Student of the Past

Near water’s edge,
the delicate sound of thousands of shells

dancing on turning tide
make the sound

of most delicate wind chimes

ringing like tiny bells, fairies at play.
routinely cast on shore,

on shore to be collected

as treasure.

      She didn’t doubt she knew more about him than the woman he married. They had been old and secret friends for far too long. His wife would never think to ask him about the collection of small seashells in an intricately decorated wooden box nestled in the bottom of his armoire. There were several tiny conk shells in his collection that took a magnifying glass to see if you expected to see more detail than a simple dot. Probably his wife would never know the shells existed. She would never hear the excited explanation of the type and size of a shark when he found a shark’s tooth there on the white beach sand. It was his favorite place; his skin well tanned by summer’s end. Would his young wife ever bother to ask what was in the leather bound book that held the drawings and descriptions of new things that he stumbled onto in his travels? She could still picture the pages covered in drawings and in his left slanted script in blue ink on parchment. No doubt the young girl only saw dollar signs and he was blindly in love.
      He was handsome, rich, and well endowed and these attributes were all a woman like that would care about. He’d put a three karat diamond on the girl’s hand, not because of its worth, but because she was so much like the living ghost of the sweetheart from his youth. He couldn’t help but lust and give. He’d had too much money for too long to remember how much power it held over most people. Other people cared about what seemed too superficial to matter to him: people like his young wife and things based around looks and money. It would be only a matter of time before those rose colored glasses would fall from his face, and his heart would be broken again.
        She sat beside the water and listened to what he said she would hear; the delicate sound of seashells in the turning tide. It was the sound of thousands of small fairy’s bells striking each other as they played. The salt of the sea spray blended with the tears she cried for him.

© 2007 C. Harter Amos

Reviews

[Helen Woodward]

This is charmingly different from anything I've read on this site. You once again show your skill as a writer by combining poetry with short story, it's the kind of Edwardian writing you don't see much these days, I truly loved it because of that. Clever manipulation of words and a very good treatment of the subject matter...thumbs up from me Mimi xx
Helen.

[Gandré]

It was beautiful. I like it, because it is poetic and sensual and touching. bravo, mimi.

[Val]

I love the way you write Mimi - so poignant. Unrequited love is always very sad, but maybe thats what makes it so special. Perhaps it would die in the unforgiving light of everyday existance.
best wishes
Val

[Helen Woodward]

Good girl!! A very good combo, great story with many lessons in just this small passage, terrific imagery, I could see it all. *smiles*
Shells in his collection that took..... remove the "it"
Last paragraph; use of colon out of place...listened to what he said. She would hear the delicate sound of sea-shells in the turning tide.
The salt of the sea spray mingled with the tears she cried for him. (mixed is not musical like the rest of this) Always keep the same voice throughout your narrative.
This has a more than fair chance of publication Mimi, it's wonderful *hugs*
Cheers,
Helen.

[Tom G]

You walked us from the waters edge, briliently and seamlessly, into a compelling character profile, wow. TomG

[Ebby]

This is the raw, honest type of writing that I like. Not words for words sake, and no confusion.
Thank you for sending it to me.
My favourite part:
His wife would never think to ask him about the collection of small seashells in an intricately decorated wooden box nestled in the bottom of his armoire.
How often we take our lovers for granted.

Kind regards. :)

[Bubo]

You have a wonderful way with words, that bring forth feeling and imagination on a sucject many of us must go through in life.A beautiful reflective piece.

i love the way you began with a poem and entered into a story while the poem words were still very fresh.

ringing like tiny bells, fairies at play.
routinely cast on shore,

on shore to be collected

[T. L. O'Neal]

Very beautiful piece with a sad but strong finish. Nice. T

[Barry S. Maltese]

They say that the person you marry should also be your best friend. Someone who knows you even better than you know yourself . . . but there are times that regretfully the friend never makes it that close. Maybe out of fear of rejection, maybe they past that moment in time when their love became that of a brother, and sister.
It is a sad story, but depicts many relationships that actually exists. I had one like that when I was younger. The sad part is I am the one who brought them together.
I love the imagry of the seashells, and the fairy bells. Great all around imagry. Very entertaining!

[David P. Eckert]

Sometimes I wonder why marriages and long, deep friendships are not so often one and the same. You describe her observations of her dear friend, his life, his choices, and perhaps the superficiality of what he is choosing now. I wonder if she wishes she were with him, or not, she who knows him so much better. The sound and simplicity of your words in the opening poem is very good. The move into prose is successful as well, with well-turned descriptions bringing us into their story.

David

[Wulfstan Crumble]

This is an interesting combination of poem and prose. Helen is right that this is a clever combination and you work the words well.