"I'll be just fine," she
grinned the way she does, the way that melts my heart. And the uncanny thing is
that she's always right. I grind my teeth and pull my hair, pace back and forth
and bite my nails each time she's gone. And yet she always comes back whole.
However strong my sense of doom, however prickly my concern, she always
triumphs, always greets me with that grin. So she goes deeper every time, her
pockets bulging with success, and I wait here and tell myself that she's
quick-witted enough figure out a way to slip from danger's grip. And yet
there's always a first time. She could be facing dreadful harm. How would I
know? She has no way to contact me.
What if she's lost to me forever? What
if some jealous tortured soul steals her away and hides her in the catacombs?
Or even worse, what if she's comfortable down there among the dead and she
forgets that she belongs here in my arms? How would I sleep without her warmth
all snuggled up against my back? What would I do without her playfulness,
without her ready laugh, without her joy, without her light, without her
tenderness and love?
The thought is just too horrible. My
life would simply be too gray. She must return, that charming half-moon grin
intact. I want to bargain with the angels, with the demons, with that pit. I
want to give them all I have so they'll release her. I want to charm them with
my song. Or offer tasty things to eat. Or sell my soul. Whatever works. I need
Maria!
I have to banish these bleak thoughts.
I have to see her in my mind--see how she'll bounce and point at me, laugh at
my worry. I have to keep that image clear. How very happy we'll both be! Yes,
she'll return! My love for her will pull her back.
Though in my heart I'll leap for joy at
the first sign that she's unscathed and, though I'll want to make her promise
not to go so deep again, I'll greet her calmly with a smile and a kiss and an
embrace, and I'll assure her that I wasn't scared at all. I'll even casually
ask her what she learned on this adventure. She won't have the slightest
inkling that I want to grab her shoulders, shake her hard and screech some
sense into her brain. I'll welcome her with such restraint that she won't have
the smallest clue that terror clawed like cornered cats inside my belly.
It will be perfect. We'll go home and
have linguine with red sauce. Oh no! A classic basil pesto! And a salad. I'll
make an avocado dressing, open up a nice red wine. A Beaujolais. Then maybe
cheesecake for dessert. We'll sip our coffee on the porch and watch clouds
drift across the stars, and I'll forget this icy fear. If she comes back.
[The End]
(C) Vila SpiderHawk, 2012. All rights reserved.
Does Maria return unscathed? Pick up Hidden Passages:
Tales to Honor the Crones for just 99 cents to find out. Available as a
PDF file, Nook book or Kindle book. For more info on Vila Spiderhawk's other works, visit her author page.
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