Shone on Me

The beginning of Trev's dock story.

With the pad of his palm, Trev wiped beads of rain from the face of his chron. She was late. Traffic. Weather. He looked again, as if the looking itself had power, as the evidence of minutes ticked presented their case. With eyes full, he blinked, surveying the crowd on the dock from the awning of his cold dripping hand. Huddles of love, arms linked and eyes locked on loved ones. Any minute, any minute the brown grey masses would part and her bouncing blond hair would appear as a beacon in the brume. Voices awash on the wind, hats held tight to head, coats sodden, rain slapping faces like grinning monkeys, the dock wet with a dull shine. Each hug like a nail. Each kiss a lightning bolt. He looked again into the endless grey.

A voice called from behind. He waved it off. Standing straight, on toes, eyes scanned as wiper blades, alone in their clocking back and forth. The voice called again. He yelled over the wind.

“Trev, you okay?” asked Em.

“What?”

“Your palm is sweating.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. I will be fine. You’ll see. And I will too.” Em smiled.

Trev pulled her tight. Her hair was not blond but the light in her heart shone as the light in his imagination thought it would have.

Reviews

[AutumnStorm]

In the passenger seat of a car, head leaning against the window, is where it occurs to me most prominently that behind every face, there is a person, a life and ever increasing circles of connection, that each face that I catch sight of for just a minute has the same wealth and depth, has a past and a future, has dreams and disappointments, thoughts and feelings, people that matter on a personal level, ideas and opinions, in short, there's a life that belongs to each of us and the only ones who know it completely are ourselves. I've rattled a little here, but the purpose was to express the thought that rises especially during these dock scenes with your descriptions of masses and pockets and huddles, that so touching and significant, significant in the knowing, in our awareness of it, for the less than 8 that we are familiar with, there are untold others. In the same manner, or on the other side of the coin so to speak, like life itself, this is how we pass through it, like knowledge too, like things seen, roads travelled, just a little is ours to behold, just that little gives us a sense of the magnitude, of though this be the world to us, it is just the tiniest of corners, and ours, the single person's, though it be great is still small. Still talking down avenues that aren't leading where I intended them to go, but in any case, here is Trev, one person, one moment, as ifs quote unquote and what ifs, great and small and perfect all at once in the coexistence. Repetitions when you use them, which you do seldom enough for it to be noticeable when you do, serve exceedingly well the purpose of underlining, of reinforcing the impression that you seek to give, is very much the case here too. The desire, the fervent hope that at any point what his eyes are looking for they will see is breath-holdingly poignant, and the drawing back from then to now, from memory and what was not to here and what is current and the stabilizing thereof, the reasoning, the pulling of a heart that still feels the loss of what it did not have back to complete acknowledgement of what it has gained..not worded as it should be, but suffice to say, this is a great piece of writing. Always, eternally windows with you. :-)