face of subtle angles, and a smile that made girls swoon, until they realized it was...well, Rafe. He thought the Titanic was an early German U-boat attack, for heaven's sake. Did I like him? As a friend. Did I want to like him as something more? Yes, if he weren't batcrap crazy.
"Erk." Shara winced at her sound of dismay, and started sweeping a collection of pink Post-it notes, sharpies, and notebooks into her purse. I don't know how it all fit. Rafe theorized she mugged Mary Poppins.
"Yeah," I said, shoving my laptop into my backpack. "You should too. For once."
He lifted his shoulders enigmatically. "I do alright without."
Truth was, he had a better grade than I did, and I worked my butt off in that class. I sighed. Cute, ridiculously smart, and completely insane. I always fell for the impossible cases. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it off the table. "Huh. Thought Mom and Dad were still on the plane to Beijing." I aimed a finger at Rafe, who raised his eyebrows with a smirk. "Don't even start." I flipped the phone open. "Hello?"
"Emily, where are you right now?"
I frowned. At first, I thought my mother sounded controlled and angry, voice tight like a rubber band. "Heading over to Psych. What's up? I thought you were still-"
"You need to get out of town, now."
Rafe leaned in, mirth dropping from his face. I tried to glare at him, but that failed when I recognized the exact emotion in my mother's voice.
It was fear.
"Okay," I said. I slung my backpack over my shoulders. "What's going on?"
She released a breath. "There's a lot I can't go into right now, but you're in danger, and you need to run."
Across the table, Shara tilted her head. I shrugged, shaking my head. "That's pretty vague."
Rafe swore under his breath, standing, milkshake tipping sideways on the table. "Fantastic."
"Is that Rafe?" said my mother.
"Yeah," I said. "Look, what the heck's-"
"Just tell-"the line went dead.
I stood immobile, phone in my head. "Mom?"
The bell on the front door jingled, and two men entered. They looked like a couple young professionals in business casual attire, stopping in for coffee after work, except for the way they moved. The dark-haired one got in line to order, and the blond walked our way, casually. Something about it seemed rehearsed, like they'd done this a million times.
Rafe took my hand in his, and started walking toward the side door to the patio. "Come on."
I followed, bewildered. "What's-"
"You too, Shara. Leave the notebook, it doesn't matter right now." He dropped my hand and settled an arm over my shoulders as Shara trotted to catch up. "Don't look back, just keep walking. We just have to get to the car."
My breath lodged in my throat. I looked at Rafe as he pushed the door open with one hand. He looked no different for a moment, smiling like a loon, but his gaze was both a million miles away and assessing every detail of our surroundings. "You weren't kidding about-"
"No," he said. "Sometimes the windmills really do come alive, Sugar."
Sorry. No real ending here, and this is not my best writing by any stretch, just a bit of a creative exercise.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
and sway in her hips, long california legs and swoop of blond hair, coy pout and golden fingernails dancing on the table, the girl who walks through the room, eyes serene and straight-ahead as the boys stop to stare. the corners of those full lips turn up as she reaches the door because oh yes i got the power, but it's only in the quiet moments when she gazes out the window you catch the sadness in her eyes.
Posted by Edge at 11:30 AM
Thursday, October 14, 2010
I had two midterms this week, and a 8-10 page paper (it clocked in at 8.5 total). I did not go to bed before 1 am any day this week. I am exhausted. But this week is done! :D So, I will hopefully write something soon that is not drivel from the dregs of my brain. Here is some freewriting. I hope it is not atrocious. Please...don't hate too much :P
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
it does funny things to us, and i don't mean comical-larry-curly-and-moe. that bittersweet curl in your stomach and that dime-sized hollow spot in your chest that pulses like a negative heart. and the knife and the poison in the tomb with silent stone angels only witnesses. the need to give, not receive it to feel whole again. the hitch in your breath when you see them under the soft light of the lamp absorbed in a book with a half-smile, and you feel your own lips curve because their happiness is yours and they don't know it.
Posted by Edge at 8:27 PM
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
As some of you may know, I tried out for the men's club Ultimate Frisbee team at my university. They decided to keep it an all-male team, so I decided to start a women's team. It's been mostly paperwork so far, and difficult to recruit, since we can't use official channels to spread the word since we are not yet an approved organization. So, I turned in the paperwork today, and who did I run into (almost literally) on the stairs but the captain of the guys' team? He sent me a shortlist of names of other women interested in playing. Three of four of them are in, and one of them sent out an email to her sorority.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
but the thing that surprises me is i don't really want you to. it's a day of 'i bet you look good on the dancefloor' on repeat because it's the ambivalence and terror and sass and flicker of excitement eating through your veins. the god-i-miss-you feeling that crushes you like a freak wave but leaves you untouched and shaken five minutes later. the sheer recklessness of to-hell-with-it that usually wears off like perfume, but what does it mean when it clings to you for days, no longer on your skin but melding into it. and secretly you like it, the way it holds your hand and lets you walk the tightrope edge, with that dangerous smile saying you'll have to find out if your parachute works all on your own, princess. and then in the moment, the only one that matters, you become icarus or peter pan, or you become atlas always wondering what if.
Posted by Edge at 3:10 PM
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My increasingly incoherent and snarky thoughts:
Many, is no unfitting husband among the deathless gods for your child, being your own brother..."
Me: That seems like a pretty good reason to lament right there.
- Oooooh, another prophecy! Let me guess - it applies directly to the main character!
- And then Zeus fathered Persephone by...I did not need to know that, Hesiod, thankyouverymuch.
- Mental bleach, anyone?
- Apollo is a jerk.
- "and tell Metaneira, our deep-bosomed mother, all this matter fully..." Um...anyone else finding the particular adjective used disturbing?
- yeahhhh, the gorgeous godlike woman out in the fields just happens to know exactly who you are. Anchises, you have a brain, please use it.
- "take me now, stainless and unproved in love..." Yeah, Aphrodite. That's a hysterical line from you.
- I don't even want to know what my subconscious is going to do with all this mythology once I finally sleep.
- Goodnight world!
Posted by Edge at 9:36 PM
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
oh god. kelly?
Monday, September 13, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
I don't even know where to start with real life, because it has turned into a series of bizarre events. I won't even say 'unfortunate', although there have been several of those, including a rather nastily sprained ankle (the brace totally looks like a corset. I have started referring to the process of getting into it as 'lacing up my ankle's corset.). Blogging about this would simply be a rehash of the oddness, so I shan't. I have no idea what I'll be saying this fall, so I think mainly I shall try to do a bit of freewriting on here. Maybe just a paragraph or two. They might not even make sense, but I finally wrote a (longish) short a couple days ago, and being creative just feels so good. So bear with me, and hopefully I'll free-write some interesting things over the next few weeks.
Monday, August 30, 2010
It's been a day of Murphy's Law kicking my butt. And it's only 11. Today so far: I go to switch class sections (for chapel, which is a required class for transfers) because I know someone in the next section, and it'd be more fun than going in and sitting by myself amidst a ton of freshmen. I am informed I can't switch, due to that class being tied to 'transfer orientation' class (which is the biggest waste of time, in which some faculty guy talks to us about tutoring and getting help with our grades. It's totally catered to freshmen, which none of us are, and frankly, downright insulting. I mean, I totally have my bad areas, but grades are my specialty and strength. I've been in college for two years, please, quit treating me like a clueless freshman. I say clueless freshman because I know some freshmen who are incredibly clued in, and do not wish to generalize that much :P).
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
A quote from my World Lit professor, on day one: "So just grab that if it's something that turns you on."
I looked down at the floor with eyes closed for a long time. He was talking about paper topics presented in class. Also mentioned was "groping" toward a clear thesis in one's papers. It's going to be an interesting semester.
Posted by Edge at 12:35 PM
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
I've had a fantastic four weeks here. Amazing classes, great group of people, beautiful country and architecture. And not nearly enough sleep. I totally brought that one on myself. But wow. I am ready to be home for a few days and sleeeeeeeeeep. And write a decent blog entry. And post some photos. I have so many, and so few remaining brain cells.
I'm off to finish a paper now. Wish me luck. These are the days I question my choice of major...
Posted by Edge at 11:58 AM
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Two of my friends have gotten engaged in the last few days. I found out about both of them yesterday (well, technically, three of my friends got engaged, but two of them were engaged to each other...). It's exciting. I am thrilled for them. Still, two in one day? That is too much for my little brain. They're all juniors in college, and that seems so, so young. But then again, it's entirely probable this will still be happening when I'm graduated, and they will still seem so young. Wow.
Posted by Edge at 2:37 AM
Monday, July 26, 2010
I know there's an eternal debate about the tastefulness of buying a book from another country when it's not yet released in your own (the States, in my case). Well, I was in a bookstore yesterday, and what did I see on the walls that nearly caused me to burst into song? The long-awaited seventh Artemis Fowl book. On sale. For six pounds (roughly nine dollars.) It doesn't come out in the States until August 3. My theory: I didn't order it from Amazon UK. I bought it in-country, and won't have it in the States until it's come out there. In other words, SO MUCH WIN :) (And the UK cover is pretty awesome - and the words are in glorious UK English, with all those extra 'u's in words :D)
That is all. :) I am just happy.
Posted by Edge at 2:03 PM
Thursday, July 22, 2010
listening to the mixtape, wry voices over the airwaves and trying to write studiously, thoughtfully, but the words spill out in a rush of color, uncontained, unbounded. feet bare, fingers ringed as i type, my nails, enameled an impossible color between red and pink, bubbles sparkling in my water, back-breaking anthology closed on the desk, buses rumbling outside the window in complaint of the tourists, smoke drifting through the window on the breeze and tickling my bare shoulders. thinking of the girl with the delicious words that sip and slip cherry red lips into each other and the one with the music and pictures of far away icy places and near, warm forests and the one with the james-bond mystery name and her stories and heart. all these words, beautiful bittersweet words for a season of contradiction, the almost-summer romance and sweet heartbreak, the lightness on the breeze and terrible cathedral solemnity and power and awe and laughter and all
this mixture of life.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
After chatting with my parents, who chatted with my dentist, we concluded (on his advice) that wisdom tooth socket probably just had something stuck in it, and was irritated, not infected. My problem was finding a syringe with which to wash the socket. Over the course of the entire day, I became well acquainted know a decent section of London and four pharmacies. No syringe. I went in to the dental centre at Imperial College, where we were staying, and asked if there was any chance I could get in that day, as my mouth was really beginning to swell and hurt.
The dentist concluded it was an infection, and not irritation, because there was nothing to clean out - I was completely healed over. So she gave me antibiotics. And didn't charge me for the prescription. The antibiotics cost about 15 pounds, or 22 dollars. I don't know where I stand on socialized medicine at the moment, but that was an excellent display.
So the meds are working, and also making me incredibly lethargic. I only have four more days left! Yay! Then perhaps I will actually be entirely awake! But I'm not complaining. God was very gracious.
Posted by Edge at 12:16 PM
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I would like to be on here raving about such-and-such cathedral or seeing the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum, but I am actually here with a prayer request. Remember those wisdom teeth I got out over a month ago? Well, one of the sockets, apparently aggrieved at losing its tooth, has decided to act up. I'm unsure whether it's just irritation, or an infection, but it's dreadfully poor timing. So...please pray I get in touch with mis padres and they get in touch with my dentist today, and he gets in touch with the local London Boots Pharmacy (UK equivalent of Walgreens or CVS), and I get some antibiotics today or tomorrow.
Oh, and please pray for my temper...I would like to say I am handling this with great dignity, but really, I am royally hacked off. Thanks, y'all.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Just a shortie here. I'm alive, the plane to Dublin was delayed three hours, so I got to know some of my fellow students playing Mafia and card games on a floor in the Chicago airport. It was fairly epic. In three days, I have eaten in two pubs, wandered in the world's absolute coolest and most amazing library EVER (yes, adjective build-up required), tiptoed through Christ Church cathedral, gone for a run in Dublin, had fantastic conversations about movie scores and Harry Potter and Twilight (everyone loves HP and hates Twilight!), navigated the streets, and felt slightly less evil for stereotyping sorority girls.
When I get some decent (and free) internet, and some sleep, I hope to post pictures.
How are you all doing?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tomorrow I'm off! Well, technically, I won't get to the UK until Thursday, what with the dratted long flights. I do meet up with my group at the airport tomorrow, though, something about which I'm excited and a bit nervous, since I don't know a single person I'll be traveling with. They'll be great company, I'm sure, though - this isn't one of those trips you'd want to take or classes you'd want to take if you weren't rather interested in the subject matter. I think my plan is this: see how long I can bluff until everyone realizes no one knows who I am. I am the infiltrator. Ha! Well, that mindset helps me quit being pointlessly nervous.
I shall try to post photos - will depend on time free and my motivation. There's going to be so much fantastic architecture though! I think I'll be posting mostly photos the next few weeks. Or, perhaps, if I"m lucky, there will be some excellent true-life stories upcoming.
Posted by Edge at 5:58 PM
Monday, June 28, 2010
It is atrociously late (my Muse is far more nocturnal than I), so I apologize for any stupid typos or grammatical mistakes, and the general weirdness of the idea. It wouldn't let me alone til I'd finished it.
She sat on the park bench, the edges of her sneakers touching the grass. Each blade stooped, washed of its vibrancy by the rolling clouds, nursing imminent rain. The wind bit through her coat. She drew it close around her, the silk inside brushing her neck. She should have worn something thicker than an old mouse-colored trench. November chased out the remnants of Indian summer weeks ago. November, the greyest month, the death of warmth without the vitality of holidays, which laughed at the with cider and fruitcake. November, somber, solemn, too cold to be somnolent, cheerless enough to be sordid.
A young couple walked past, too absorbed in each other’s eyes to notice her. She sat like a statue, like the cathedral’s angels, forever weeping into their crumbling hands. The girl loosened her white wool scarf and pressed into the boy’s side. He smiled and stretched an arm over her shoulder, drawing her in. They fit like puzzle pieces.
She didn’t have to close her eyes anymore; she’d learned how to do it without. All it took was a sketch of the event in her mind, the pencil outlines, and her subconscious would fill in with color and shadow. The boy, the girl, their posture and warmth, a dash of a ponytail for her, a fine fuzz of a close-cut for him, parkas, scarves, gloves. Before five seconds past, the deed was done. The boy and girl halted, simultaneously, looking at each other with confusion . She could see the instant they shrugged that they didn’t know, decided to write it off as mutual déjà vu of some sort. It was the opposite, really, but they’d never realize it.
She scarcely heard the footfalls on the pale grass before the voice accompanying them. “Cute couple, really.” He said it jovially, with a European flair, reh-a-lly, a twist of English? Scottish? “Too bad they’re missing those few seconds you took just then. Very neatly done, too, scarcely a, oh, what-do-you-callit, a hiccup of time there.”
Her spine chilled from the bottom up, and she turned on the bench, driving her knees into the iron armrest. “I’m sorry?”
He grinned down at her, benevolently. He was wearing a tan overcoat, of quality fabric but well-scuffed, navy trousers, and a pair of off-white trainers. His hair was the color of dark chocolate, and spiked a thousand directions, as if he’d remembered to gel it but not comb it up straight. “Y’mind if I sit? Fantastic, thanks.” He strode around and sat on the other side of the bench, tails of his shamrock green scarf flipping up with the impact.
She twisted back around a moment later, knees pointed straight toward the lake again. She didn’t like talking, and even if she did, what could she possibly say?
“Sorry, that was a bit of an abrupt introduction there, but I’m a shameless ham.” He rubbed his chin, pensively. “Have been since birth, now that I think about it.” He turned toward her, his breath forming a cloud of vapor, floating towards its massive cousins in the sky. “Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t bother trying to find someone who’s been stealing time, but there were a few things that interested me. First, you’re bloody good at it, I haven’t found a soul who was aware they were missing a single tick of the watch. Second, you’re very young to be taking so much time, and third – well, you’re just so bloody good at it.”
She stared at the lake. Edges of ice circled the rim, growing into a fragile crust. “I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.”
He leaned into the bench, crossing one leg, dropping an arm over the back of the frame. “Oh, well, I’m not exactly like you, but close enough. Y’see, when anyone takes times, there are these…imprints, for lack of a better word, like wax paper rubbings of the taken moments. For example, right there-” he pointed towards the path ringing the lake, “there are these ghosts of that boy and girl all cozied up. I can see right through them, they aren’t real by any means. A dozen people will walk right through them before the day’s over without so much as getting a chill or smelling a thing.
“That’s how I find them, you see, if I don’t see them first. They all have a sort of smell. Moments like that one you just snitched are a lot like a cinnamon sticky, all warm and saccharine and heartwarming. If it’s a family around a dinner table, it usually smells like roast turkey. Or meatloaf, on occasion. Not sure why meatloaf, I really can’t stand the stuff. Public display of affection, or PDA as I suppose it’s called nowadays, now that depends, holding hands is like cotton candy, cuddling like pastries, first kisses –” he broke off, gaze in the past. “Different for every person.”
The roar started in her head, the migraine coming in like the tide. She pressed the bridge of her nose in hopes of lifting the pressure, even for an instant. “What was yours like?”
“Don’t know,” he said. “Someone took that moment from me.” He looked sideways at her. “After all that rambling, and you only have a single question. You really are a quiet one, aren’t you? I suppose it could be worse, there could be two of us wittering about. What I’m mostly curious about is why. You’re not nearly old enough that you need these moments to keep you young. My best guess, and I’m a fantastic guesser, is that you’re one of those who can relive the moments, like memories, and they never fade. It’s addictive, feeling the thrill of jumping out a plane or getting a promotion or proposed to, without it ever affecting your real life.”
She shook her head, slowly. “I can relive them, but that isn’t why.” Though she had her moments, her dark days when she needed someone holding her. Since she had no one, she borrowed another’s for a heartbeat, a blink in time. Her nose ached, and she felt moisture rolling from it. She touched her hand to her face and withdrew it, a single splash of blood filling the lines of her fingertip.
“Oh, that looks nasty.” He withdrew a spotless handkerchief from his coat and handed it to her. “Go ahead, I’ve got loads of these. Allergies?”
She pressed it to her nose. “Reaction to the chemotherapy.”
He stilled, face settling into blankness.
“I’m dying,” she said. The breeze blew in her ear and fingered her collar before skating on, leaving her chilled. “That’s why I’ve taken so much. I hate being a thief, but it’s kept me alive six months past the first prognosis. It counteracts the cancer in some way, but it’s adapting. It’s taken so much time to give me even another day. I took a whole night’s sleep from my dog just to give me the hour to come out here.”
He didn’t speak for a long time. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t have family. Friends…they stopped coming by not long after I should have been dead. This is all I have. Even at that, I don’t have much longer. I’ll start declining within a few weeks. If I stop taking these moments entirely, I’ll be gone in a few days.” She shed her last tear over it months ago. But now as she sat here, even in the cruelest month, with iron skies and cold water and fading earth, she was still alive, and the world held the smallest beauties to take her breath.
“But?” he said gently.
“I’m not ready.” She drew her knees up against her. “I’m not ready,” she whispered. She hadn’t admitted it until now. The ache in her chest rose, and tears spilled over her eyes, hot on her frozen skin.
“Ah, come here, love.” He shifted closer and let her fall into his shoulder.
She was finest glass, poised on the edge of the mantle, trying not to fall and shatter. His coat smelled like soap. Clean, lemony soap, citronella with no bitter aftertaste. A wholesome smell that worked into her and halted the tears. She stayed there for a moment, cheek pressed into his chest. It was so warm. With a shiver, she felt the ache in her head dissolve. Her nose stopped bleeding, and she felt a lazy glimmer of energy in her chest, as if life was seeping through him into her. She wanted the moment to last.
She drew a sharp breath, and the air stung her throat. Why the thought hadn’t occurred years before puzzled her. Perhaps she’d merely had no moments rich enough or worth remembering in color. Carefully, she sketched the moment, this moment, drew it with color pencils she didn’t know she had. The clouds, the bench, the grass, a lanky figure with a long coat and fabulous hair, supporting a wisp of a person with a streak of a black braid, all bones and pale skin and mouse-colored coat. What she wanted to draw was the warmth, the safety, but all she could do was pencil in her closed eyes and relaxed mouth.
“That’s a girl,” he said. “Although, is my hair really that out of control again?”
She jerked back against her edge of the bench, eyes wide.
“Oh, didn’t I mention that? Must have forgot, I can get a general sense of moments being drawn up. You did have the colored pencils after all. Not many people do.” He gave that silly grin again. “Zounds, I can’t wait ‘til you get to the watercolors.”
“It took me twenty-five years to get to the colored pencils. I don’t have the time left for paint.” She felt that cold ache in her chest again.
“Now, see, I don’t think that’s exactly the case.” He held up a hand, chin tilted imperiously. “Ah, don’t interrupt, let me finish. Pushy Americans, the lot of you. Where was I? Oh, right, time. Your own memories and moments are the strongest to you. The trouble is, they’re deucedly tricky to capture. That one you just took, give reliving it a go.”
She closed her eyes, and felt time tick back, and she was leaning against him again with the subtle soap in her nostrils and warmth in her heart. The memory finished, and she opened her eyes. The little flicker of life in her chest stretched a half-inch and maintained itself.
“That gave you another week,” he said. “Relive it two or three more times, you might get a couple days more. That’s the thing about memories, especially your own. They fade.”
A week. Seven full days of life. She knew it wouldn’t last forever. If she so much as caught a cold from this insane jaunt outside, those seven days would evaporate to one as the stolen time fought off the added sickness. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He looked at her for a long moment. “You have so much left to live. Ah, to hell with it, you’re going to live.”
She blinked. “For how long?”
He stood, throwing his arms out. “Years and years. I don’t know why, but there’s so much more you need to be alive for, so I can’t just very well let you catch cold and die in a hospital a few weeks from now.”
“But what can you do about it?” She did not let herself hope.
He began pacing. “You know that bit in Scripture about God giving man dominion over the earth after He talked the whole darn thing into existence? Well, that dominion bit included a few things we lost when Eve trusted a snake of all things. Like dominion over words. Language, to be precise. You always hear about how there’s so much power in a name and how important names used to be, not just some label you got courtesy of your parents.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“Well, there are a few of us out there who have a bit more power over words than the rest. Shakespeare for one. Man was a genius. Knew just what to say and when, and we all know he did pretty well for himself. Me, I’m no literary genius, I just use words with a bit more zip than the average person.”
“What does that mean?”
He stopped pacing and looked up. “Let’s just say time isn’t the only thing that heals.”
She felt a flush of anger in her cheeks. “Look, I hate to be rude, but would you quit blathering-”
“What’s your name?” he said. “Your full name.”
“Rose Elizabeth Scott,” she said, through clenched teeth.
“Rose,” he said, as if testing the feel of it in his mouth, tasting it. “Perfect. Rose Elizabeth Scott, you aren’t getting out of here for a long, long time, so you might consider being a bit nicer.”
Her head roared, but it was not a headache. It was joy. White exploded in her vision, and when she could see again, she felt vigor rush through her veins. She drew a careful breath. “What…was that?”
He was grinning like a loon, hands tucked in his pockets. “Much better, isn’t it? Names have so much more power than you’d think. Especially when said with intention.”
She could feel the cancer cells shrinking, shriveling, curling into nothing. “Am I-”
“In full remission. It might come back in a few years, but ‘til then, you’ve got plenty to do.”
“Like what?” she said.
“Well, for starters, there are a few time-thieves out there who are taking crucial
moments, like a politician whispering secrets, or a mother telling the babysitter where she set the house key. I could use some help flushing them out. You’ve got all the makings of finding imprints, I’d just have to teach you how. It’d beat a secretarial position. Be more dangerous, sure, and the company’d be a little odd and charming, but indubitably handsome with a porcupine haircut, and I do eat the strangest mix of food, I love curry, and pizza, and fish and chips, and chocolate, and biscuits, and-”
“Yes,” she said. It was insane, walking away from everything she knew, but she had life restored and positively rolling through her. Even if it were only for a few years – yes.
He clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! Only thing you’d have to do is keep an eye on that cancer, and even if it came back, you’d have the chance to catch it early, and maybe by then I’d have something cooked up to get rid of it for decades.”
She stood, and they started walking along the path. “I don’t even know your name.”
“William,” he said. “William Keats. A distinguished literary name, if I say so myself.”
“Bright star, were I stedfast as thou,” breathed Rose.
“No, no, that was that my great-great-great-great-great-however-many-great-grandfather’s poetry. I don’t write much, I just read it.”
She turned to him, as a drop of moisture stung her cheek. She looked up, and falling from the sky were not raindrops, but white flakes the size of her thumbnail, feathery and evanescent. “Snow.”
He glanced up as well, nose crinkled. “Now that’s what the end of a good day should look like.”
“You said you didn’t remember your first kiss,” she said. “What about the second?”
“Ah, Rose Scott, you are such a girl, asking about kissing. But in answer, I’ll let you know when it happens. I keep hoping I’ll get a bit of a redo, since everyone else’s first is the most delightful memory-”
Rose stood on her toes, placed a hand on his neck, and kissed him. She’d only planned to give him a peck on the lips, but it turned into a long moment, with the snow falling around them.
Some time later, they both stepped back. She felt her face glowing, and touched it. Her fingertips nearly sizzled. “I…”
Will blinked before throwing his head back and roaring. “Who knew you had that in you? You look so polite and unassuming, and that…straight-up and all around, I did get a bloody second first kiss.”
“You were right,” she said. “First kisses do taste.” She traced her teeth with her tongue, as if she could bring back the taste. “Dark chocolate with cocoa nibs.”
He tilted his head, wonderingly. “You don’t mean to tell me-”
She flushed again. “Sweet twenty-five and never been kissed, yes.”
The corners of his mouth worked slowly upward. “Well, Rose Scott, you surprise me again. I have to tell you, though, I’m deadly curious to see what a second kiss tastes like. But,” he said, checking his watch, “we have all the time in the world for that. Let’s be off, shall we?”
“Give me a minute first,” said Rose. She closed her eyes, smiling.
“Ah, yes, this is a moment to save, isn’t it?” he said, sounding pensive. “Although, do go for more of an umber pencil this time for my hair, would you?”
Her smile broadened, and she opened her eyes. “Not a chance. I’m using watercolors
now, you see.”
He grinned back without a word. She finished the painting and saved it in a special place, and they walked off together into the snow.
Posted by Edge at 9:41 PM
Sunday, June 27, 2010
I'm in Colorado with the family for the next six days. It was a long drive up. Seventeen hours, I think. It's beautiful, though. I'll try to get some pictures posts, but no promises, as I do not have my own camera with me (this negligence caused by yours truly not packing until the night before). It's close to 10,000 feet altitude here, and I feel it, like a wimpy girl who lives at sea level most of the year. Quite honestly, I could sit in the living room of this little house re-reading the Mitford books for hours and be content with just resting. Part of me is sad there's internet, but another part of me rejoices I don't want to be on much. There's a little mountain with patches of snow out the big windows, and it's so foreign from Houston suburbia's culdesacs and suburbans it makes me happy.
I had the oddest sensation driving up yesterday, through a valley with gently rolling grass surrounded by pine-crested hills. I had a vision for a moment I was twenty, and I was rambling through the hills in a pair of old jeans rolled at the cuffs and old tennis shoes, next to a man I loved, with a black Lab dashing out and back and around us. The sky was cloudy, and one of us had a red Chevy Avalanche pickup, or had borrowed it, and we were just being together, and it was so simple and so lovely I'm hoping it wasn't idle imagination and will come to pass someday.
And then I think, Oh my, I'm going to Oxford in nine days. England. Out of the country without my family, which is a glorious thought with a sense of freedom like I'm a bird free from the nest. And then I realize again (the thought repeats) I am going with a group of people, none of whom I know from Adam. They're all from Baylor and should be excellent travel companions. The bold side of me, roaring with adventure and confidence plans to play along like I've been at Baylor my entire collegiate career. But the timid side of me, the one I've tried so hard and succeeded decently in muffling over the past year is frightened to death.
Oddly, with all this trouncing about in my mind, I'm not anxious. Perhaps that elusive process of growing-up truly has visited me in some small way.
EDIT: prayers for a quick resolution much appreciated - Baylor has apparently cancelled my housing request, something I did NOT want them to do, and now they're saying they're out of rooms on-campus...
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I've fallen in love with The Actor and the Housewife again. (This is by Shannon Hale, and if you have not read it, for the love of every good book, go find a copy and read it. Now.) Few books have ever brought me to tears (Harry Potter the sixth did, twice), and this is one. It resonates with me, because a huge theme is love between a man and woman as best friends, without romance. I wish there was more love like that in the world. It seems we must either be very casual friends or in love, and that's stupid. Your thoughts?
Posted by Edge at 10:01 AM
Friday, June 18, 2010
Sort of. I've been out in Nascar country for a few days, helping renovate my uncle's house. Well, paint, mostly. Lots of ceiling paint. I am still high on the fumes. I am also sleep-deprived, because...well, most of you know of my small addiction to that sport called Ultimate Frisbee. There's a tournament tomorrow on the beach (well, if you can call it a beach. It's the substitute beach for Texans who don't have real beaches.), and I really wanted to play, but wasn't supposed to get back until tomorrow. So...the only flight option was a 5:20 red-eye out of Chattanooga. I woke up at 3:30 this morning. I have never woken up that early. Stayed up that late? Yes, to my great shame. So I am rather sleep-deprived and yawning now, but tomorrow should be a fantastic day.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
u need 2 kno 1 thng is tht if a gurl wants 2 b wid u than u should b wid her
u understand tht
hey wat happend
sorry just distracted by my game.
so wat video game
thats BS. i mean yeah if a girl wants to be with you thats cool, but that doesn't mean you should just be like OH MY GOD shes into me lets give up all forms of standards and be with her.
if she hot a guy would rite?
plz jst try it and see wat happens plz
WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTED IN ME?!
I DONT UNDERSTAND IT
i thnk tht ur nice and gud looking and kind 2 a gurl and i never had tht in my life
r u angry wid me
okay honestly, I'm not mad at you, slightly flattered at best.
But it would never work because you can't spell to save your life.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Friend of mine is so close to knowing Jesus but doesn't yet, and it pretty much breaks my heart every time I see him. So I'm asking anyone who's willing to send up a prayer or two for him, that God would just break through to him in a miraculous way. Thanks, y'all! :)
Friday, June 4, 2010
I got my wisdom teeth out this morning. The whole experience thus far has been decent but strange. But, on the other hand, I see how some artists and authors came up with what they did while consuming large doses of drugs. Vicodin is some strong stuff, as was whatever they put in the IV drip to knock me out before surgery.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
Could it just be methodically hunted down and exterminated? Who shall join me in this task?
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
but I couldn't date him in good conscience, because we don't believe the same things, and I couldn't stand hurting him later on down the road, instead of just saying something now. The good: for the first time, I feel I actually handled the entire thing without any stupid mistakes. I'm thanking God for that, because I have made some completely idiotic decisions in the past regarding boys, even just in the way I thought about certain boys. And this whole thing went down in a pretty chill manner. And God guarded my heart, and I was so much smarter about the whole thing.
Posted by Edge at 2:56 PM
Monday, May 24, 2010
I moved back home on Saturday, and should be here about six weeks. I thought this would be a rather sedate six weeks, punctuated by frisbee games.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Leaving. Heartache, closing doors. Arriving. Dread. New beginnings. All my emotions tangled like a ball of yarn attacked by a sadistic kitten. Exhaustion. The need to cry, while utterly dry-eyed. Missing someone I've never met. Wishing. Hoping. Praying.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
There is a new realm of thought. I call it the queasy borderline. Where you aren't quite yet fantastically imagining things you shouldn't be, because later those imaginings will come bite you in the butt when they don't happen, but you want to imagine so badly. And little glimpses of potential, yet unlikely futures, sneak in, and are so tantalizing, but you must resist anyway?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
(idea shamelessly stolen from Cuil)