by Anna

While you drove, I gazed at my reflection in the sideview mirror. I admired the me who rode beside you, aware of your intent. Silent, staring ahead, you drove us through a vignette of our life ahead, the life that we could have if I would only take it in, accept it, allow it. I saw it all and saw its value and its goodness and I knew that your silence meant to offer it to me, but tentatively, and in a way that would not invite outright rejection and thereby bring an end to it all, all the years. You should have spoken. We might be living there now, but those sunglasses made me look like someone else.


Anna is starting to write again after 17 years in the doldrums. We're happy about that.


Anonymous said...

(Don't you hate when sunglasses do that?)

Great story!

anna said...

Yes, well, sometimes it is a blessing--hell, sometimes that is why we put them on, right? But sometimes,as on the day I described, the effect was rather catastrophic. Thanks for reading