“My mind moves like a Tron bike,”–Kanye West, circa Yeezus. It was an album I was reluctant to listen to, much less buy for all the obvious reasons you’re already justifying at the moment. Kanye the man, I could live without. Kanye the musician? Adore. Him. That line happens to be one of my favorites. Particularly because I can relate. Any and everything that shoots past my line of sight is liable to become a carefully woven tale of crazy slap-fights, insults involving satan and smexy time that makes my round little pudding face go hot during edits. Recently–very recently–this occurred and I considered taking what I saw and placing it in a story with brand new characters but the subject was such a personal one that I really didn’t want to have to flesh out new beings, learn their wily ways and what made them tick. I wanted the intimacy that drives me to be so meticulous when I write nowadays. So I searched my mental rolodex and asked, “Who do I want to see again? Who would my readers be interested in seeing again?” I got two names in an instant. I shall not tell you who, I won’t even allow them to be seen in the snippet I’m about to place below because if you’re as ridiculously attentive as I have a tendency to be, you’ll guess all on your own…
It was the wait that had become the hardest. It was always the wait. The void of silence filling the room, widening in a chasm of borderline desperation that made every movement feel like a chore. Time ticked by in an unhurried pace, oblivious to it’s anxiety causing affect. Yes, it was the wait that had become the hardest.
She couldn’t unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth to even attempt to ask the simple question of, “How was your day?” Instead, she sat there dumbly, staring at the wooden pattern of their bedroom floor, her husband casually propped against a mauve colored wall, his chest lifting to disturb the stillness of his form. She appreciated the stillness; it gave her an anchor. If he’d sat next to her on the area rug, his knees bouncing in time with her own, it would’ve simply ratcheted up her own inability to just…be.
Lifting her head, she caught his stare on her. His eyes weren’t pale, but their effect was just the same. Dark and hypnotizing. A raise of his lashes and she melted. So many years, so much time, and a simple glance could push a soul deep sigh from her throat without much effort. It was a gift that she cursed. That gaze was reaching, could curl its fingers around her heart and cinch down before making her confess every sin lingering on her lips.
But at the moment, that stare was simply hopeful, imitating her own. He turned away from the wall and took a step forward, his lips parting. “Cara—”
Jingle! Jingle! Jingle!
They jerked at the noise, starting when they realized the alarm they’d set minutes ago had finally sounded off.
Did you catch it? If you did, quiet yourself. Leave the mystery to be enjoyed by others a bit longer. Also, I tend to enjoy the approach of a dramatic flare… Something wicked and awfully sexy–if I do say so myself–comes.