Remember the fall and spring cleaning of sentimental knickknacks and books on the heavy shelf that once stood against a blue wall by the front door? Two chairs have taken its place and with soft pillows look somewhat inviting but are no longer comfortable. One is faded yellow velvet, intricately embroidered with unraveling decorative trim. The other is an old rocking chair glued and re-glued, that babies were lulled to sleep in, but those days are "...just a memory without anywhere to go...".
However, it is a nine year old child's comment that makes me realize even one word can be misconstrued, misunderstood.
There are two nails on the blue wall where pieces of art were taken down; my mind supplies new scenes as if they are movie fragments of real moments in my life, unframed. One, across a redwood railing on a deck at a picnic a common phrase used, "I swear to God," and a freckle-faced, blue-eyed child hears and admonishes, "my mother says it's not good to swear." Sunlight is flashing through leaves on trees and over the outlines of buildings and barns until night when you can see stars and a hazy bit of moon.
The second scene is the desperate dark of 4 am car headlights searching an unfamiliar suburban street for a young woman lying on her back, unconscious from too much alcohol. Driving her home to a dark, empty house with hopes she will drink water and throw up and still be alive when her parents return from their night of partying. Love. One word, misunderstood and heart wrenching.
(lyric fragment in first paragraph
from Neil Young, Prairie Wind cd, and no, I didn't
date him)