Three excerpts from my novel, tentatively titled "Letters to Remember"Wood panels creak beneath her bare toes as she walks from the barren kitchen, which she used to spend countless hours cooking—back then, it was well lived in. Trash is piled on one side of the wall in the living room adjacent to the kitchen, while books and paper remnants are exasperated along the opposite wall. It’s an odd scene: an old woman in her nightgown surrounded by a house squandered into almost nothingness. She slowly wanders from room to room, searching for a piece of that life to help her live once more.
She touches the furniture as if for the first time. Slowly running her fingers across the seams and holes from age—couch protectors never found a home here—her bare feet catching on a loose thread from time-to-time, if someone could see here, they would see a curious look in her eye. A look that says, I know this place, I know these things…but why? What stories can they tell me? What stories have I shared with them?...
The sky is blue today, a color to match the sparks of light reflecting from the crystals that hang from my lamp. I see the difference between robin’s egg blue and sky blue. The latter having just a smudge of innocence speckled upon it.
When I was younger, I remember eating peanut butter sandwiches at Aunt Lilly’s house. She had a special room for us; a blue room filled with collections of things. I loved her things; they were always treasures for me. She isn’t like other adults. She never kept her things locked away or yelled at me if I touched them. No, she would give them to me to play with and if something happened to one of them, she just smiled and shook her head. I wanted to be her...
She wanted to be known for her rash and bold posture in this world—for seeking out the ravishing details of life.
