pegasus62
New member
My first story (Blink) didn't fare very well, so I'm trying another, this time less fantasy-esque (if that's a word.) Hope you like it! 
She could see a light---thin and pale---soft and a bit raw with luster, like an ancient bell in a church steeple. She thought it was the light that always spilled over her before the nurse came into her hospital room, dreary exam clipboard in hand: but it mustn't be. It was too bright and too full of lovely pureness. No, it was---it must be---
Sunlight. Deseray Rinner opened her eyes. Yes, it was sunlight. There were splintering beams of it dashing down through a shuttered green window beside her, throwing fragments of gold and vienna onto the patchwork quilt that lay upon her knees. A busy brown wren, with its throat puffed full of song, sat eying Deseray back from the windowsill. It, like she, was listening to the chorus of crickets outside, but unlike Deseray, contemplating a bug breakfast. Before she had fully heard its trilling hymn, it spread its wings and lifted off into the emereld hills behind the cottage window, leaving Deseray alone to the sunlight once more.
She stretched out in the silence of her bedroom, listening to the frying of bacon somewhere in a kitchen down below. It reminded her of her mother, her old, frail mother, who had come with her to New Zealand. Yes, now everything was coming back out of the sweet dampening of sleep and sunlight. She was here because her mother had asked her if she wanted to go somewhere far away from the medical coats, the probing, and the hopeless answers. Deseray had said she wanted to go to the place of her late father's birth. New Zealand.
She remembered the trip there: dark blue seas flashing past plane windows, the smell of sterile sheets still in her nose from hours before. Her mother, now in her seventies and thinner even then Deseray's ill, emaciated frame, had sacrificed home and friends for her only daughter's sake. She was dedicated to serving Deseray until one or the other of them passed away. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice down below was evidence of that.
Deseray turned over in her bed and felt a sharp needle of pain inch up one side of her head. She reached up and rubbed the ridge across her skull, suddenly more conscious of the ache constantly presiding there. She was long-used to the feeling---or, more specifically, the non-feeling---of her hair not being there. Her long, luscious brown hair had once almost reached her waist, but now that time for remembering it and mourning over its removal had faded from Deseray's mind. She was used to putting on one of the many hand-crocheted, colorful hats her mother had lovingly made and facing the world without a blushing cheek.
Today, though, she would not be going out. She realized it even herself as she threw her feet onto the floor and felt the weakness of her body. Today, she would simply cherish the sunlight and the light voice of her mother singing in the kitchen, like the wren that had perched on her windowsill moments before.
"Deseray!" Her mother was shouting to her from down below, "Call for you!"
She struggled towards the door of her bedroom, stumbled into the hallway, and managed to make her way tediously down the stairs into the kitchen. Her mother was waiting in the doorway, one hand holding the telephone receiver, the other a spatula smeared in scrambled egg.
"I didn't even know we got service here," Deseray said with a weary smile, taking the phone from her mother. Her mother only shrugged and headed back to the stove as Deseray asked who was calling.
"It's Tiffany," a sweet female voice said on the other end, "I was calling to tell you about a little party I've arranged for you."
Just like Tiffany, Deseray thought, her heart feeling lighter just hearing her best friend's voice, But how did she do it all the way from the States?
"Great," Deseray said, "Where is it? I hope it's not over in Missouri. You do know where I am now, right?"
"Stop teasing," Tiffany laughed, "Of course I do. New Zealand, right? I have a few friends that live over there myself, and I arranged a little something for you through them."
"What's the occasion?" Deseray asked.
"How about celebrating the courage you've had going through chemo?" Tiffany said. Deseray could hear the catch in her friend's voice; she didn't like it when people worried so much about her...she didn't deserve it...
"Yeah, it's not been that big of a deal," she replied, "But thank you for the party. Judging from your wacky art skills, I'm sure it'll be great."
"I'm not so sure a degree in graphics designing helped me so much when it came to long-distance party planning," Tiffany said, "But I hope it'll all work out despite some of the glitches I've had. I'll give you a little hint to the theme: fairytale."
"Oooh," Deseray giggled like the first time she'd met Tiffany in junior high, eighteen long years ago since now. "I'm already excited."
Tiffany laughed again, echoing Deseray's own enthusiasm.
"I know, pretty neat, right? I just sent the dress I picked out for you yesterday. I hope it fits, but if not, you can have your mom take it in. I know she's a whiz at sewing."
"That's the understatement of the year," Deseray said, glancing over at her mother faithfully pouring orange juice in a red-checkered apron she'd made in ten minutes flat, "She could become a tailor for a queen, at the rate she's going with all these sundresses and nightgowns she's made me. It's like I'm three years old again."
"She loves you, Ray," Tiffany said softly.
"I know." Deseray's voice dropped a notch from her playfulness. "She shows it in everything she's done for me since the diagnosis. You do, too, Tiffany. All of you have shown it in so many ways..."
"I'd do it a million times over for you, Ray," Tiffany said, "You've always been there for me, too."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
There was silence for a moment. Deseray's throat clenched, the way it always did when she thought about leaving Tiffany and her mother once and for all: people she wished she could give back to as much as they'd given to her; but her gift to them was showing them courage in the face of pain, her present, tender gratefulness for the simple things in life. That's what she'd told herself since the diagnosis: she had to be strong for them.
"Hey, listen," Tiffany said, breaking the quiet, "I have to go; but I just wanted you to know when the party is. It's at the Queenstown Gardens, Saturday evening at 7:00. Like I said, your dress and shoes should arrive at your house today or tomorrow."
"Now I've got shoes, too?" Deseray joked, "You're officially my fairy godmother."
"I hope so. It would totally match the theme," Tiffany replied. Deseray could almost imagine the grin on her friend's heart-shaped face and the sparkle of her hazel eyes. In the background, a baby cried, and Tiffany repeated her apology that she had to go.
"I hope you can make it, Ray," she added, "If you're too weak, worse case scenario I can have a wheelchair ordered for the occasion, and a limo can pick you up."
"I think I'll be fine," Deseray said, "My mom has her little orange VW, and it's fancy enough for me."
"Okay, Ray, talk to you later then," Tiffany said.
"Bye, Tif. Love ya."
"Love ya millions too. Bye, sweetie."
The line cut out and Deseray hung the old metal receiver back up on the wall. She turned to her mother, who was sitting placidly at their wooden kitchen table, colorful yellow plates loaded with food and a jar of lavender Viper's bugloss, a native wildflower of New Zealand, in the center. The same sunlight that had awakened Deseray that morning was spilling across the creases in her mother's smile and the warm brown tablecloth, scattered in wildflower petals.
"Are you ready for breakfast, dear?" Her mother said, her pale green eyes shimmering with liquid light.
"I'm ready." Deseray pulled out a chair and sat down, and her mother took her hand in her own aged and venerable one.
"I suppose I'll say the blessing," her mother offered.
She cleared her throat, and Deseray squeezed her eyes shut. She was back in Missouri again, sitting in her parent's rural kitchen as a teenager, bowing her head as her father said the blessing. Her dear father, with his tall brown boots and his love for hunting in the pine-needle woods, saying the same words that Deseray's mother was repeating now in her own gentle voice.
"Bless us, dear Lord, and bless this food. Put Your hand graciously upon us and let us prosper in this land you have placed us in. Let us always hope, always persevere, always rejoice in the things you have given us...Amen."
Always persevere. A tear fell from the corner of Deseray's eye. Yes, Lord, help me to always persevere, even to the end of all things.
She could see a light---thin and pale---soft and a bit raw with luster, like an ancient bell in a church steeple. She thought it was the light that always spilled over her before the nurse came into her hospital room, dreary exam clipboard in hand: but it mustn't be. It was too bright and too full of lovely pureness. No, it was---it must be---
Sunlight. Deseray Rinner opened her eyes. Yes, it was sunlight. There were splintering beams of it dashing down through a shuttered green window beside her, throwing fragments of gold and vienna onto the patchwork quilt that lay upon her knees. A busy brown wren, with its throat puffed full of song, sat eying Deseray back from the windowsill. It, like she, was listening to the chorus of crickets outside, but unlike Deseray, contemplating a bug breakfast. Before she had fully heard its trilling hymn, it spread its wings and lifted off into the emereld hills behind the cottage window, leaving Deseray alone to the sunlight once more.
She stretched out in the silence of her bedroom, listening to the frying of bacon somewhere in a kitchen down below. It reminded her of her mother, her old, frail mother, who had come with her to New Zealand. Yes, now everything was coming back out of the sweet dampening of sleep and sunlight. She was here because her mother had asked her if she wanted to go somewhere far away from the medical coats, the probing, and the hopeless answers. Deseray had said she wanted to go to the place of her late father's birth. New Zealand.
She remembered the trip there: dark blue seas flashing past plane windows, the smell of sterile sheets still in her nose from hours before. Her mother, now in her seventies and thinner even then Deseray's ill, emaciated frame, had sacrificed home and friends for her only daughter's sake. She was dedicated to serving Deseray until one or the other of them passed away. The smell of bacon, eggs, and freshly squeezed orange juice down below was evidence of that.
Deseray turned over in her bed and felt a sharp needle of pain inch up one side of her head. She reached up and rubbed the ridge across her skull, suddenly more conscious of the ache constantly presiding there. She was long-used to the feeling---or, more specifically, the non-feeling---of her hair not being there. Her long, luscious brown hair had once almost reached her waist, but now that time for remembering it and mourning over its removal had faded from Deseray's mind. She was used to putting on one of the many hand-crocheted, colorful hats her mother had lovingly made and facing the world without a blushing cheek.
Today, though, she would not be going out. She realized it even herself as she threw her feet onto the floor and felt the weakness of her body. Today, she would simply cherish the sunlight and the light voice of her mother singing in the kitchen, like the wren that had perched on her windowsill moments before.
"Deseray!" Her mother was shouting to her from down below, "Call for you!"
She struggled towards the door of her bedroom, stumbled into the hallway, and managed to make her way tediously down the stairs into the kitchen. Her mother was waiting in the doorway, one hand holding the telephone receiver, the other a spatula smeared in scrambled egg.
"I didn't even know we got service here," Deseray said with a weary smile, taking the phone from her mother. Her mother only shrugged and headed back to the stove as Deseray asked who was calling.
"It's Tiffany," a sweet female voice said on the other end, "I was calling to tell you about a little party I've arranged for you."
Just like Tiffany, Deseray thought, her heart feeling lighter just hearing her best friend's voice, But how did she do it all the way from the States?
"Great," Deseray said, "Where is it? I hope it's not over in Missouri. You do know where I am now, right?"
"Stop teasing," Tiffany laughed, "Of course I do. New Zealand, right? I have a few friends that live over there myself, and I arranged a little something for you through them."
"What's the occasion?" Deseray asked.
"How about celebrating the courage you've had going through chemo?" Tiffany said. Deseray could hear the catch in her friend's voice; she didn't like it when people worried so much about her...she didn't deserve it...
"Yeah, it's not been that big of a deal," she replied, "But thank you for the party. Judging from your wacky art skills, I'm sure it'll be great."
"I'm not so sure a degree in graphics designing helped me so much when it came to long-distance party planning," Tiffany said, "But I hope it'll all work out despite some of the glitches I've had. I'll give you a little hint to the theme: fairytale."
"Oooh," Deseray giggled like the first time she'd met Tiffany in junior high, eighteen long years ago since now. "I'm already excited."
Tiffany laughed again, echoing Deseray's own enthusiasm.
"I know, pretty neat, right? I just sent the dress I picked out for you yesterday. I hope it fits, but if not, you can have your mom take it in. I know she's a whiz at sewing."
"That's the understatement of the year," Deseray said, glancing over at her mother faithfully pouring orange juice in a red-checkered apron she'd made in ten minutes flat, "She could become a tailor for a queen, at the rate she's going with all these sundresses and nightgowns she's made me. It's like I'm three years old again."
"She loves you, Ray," Tiffany said softly.
"I know." Deseray's voice dropped a notch from her playfulness. "She shows it in everything she's done for me since the diagnosis. You do, too, Tiffany. All of you have shown it in so many ways..."
"I'd do it a million times over for you, Ray," Tiffany said, "You've always been there for me, too."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
There was silence for a moment. Deseray's throat clenched, the way it always did when she thought about leaving Tiffany and her mother once and for all: people she wished she could give back to as much as they'd given to her; but her gift to them was showing them courage in the face of pain, her present, tender gratefulness for the simple things in life. That's what she'd told herself since the diagnosis: she had to be strong for them.
"Hey, listen," Tiffany said, breaking the quiet, "I have to go; but I just wanted you to know when the party is. It's at the Queenstown Gardens, Saturday evening at 7:00. Like I said, your dress and shoes should arrive at your house today or tomorrow."
"Now I've got shoes, too?" Deseray joked, "You're officially my fairy godmother."
"I hope so. It would totally match the theme," Tiffany replied. Deseray could almost imagine the grin on her friend's heart-shaped face and the sparkle of her hazel eyes. In the background, a baby cried, and Tiffany repeated her apology that she had to go.
"I hope you can make it, Ray," she added, "If you're too weak, worse case scenario I can have a wheelchair ordered for the occasion, and a limo can pick you up."
"I think I'll be fine," Deseray said, "My mom has her little orange VW, and it's fancy enough for me."
"Okay, Ray, talk to you later then," Tiffany said.
"Bye, Tif. Love ya."
"Love ya millions too. Bye, sweetie."
The line cut out and Deseray hung the old metal receiver back up on the wall. She turned to her mother, who was sitting placidly at their wooden kitchen table, colorful yellow plates loaded with food and a jar of lavender Viper's bugloss, a native wildflower of New Zealand, in the center. The same sunlight that had awakened Deseray that morning was spilling across the creases in her mother's smile and the warm brown tablecloth, scattered in wildflower petals.
"Are you ready for breakfast, dear?" Her mother said, her pale green eyes shimmering with liquid light.
"I'm ready." Deseray pulled out a chair and sat down, and her mother took her hand in her own aged and venerable one.
"I suppose I'll say the blessing," her mother offered.
She cleared her throat, and Deseray squeezed her eyes shut. She was back in Missouri again, sitting in her parent's rural kitchen as a teenager, bowing her head as her father said the blessing. Her dear father, with his tall brown boots and his love for hunting in the pine-needle woods, saying the same words that Deseray's mother was repeating now in her own gentle voice.
"Bless us, dear Lord, and bless this food. Put Your hand graciously upon us and let us prosper in this land you have placed us in. Let us always hope, always persevere, always rejoice in the things you have given us...Amen."
Always persevere. A tear fell from the corner of Deseray's eye. Yes, Lord, help me to always persevere, even to the end of all things.
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