Sarah,
Obviously with a five star rating,twenty-six reviews and a ribbon, you know how good this is so I don't have to tell you that.
What I can do, is tell you what made this story perfect to me.
First of all the mile markers. That made the journey very real. You have a wonderful gift with words. I am in awe of your talent.
My favorite parts, the ones that made me catch my breath though were these.
It’s funny how things made impressions on me as a child that never even register to me now as an adult: how huge the leaves of rhubarb are; how the gold and silver colored crayons always look better as crayons than on paper, where they make a suspiciously dull colored smear; how important it is not to turn the T.V. off until you see
every last credit on the last television program you’re allowed to watch before you have to go to bed; how fun it is to just run; how great board games are; and, above all, how beautiful a lighthouse is.
This brought back my own childhood memories very vividly.
I snap the radio off in disgust. Every song since I left my mother’s house has been about love: lost love, unrequited love, rediscovered love, good love, bad love. Isn’t there
anything else to sing about? What about world hunger? Poverty? The space shuttle? Anything at all? Or what about real life? Like your husband leaving you for a younger woman, moving to Brazil with her so that you will never get a dime of child support? Then you find yourself penniless at thirty-five years of age and have to move back in with your mother. How about that? Or how about when you finally find the courage to date again, and meet who you think is your soulmate and fall in love and then he tells you --and then he tells you--
I found this rant very realistic and easy to relate to.
I see his existence as a dot on a map, because I know where he lives. I have been in his house, in his bed. His point is glowing red, waxing and waning with his heartbeat. With every mile I get farther and farther away from that point, but I cannot escape from it completely. I still judge my position in relation to that point. And in the silence of my car, the laws of physics warp and bend so that I am both moving away from him and moving toward him, but never able to pull even with him. Never able to get past him. He will always be on my distant horizon, whether he is far ahead or way behind.
I found this brilliant!
I remember running my fingers along the muscles on his back and thinking of rocks caressed smooth by the current. He smelled of the river, especially after we made love; a deep, watery smell that comes after millions of years of being sucked up into clouds, condensing, falling back upon the raw earth and working its way back to the river, returning to the ocean to be sucked up again into the air. An ancient smell. I would lie in his arms, just inhaling, and feeling as though I was breathing in his very soul.
There are no words for a love like that.
And yet you somehow found them!
I try and avoid the mirror in the bathroom, but I see myself anyway. My flaws fill up the whole of my reflection and then overflow the mirror, spilling onto the filthy floor for the world to see and trample on. There’s a grey hair at my right temple, probably due to my eldest daughter’s first attempt to ride a bicycle. There are deep crow’s feet around my eyes. Who is this sad, middle-aged woman? What she calls her life is a joke. I rush out before I can see anymore.
Again so easy to relate to. You really nailed the middle-aged woman thing. I find it hard to believe you are only twenty-five. When I was twenty-five I could not even fathom what it would feel like to be middle- aged. I thought I would be young forever.
They grew up and became adults; complicated, sour, splintered. And this house could be any house. It doesn’t glow magically in the soft light of evening. It is only special in the hearts of those who grew up here, and those hearts are older now. The air mattresses are gone, the rocks that formed our faulty fish tanks lie once again flat along the bottom. And the river has no memory.
I love the last line here, so poetic.
I feel sorry for them. Their flat view of love. Their selfish pursuits. Then I think of the river, the deltas of my decisions, the tributaries of my troubles. I am so large, that I will not even know all of my own branches.
The ending gave me chills it is so beautifully written. I hope you don't mind me sharing my favorite parts in a public review, I didn't give away the ending. I just want everyone to read this I liked it so much.
Thank you for sharing it and KEEP WRITING!
L.
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