e m p t y s p a c e .
he arranged the pillows in the place where she used to rest.
he found his arm around… but the feathers
and all the down collapsed at his embrace.
he turned the other way. this was only
the thirteenth day without her face by his.
oh, escape from grief is brief and only comes
as he finally succumbs to silent slumber.
poor, dreaming man, his eyes still wet with weeping.
it started pretty impromptu.
google alerted me to the fact that jon acuff (blogger and author) was going to be doing a book signing in atlanta…
so, i emailed b about it…
and how we should go (kidding)…
and he emailed back…
about how we should and what we could do (kidding)…
and after brainstorming and emailing back and forth for a bit…
we both kinda realized that we weren’t kidding anymore.
so, he got off early from work.
i got off early from, um, nothing (read previous post).
we grabbed hanc (my garmin), an address, and a camera, and we were on our way.
we detoured for dinner (yay olive garden and gift cards and chicken marsala!) and a couple of hours later, felix (my car) pulled up at a rather large barnes and noble. b & i enjoyed a brief author scavenger hunt and found ourselves with some locals, other non-locals, and jon acuff plus kin (kin include a beautiful wife and two gorgeous little girls).
the conversation flowed pretty smoothly, especially for a larger group (with the exception of this one guy that had a special place in his heart for italian skinny jeans that you don’t wash for six months in order to get good creases. how do i know this, you ask? oh, he told us. he told us all.)… and as the numbers dwindled a little, we were able to talk about Christianity, satire, writing, blogging, tweeting, and the most important thing that we can do: communicate Christ and his Truth… and how that communication is far better than creating funny or having a large reader base.
i admire acuff’s satire on my subculture– and like most humor, he hits on a lot of truth in his jest. but i must admit, my favorite posts of his are his “serious wednesdays.” and honestly, it was that portion of our group’s face-to-face conversation that i enjoyed the most as well. hearing just a bit of his heartbeat about his ministry, and what he enjoys the most about it, was the highlight of the signing time.
i love for my sense of humor to be engaged. i enjoy being academically stimulated. but the absolute best is to be spiritually challenged and edified. the 45min – 1 hour spent at the signing incorporated all three.
i love it when that happens. :)
(as a sidenote… another thing i loved was just observing the support the acuff family has for each other. you can tell that he loves his family and that his family completely support him in what he’s doing. sure, a lot of people can try and portray that sense of family just to gain a bit of popularity… but honestly, you can’t act that. you can tell if that support is legit. and it was with them. that impressed me.)
so, b & me got a few books signed,
(they look like this…)
grabbed a pic with jon and his wife and his cardboard side-hugging cut-out,
(see?)
and split a piece of chocolate raspberry cheesecake before hitting the road.
(the cheesecake was eaten too quickly for a non-blurry pic. sorry.)
besides a creepy detour for gas (on a scale of 1-10 for creepiness, it’d be a 6.7), b & me made pretty good time back.
so, i would say that a good time was had by everyone– straight-legged-jean-man included. :)
i deem our impromptu adventure a most definite success.
i’m ready to plan for more.
“would you describe me as ‘lively?’” she asked.
the man poked his head out of the refrigerator.
“um, compared to me?”
“not necessarily. it’s more of a general question. the mustard’s on the third shelf in the door.”
“oh.”
he grabbed his condiment of choice and shut the fridge.
“so?”
“so what?”
“am i lively?”
he peered at her for a moment before twisting the top of the bottle and aiming it at his sandwich and squeezing. liquid oozed out the nozzle.
“gross! mustard juice…” he muttered under his breath.
“seth!”
“what?”
“i’m asking you a question! am i lively?!”
he grabbed his ruined piece of white bread and threw it in the trash.
“well, that depends…” he muttered slowly, plopping a fresh, unsaturated slice of fluffy white on the top of his turkey. he decided to forgo the mustard.
“you’re mumbling again… depends on what?”
“is ‘lively’ synonymous for ‘pushy?’”
“you’re funny.”
she said it in that dry, flat way. the way she always did when she was frustrated but resigned. he put his plate on the table and sat in the chair next to her. her right hand was hovering over the touchpad of her laptop. her chin rested in the left. she was biting the corner of her lip. the way she always did when she was indecisive.
“i’m clicking ‘lively.’”
he knew she would. he took at bite of his dry sandwich.
“click…” (he was chewing…) “it then.”
“seth, you’re mouth is full.”
“yeah?”
“nevermind. so, i’m creative, personable, spiritual, understanding, and… lively. i can only pick five. do those sound like me? like, do you think they represent my personality? who i am?” she turned and looked at him. ”are those…” (she offered him her best smile…) “me?”
“are those you?” he looked over her shoulder at the laptop, glancing at all of the adjective options. “hmmm… i’d probably swap ‘understanding’ with ‘adventerous.’”
“i’m not understanding?”
“didn’t say that.”
“if you are thinking about the one time that got mad because you were late to movie night…”
“not thinking about that.”
“or the time when i got a little upset that you forgot my birthday…”
“a little?”
“okay, a lot. but really! we’ve been friends for how long? i would think that you would have it permanently implanted in your memory! okay, and i was also a little irritated that…”
“not thinking about you not being understanding. i’m thinking about you being… ‘ad-ven-ter-ous.’ you are. you do things. just because you like to have fun. you’re impulsive. you love life. you react. you’re doing… this. you’re adventerous.”
“really?”
“yeah.”
“oh. okay.” she switched the two adjectives. “well, just a few more questions…” she sing-songed. she danced a little in her chair.
“why are you so excited?”
“think of it! the possibilities! maybe mr. right is just a couple of clicks away, seth. i mean, what if he is off on the west coast somewhere, just waiting for the right girl to answer a couple of questions?”
“a couple?”
“okay… over 100. but you need that! you need that many for it to work. i mean, you wouldn’t want the system to match you with a bunch of losers because you only answered a handful of true/false questions. but, for real. what if there is a guy? waiting. and what if the first step is this? that’s something to be excited about, you know?”
“i guess…”
“i just can’t sit here and wait anymore. i can’t let life pass me by while i wait and, and, and… get all wrinkled. goodness knows i’m not getting any younger. i wanna share my life with someone! someone i can just be myself around and… we’ll know all the each other’s quirks, and we wouldn’t care… and i’ll have someone who will be there no matter what… someone who will let me be there for them… you know? do the whole “get-married-and-buya-house-and-have 2.4 kids-with” thing. i know it sounds dumb and girlie…”
“it doesn’t.”
“…and anti-feminist and naive…”
“it doesn’t.”
“…and so pie-in-the-sky…”
“it doesn’t.”
“i just wanna believe it’s possible, you know? that all that can exist. and that it will exist. not just for the couples on the commercials and the stars in all the romantic comedies. but for me… you know? do you think it’s out there for us…” (she sighed) “normal people? do you believe it’s out there, seth?”
she looked at him with eyes that asked him to say yes.
his mouth had gotten dry. it had nothing to do with the unmustarded white bread and turkey in his mouth.
it had everything to do with the way his best friend looked at him and asked those questions. it had everything to do with her hand hovering over her computer, one click away from completing a survey and finding her “soulmate” for $19.99 a month.
he’d give her a twenty if she’d forget the stupid questions, stop looking at her screen, and actually see…
“yes. it’s for normal people, too.”
she flashed him a smile. and with one click of her barely pink nails– he remembered that she called the color “soft blush”… or something like that– the website began processing her personality, data, and the potential man of her dreams.
“he’s somewhere out there. i know it…” she did another little dance.
and seth sat, beside her, chewing the crust of a very dry sandwich.
by elea harper
some people hate eating alone. and sometimes, i do, too.
other times, though, i prefer it. i’ll walk into a restaurant, taking myself, my food, sometimes a book (sometimes my journal). i’ll find a corner booth. nestle in. and eat alone. it allows me, for just a little time, to take things at my pace—not just how long i eat, but how long i can process my thoughts, or read other people’s.
and it is when i’m all alone, when i’m with whatever i bring and my reflective mood (for that’s often what provokes my solitary lunches), that i find my eyes wandering from the whichever page and onto the people around me.
i love to read… people.
so, the other day, i was eating alone.
i was marking some things on my calendar and had just brought forth a book from my rather bulbous bag, when a couple walked nearby and selected a table about ten feet away.
or rather, the man walked nearby. the man selected the table.
the woman was wheeled.
her face was angled towards me for just a moment. her smile was subtle, her eyes glassy. wetness pooled at the corners of her mouth, and there was a hint of drool on the left side. we almost made eye contact, the wheeled lady and i… but then the man gracefully twirled her chair up to the table and positioned her away. her back was to me.
at first, i was disappointed. i wanted to see if we could connect—if there would be a moment where our eyes could meet, and maybe, i could make her smile. but by the end of my meal, i was glad for the seating arrangement.
it gave me a clear view to watch her husband.
i watched, as her husband pulled out an adult version of a baby-bib and placed it around his wife’s neck. he straightened it over her shirt before pulling a corner of it up to her face to wipe her mouth. the bib dropped, but his hand lingered at her face. he cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch. he kissed her on her forehead before he pulled his hand and face away and turned his gaze towards her food.
i watched, as he cut her chicken into small, uniform, bite-sized pieces. it reminded me of the way i prepared food for my one-year-olds when i worked at a daycare. he hummed as he sliced. i didn’t recognize the tune—maybe it was impromptu, nonsensical humming—but his deep melody was pleasant to listen to. i had the feeling she knew the music; her head slowly started swaying side-to-side.
maybe it was their song.
he placed some chicken on a fork and raise it to her mouth. she accepted it, and a few seconds later, he pulled the fork away, foodless.
“it’s good, isn’t it?” he asked it in such a way, that it seemed he actually was expecting an answer. it wasn’t the way one asks a baby. it wasn’t the way one humors a child.
this woman, sitting in this chair, with a bib on her chest, and a make-shift diaper bag underneath the table… was his equal. his partner.
the chicken gradually disappeared as he talked about their day: as he referenced the most recent airing of the price is right that they must have watched that morning. as he told her about the new pictures of the grandkids that erin (a daughter?) sent them, explaining in detail the photo of the baby with a gigantic spit bubble. towards the end of the one-sided conversation, he looked at his wife, and mentioned something about a new lady that would come to their house to take care of her, but “just on thursdays.”
i wish i could have seen the wheeled lady’s face at that moment. something must of shifted. maybe her smile faded a little more. maybe her peaceful face darkened. but something must have motivated the pained look in the man’s eyes.
once again, his hands found her face. and he leaned close. and he said in a whisper that i almost didn’t hear:
“patty, i’m never leaving. never.”
i don’t know what this couple has gone through, besides the stroke that left this wife speechless. i don’t know how many children they had, or financial issues that they argued over, or how many times they moved. i know nothing, except that, sitting there, watching them, i knew i was watching a marriage.
it was after she was fed that he turned to cutting his own food. i’m sure it was cold by then. and as he added salt to his chicken, i caught a few measures of his hummed mystery music.
she started swaying again.
i began to gather my things, shoving my calendar and books back into my bag. and i wondered if that man knew what he was getting into when he married that woman. i mean, i doubt he thought to himself when he promised “for better, for worse,” that this—the feeding, the cleaning, the silence—was what he was getting himself into.
did he think about that?
does anyone think about that, when they stand before their 20something “soulmate” and say those words. when they make that promise.
but that’s the way it works.
that’s the way it is meant to work.
for whatever reason, God designed the promise to be made by imperfect people. by finite beings that are powerless to control circumstances. by creatures that live only in the present, and have no ability to change the past or foresee the future.
that’s how that promise was designed.
i wondered if that man would make that promise again.
i slung my bag over my shoulder and left the restaurant. as i walked to the car, i happened to pass the window near my table. i could see them. the man was taking the bib off the wheeled woman, her face close to his.
he kissed her again.
and smiled.
i had wondered if he would re-promise?
the answer was clear.
every day, with each bite of chicken…
with each kiss on her cheek…
he did.
i recently subscribed to a new blog in google reader. (for those of you who don’t know what google reader is, well… um… google it. :) don’t mean that in a sarcastic way, but frankly, i just don’t want to spend the time describing it right now…)
one thing i really enjoy about the author of the blog is that he previews his future content for the entire week. great idea! i see his topic matter, get excited, and can’t wait for his new post every day. novel concept, huh?
so i thought to myself, “i should do this!” i mean, not only does it promote readership, but it promotes “writership.” it commits me to writing every day, just like i said i would. even if know one reads a blessed word, i am forced to spend time making good on my word.
however, i’ve always been told that i shouldn’t make promises that i can’t keep.
so, the whole “writing every day” thing is out.
however, i am gonna tweak it.
there are two posts that i’m working on right now… and i’ve decided to give a bit of a fore-taste. included are random lines from two eventually promised posts. (but i can’t tell you when. because i don’t know.)
my goal is both of these will find their way online in the next week. we’ll see how that goes.
so, without further ado… (in no particular order…)
eventually promised post 1
* all i wanted was some apple sauce.
* good writers are supposed to avoid over-used phrases or well-known cliches. (and even though i’m not a good writer, i would like to be when i grow up… so i try and follow these word-arranging “rules.”) however, to avoid a cliche here would be avoiding the exact description of what happened next, so i will use it anyway.
i heard a “sickening thud.”
(note to self: don’t ignore “sickening thuds.”)
eventually promised post 2
* old stuff has a peculiar smell– a mothball, stale, dirty historical smell.
* i retrieved my confiscated chick-fil-a cup at the counter. i couldn’t help but notice the stack of tracts neatly arranged by the sign on the glass that said, “do not touch.”
ironic.
because that's just the way life is . . .
