TheBanyanTree: A WIP. or not.

[Kitty Park]

Definitely WIP!

Is it in writing the first chapter that you decide if there will be more?
Or in writing it do you realize "that's all there is"?

Everything I write is spilled out in a single short piece, and generally
there is nothing more I need to say.  (That's why keep with my blog.) To
have a multi-chapter *story* to tell would require my mind to organize and
that's not a focus I have ever excelled at.  An hour or two (at most) is
all I can manage. Weeks, months, years just won't happen.

So kudos to all of you who do publish -- hard- and paperback as well as
ebooks. I bow to your dedication to each of your projects.


Kitty
 <mzzkitty at gmail.com>kcp-parkplace.blogspot.com
<http://parkplaceohio.com>



On Sun, Apr 20, 2014 at 7:13 PM, Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com>wrote:

> Our children were playing together on the sand, yours already turning pink
> in the sun, their coloring from their mother, mine laughing as they scooped
> sand into buckets. It was all I’d ever wanted, our families together, after
> all those years apart, but you wouldn’t look at me, you wouldn’t talk to
> me, except for the occasional grunt, the occasional nod, still so careful
> not to say the wrong thing, as if by saying what you really thought you
> might open something dark and old, and then then where would we be?
>
> “Your children, they’re beautiful,” I said, because they were, and because
> I wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence.
>
> You nodded, agreeing with me, as of course you would.
>
> You sat on the flimsy patio chair as if on edge, unable to relax even when
> relaxation was the point, or maybe that was why. You always fought against
> doing things because you were supposed to, or feeling things you thought
> you should feel. Instead, you grappled with life as if it were the enemy,
> as if what came naturally must be wrong, as if wrestling with each minute
> decision had to be the right thing to do, if only because it were harder
> that way.
>
> Not me. I went with the flow, did things as they presented themselves, and
> never gave them another thought. It’s how I ended up with children, because
> while it hadn’t been my intent, they had shown up anyway, because I hadn’t
> thought ahead, nor considered what would happen next.
>
> Melinda came out on the porch then, slight but sturdy, all bubbles and
> light. I often wondered how she came to be your wife, she was so contrary
> to you, but maybe that was why. Maybe you needed that contrast to keep the
> darkness bearable.
>
> “Caleb! Miranda!” She called to your children, and they both looked up,
> sunny surprise on their faces, as if they’d forgotten we were there at all.
> “Come get more sunscreen!” Melinda held a can of spray in one hand, and
> your children came running to us, and then my children followed, and it
> became a race, and then four children exploded onto the porch in a spray of
> sand.
>
> Some of the sand got in my eye, and I wiped at it, but that only made it
> worse, and my eye started to water, and when you looked at me, just a
> glance, really, all you could spare for me, you thought I was crying.
>
> “What’s wrong now?” you asked, but there wasn’t anything wrong, nothing new
> anyway.
>
> “I’m fine,” I said, and while Melinda sprayed the kids with sunblock you
> looked as me as if I were lying, and for a minute I thought maybe I was.
>
> You always had that effect on me, of making me think I were wrong, that I
> didn’t even know my own truth, and I wasn’t sure how much of that was true.
>
> The kids went running back to the sand, back to their buckets and shovels.
>
> “You two all right out here?” Melinda asked, pausing for just a second to
> see us nod, you first, then me, following your lead, before she headed back
> inside, where she was doing something useful. Melinda survived life by
> being useful, by getting things done, by being the person everyone else
> counted on.
>
> And I, I was the one no one counted on.
>
> “What do you want?” you asked then, certain I had some ulterior motive.
>
> “I don’t want anything,” I said, “I just wanted us all to be here
> together.”
>
> You shook your head then, not believing me, thinking I was up to something.
>
> Caleb ran out into the surf then, his arms wide out, and as he plowed out
> into the cold water he shrieked with the cold of it.
>
> You went after him then, the good father, to make sure he didn’t go out any
> farther, to keep him and Miranda and even my children safe, your long
> strides making shadows on the beach longer than any of us, attenuated and
> thin, and I watched your shadow walk away from me, and I wondered where it
> had all gone wrong.
>