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Robed Thoughts
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Robed Thoughts |
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Sunshine
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Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart 
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Robed Thoughts She wrapped the deep green velveteen robe around her, and stroked the gold trim unconsciously, moving her hand upward to feel the smooth of the fabric. The stroke eased the muscled tenseness on the skin beneath. Sensitive to tactile impressions, she rubbed the material along her arm, and reveled in the tranquil feel. Touch, and the remaining senses, always imparted to her a uniquely exquisite feeling. She often thought of the sense of loss she would know if she could not hear, feel, see, smell, taste. She relied on them all to enjoy life to its fullest, and now and then thought, "what if?" In the next weeks to come would be the last year of her fourth decade. She was a most pensive theorist for not being degreed in college courses. Oft times her mind went into various areas of thought; she could also handle a multitude of tasks with concept. It was more like rote. She remembered back, with some fondness, of an office evaluation, when the manager asked, "how can you divide your time between the phone, computers and project work," and she had looked at him, as if, "how can one not?" She could not explain it; as some times good things do not need an explanation. She never complained of being able to sub-divide her thoughts. That was the "magic" time; when introspection of wonder would come to mind, and she would key in on a particular word that would hold the idea until such time as she could expound. After a light supper, she moved with an aging, graceful walk to her computer room/office. She sat at her desk and thought of her yearning to write, and acknowledged that she was impatient with all of the requirements. She knew she was not as properly schooled as the people she wanted to impress. Well, there, then. That was the wrong idea. She did not care to "impress" them so much as to "please" them. As she set up the computer to begin a travel of her thoughts onto the monitor, vivid thoughts flew by her eyes in the form of notes. Too bad that she could not write as fast as she typed, for she thoroughly loved to write in longhand, but it took so much time. She longed for the day when candlelight would be the source of guidance, and a pen would scrape across lined blank pages. The very next thought was "who would see this" as ideas began to form in her mind. And then she retreated back to tactile impressions. Her left hand moved up along her neck and under the cover of robe, she stroked her sore right shoulder. She tenderly rubbed the bruise along the back of her right shoulder, and then removed her hand. She continued to look at the screen and wondered where her ideas and thoughts would take her. Sometimes she felt transformed, the words coming as fast as her fingers could tap across the keys. She was the type who, when typing, would correct her words as she went; either grammatically or typographically; if it was wrong, she wanted to correct it now. Of course she would go back to edit, and just as naturally, someone else might pick up a mistake now and then that she missed. Long ago she had decided she was not perfect; as of now, she still doubted herself. It was years ago, when she was in high school, and in her junior year, when she first felt that she was "worthy". But that feeling did not last long. But she recalled that first "rush" of "importance". She remembered the day, the feel of the air, the touch of sun on her face, the kiss of breeze that pushed against the skirt of her dress, outlining her thin legs. It was the start of the school year 1968; she had been at her grandmother's the last two weeks of summer. How things had changed. She had rebelled a bit, but not drastically. Prior to going back to school, she had been able to spend a week with her grandmother, her obviously-not-a-grandmother sort of woman. The fun that they had experienced! With a grateful smile, she recalled how her grandmother had always said, "you won't find me in a rocking chair!" And how she, herself, loved rocking chairs! During that visit, her grandmother had convinced her to cut her lank, straight, dishwater hair into a short "English" cut, similar to the girls that were seen in magazines from England. Her grandmother was on the "cutting edge" and was quite insistent on letting her granddaughter "grow up". This in spite of the granddaughter's mother's dominant nature. In hindsight, the thoughts were "too cute"…how they resembled each other so! Her rebellion was "short", literally. She had her lank hair cut, and the straight beach-blonde hair flew in all direction, and took more care than ever! She was not the sort of person who pampered herself then, just as she is not the person who pampered herself today. She envied women who can stand still for the time it takes to be pampered; she would like it, perhaps, but she does not indulge. She has never even been to a salon where they care for nails, or hair; she cuts her own; she does not languish in hot baths, nor does she light scented candles for ambience. But there are times she wonders if she would care for it, should it happen. If she could indulge, but the atmosphere of the house she lives in says "no." Recalling the after-visit with her grandmother, and recalled conscientiously sporting the new haircut, she had a great sense of being on her own. She had traveled home by bus, and was not met by either parent at the bus stop. She called her home, but learned that there was a working emergency at the house, and no one could come and meet her. She had cash, and was told to call a cab. This was a first, as well. She talked to the ticket agent, who helped her out with the phone call. She could not believe that neither her Mom nor Dad would come to pick her up. The working emergency which involved the family business was taking precedent over her arrival home. At the naïve age of 16, she was saddened that the business would mean more to her parents than her safe arrival. But she swallowed the sadness, and opened the cab door when the vehicle arrived: what should she have expected after all? She came back to the present abruptly, and reluctantly, gave herself in again to tactile sense. Immediately, an interruption brought her back, and she lifted her hands to hug herself, and feel the soothing gift of the velveteen material. Perhaps this was the gift to herself, the luxury she delved in to; she marveled at the feel and the release it gave her. Her mind wandered, quixotically, momentarily, to another touch that felt as if velvet in her hands. She stopped there. With a sigh, she hugged her arms, and once again reveled in the feel of the material. She then methodically turned off the computer, and clicked the TV to off. She looked for a short while at the blank screen, thought a bit about her current circumstances, and then, with thoughts beginning anew, raised from her chair, turned off the light, and retreated to her single room. She took with her, her robed thoughts, and knowing what the night's dreams would bring, she gently, and quietly, smiled. And her eyes gleamed a glimmer of expectation on into the quiet night... < !signature--> Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ [This message has been edited by Sunshine (edited 11-21-2000).] |
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| © Copyright 2000 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
I enjoyed reading this but it left me with many questions. How did the bruise come to be on her skin? What relevance do these memories have to her life now? What is the purpose of this story? You have teased me with vagueness and have me craving details. Is there more? Will there be? Where are the missing details? I do like your technique and your writing ability but the details of the story do seem to be missing. (MHO) Thanks for the read.  |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Marilyn, I quote quote: She's a klutz... quote: I've never known thoughts of a moment to have a true purpose...however, most streamlined thoughts generally end up revealing a purpose...this is a moment in time... quote: I think I've begun some sort of "rambling moments" in analogues with myself...all details will be forthcoming, eventually, or in another's words...soon... quote: Snippets are good, no? I certainly appreciate your coming in to read...I have secretly named the Prose Forum my own "Therapy Room", akin to the Beach Boys' "In my Room"... Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
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Ruby dagger Member
since 1999-08-01
Posts 76Wyoming, MN, U.S.A |
I really like your writting and you have me wanting more. I'm also curious to find out the missing details. Luv Kelly "At the right time and place, a question was more deadly than any sword." -Mercedes Lackey |
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Sven
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937East Lansing, MI USA |
I wonder as well. . . but have left those details to my own mind. . . Your character here is wonderful. . . we know enough about her to pique our interest, and not enough about her to make us want more. . . Such is the way of her. . . thank you for showing us a bit of her again. . . --------------------------------------------------------- That which gives light must endure burning --Victor Frankl |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
Kelly, Sven...all things come in chapters...thank you for taking the time to read, and for looking beyond... Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ |
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