Saturday, September 03, 2005
Finding Grace
He opened his textbook and stared blankly at the words.
He couldn't do it. His heart was not in it.
When the time comes, I will say that it was my fault - I did not try hard enough.
The fault was entirely mine.
He closed the book.
... and then he was somewhere in little india, picking a blown blue-glass dolphin off a shelf.
He didn't know why he was doing it... just because.
*****
He remembered the first time he saw her.
He hadn't come to seek her out; he'd come to goggle at one of the other mini-curiostumpies present that day.
She... was a queen amongst the rabble, or perhaps a sheepdog amidst the herd. Head and shoulders above the rest, sheparding around her flock, acting every bit the personality role that he'd always been averse to. Her hair was brown, her glasses tinted, her features sculpted.
She was a cookie cutout, factory produced. Or at least that's what he thought, then - he was a very cynical bastard.
Never judge a book by its cover.
*****
Strange then, that he still remembers in every detail her walking past him close-by a few hours later, eyes still masked by those brown semi-reflective glasses... yet somehow he had sensed her lost in thought.
*****
He remembers the first time he met her. Dressed down, at ease - she was still, although she denied it - extremely attractive.
But it wasn't until she leant over and pretended to bite his best friend on the shoulder - over in a flash - that he took a second look.
Or perhaps, did a double-take. Heh.
And then, of course, he joined half the nation in having a bit of a crush (of course...) on her.
For a short while at least, before returning to the familiar prison of his past.
*****
He remembers a lot, now. Telephone conversations on his mobile as he shadow-fenced in the garden (heh. bet she didn't know that.)... banter about life, and love, and bastards, and bitches as he paced through his mothers prized hibiscii, taking whimsical swipes at the occasional offensive flower...
He remembers watching her, breathtakingly beautiful and looking suitably ladylike, sinking a finger most unladylike into a molten candle at a formal dinner table.
He remembers hearing her truths, and speaking his.
He remembers always wishing she could find the key to the cage of her remarkable mind; he remembers always wanting her to be free, and happy.
He remembers always feeling sad for her when her path faltered; when the many men in her life let her down.
In short, he remembers becoming her friend.
*****
He realised it now.
Wide-eyed innocence and child-like girlishness are things that expire, only to be replaced overnight by adult manipulativeness and cynicism. Wanting to stand in a shower of cascading autumn leaves was something out of the dreams of a child...
Grace, and dignity are subtle magics that only a few people will ever learn.
The thing about Grace is that she has Grace. And that is something rare and wonderful, something that should be cherished, and protected.
Not possessed, manipulated, and broken.
He couldn't do it. His heart was not in it.
When the time comes, I will say that it was my fault - I did not try hard enough.
The fault was entirely mine.
He closed the book.
... and then he was somewhere in little india, picking a blown blue-glass dolphin off a shelf.
He didn't know why he was doing it... just because.
*****
He remembered the first time he saw her.
He hadn't come to seek her out; he'd come to goggle at one of the other mini-curiostumpies present that day.
She... was a queen amongst the rabble, or perhaps a sheepdog amidst the herd. Head and shoulders above the rest, sheparding around her flock, acting every bit the personality role that he'd always been averse to. Her hair was brown, her glasses tinted, her features sculpted.
She was a cookie cutout, factory produced. Or at least that's what he thought, then - he was a very cynical bastard.
Never judge a book by its cover.
*****
Strange then, that he still remembers in every detail her walking past him close-by a few hours later, eyes still masked by those brown semi-reflective glasses... yet somehow he had sensed her lost in thought.
*****
He remembers the first time he met her. Dressed down, at ease - she was still, although she denied it - extremely attractive.
But it wasn't until she leant over and pretended to bite his best friend on the shoulder - over in a flash - that he took a second look.
Or perhaps, did a double-take. Heh.
And then, of course, he joined half the nation in having a bit of a crush (of course...) on her.
For a short while at least, before returning to the familiar prison of his past.
*****
He remembers a lot, now. Telephone conversations on his mobile as he shadow-fenced in the garden (heh. bet she didn't know that.)... banter about life, and love, and bastards, and bitches as he paced through his mothers prized hibiscii, taking whimsical swipes at the occasional offensive flower...
He remembers watching her, breathtakingly beautiful and looking suitably ladylike, sinking a finger most unladylike into a molten candle at a formal dinner table.
He remembers hearing her truths, and speaking his.
He remembers always wishing she could find the key to the cage of her remarkable mind; he remembers always wanting her to be free, and happy.
He remembers always feeling sad for her when her path faltered; when the many men in her life let her down.
In short, he remembers becoming her friend.
*****
He realised it now.
Wide-eyed innocence and child-like girlishness are things that expire, only to be replaced overnight by adult manipulativeness and cynicism. Wanting to stand in a shower of cascading autumn leaves was something out of the dreams of a child...
Grace, and dignity are subtle magics that only a few people will ever learn.
The thing about Grace is that she has Grace. And that is something rare and wonderful, something that should be cherished, and protected.
Not possessed, manipulated, and broken.
