I've been trying to finish up Stumble & Fall and am about 75% there. And so once in a GREAT while I like to share a little sum sum to leave people wanting. Well here's one of my favorite scenes and I'm hoping to goodness it doesn't give anything away!
It’s raining again. Tired of the precipitation and its wet residue, I decide it’s probably best to find some sort of shelter. Or maybe not. Maybe I should just let the rain wash away my pain and memories.
When I stumble upon a deteriorating picnic table at the edge of a pond, I find the rain has not yet made it to the surface of the water. Moving closer to the edge I place the cancer stick behind my ear and the lighter back into my purse. I bend over the edge and finally see the drops of water colliding with the pond and rippling as if they have no end.
It’s not long before I realize they are not in fact raindrops, but a showering of my misery and anguish.
Well, not so much a shower. My tear ducts have reached complete downpour by this point. I slowly back up to the bench and sit down.
And I cry.
I cry for what seems like hours.
I cry until its dark.
I cry until I hear the faint calls of what sounds like my name.
The voice puts an end to my tears.
No one else’s.
Footsteps sound behind me, but I remain motionless staring at the dark, starlit water. I refuse to move. I refuse to acknowledge the rest of the world. Furthermore, I refuse to acknowledge the voice now calling my name followed by the sound of running.
“Annabelle?” Tony cries.
I do not move. I do not speak.
The running ceases. “Annabelle?” Tony repeats. “Are you okay?”
Okay? Am I okay?
Obvious answer: No.
My answer: More silence.
I think Tony asks me if I’m okay a few more times. I’m not really sure. I can’t hear. I can’t talk. I can’t feel.
Finally Tony joins in my silence. It’s the most beautiful silence I’ve ever been part of; a silence that cannot be filled with any words, because there are no longer any words to be said.
My concept of time has been shattered, so I’m clueless as to how long it is silent before Tony scoops me into his arms, cradling me like a child. Though I want to protest and start punching and kicking and showing Tony my amazing ninja-like tactics, my entire body is frozen.
A salty drop of warm water hits my lips. This is not my tear. My tears are locked up. This tear and the following sparse tears which land on my almost numb cheek are definitely not mine. These tears belong to Tony.
I should feel bad.
I should care.
I should want to comfort him.
But I don’t. Instead, I lay lifeless in his arms bathing in the warmth of his tears while trying not to admit to myself that his pain pleasures me.