Carter House! Probably the last time, maybe forever and ever but who know that then.

Feb. 19, 2020

Rose pushed her butt to the end of the tall rock, mostly quartzite but a composite really, grey slate below her that peeled off in layers. Flat rocks, nothing glam. Like the blank pallet on which an finger afire might write the 10 Commandments on in a gritty production of “Moses.” She pushed at these with her toes, sending a piece of grey matter tumbling down into a fairly steep chasm.

Rose plucked a yellow daisy growing from a tiny crevice. “She loves me,” Rose said, plucking one small nib of a petal from the flower. “She loves me not.” Another petal. Cool gust of wind. “I’ve forgotten something,” Rose mumbled. “I’m forgetful.” The breeze chilled her neck and cheeks. Rose brushed the flower over her lips. She tickled her nose with the stem. She almost sneezed but held it in, like she’d held it all in for this whole time. “Of what might this be a symbol? How to denote this moment, this serene reflection?” She thought these things and some steam rose in her gullet. She sucked it back in, the maudlin monster, she swallowed it whole.

“What are you doing up here?”

She barely turned into his voice. He’d followed her, pesky gnat. She held the bloom out and used her thumb and forefinger to shred the foliage.

“Come back to the house, Rose,” he said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Rose said. She was feeling stronger now. She had spent her moment on the precipice of memory. It all came back, like a lost pet, splattered with mud and muck and smelling of soggy cloth and urine.

“The house smells like boiled rags and piss,” she said. “I can’t ever go back there.”

“You have to come back,” his voice drizzled, vowels leaking like a faucet. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Not everyone.” She looked at him, now, at his face and his dull eyes. Everything seemed dull now, grey and coated with distressed gauze. Snotty tissues. She had a snotty tissue in her pocket. So wet with goo. “Not everyone is waiting. She’s not waiting, not waiting for me or you or anyone.”

She kicked her feet against the slate rock and sent another slab flying flying flying down, rollicking tumbling rolling falling falling.

“She loves me. She loved me.” Kicked and kicked again, more rocks fell. He turned to leave, by himself. No use trying anymore with this one. She’d come back when she was ready.

And then she was alone again. On the granite. Breeze evaporating the sweat on cheeks and under her chin. She remembered everything, the why of it all.

“Goodbye, my she,” Rose said. “Adios and farewell. I will miss you and miss you and miss you.”

Oh geez. She doesn’t jump. She appreciates breathing more than that, phhhsshhhh. When it gets cold enough, she goes in and climbs under a blanket in some corner or other.