This shorty-short blog post is all about love.
The prompts this time are:
Love is solid
I need new everything
I think of her now
I think of her now, coming out of Marshall Fields with a black and gold shopping bag.
She decides to walk rather than take the train. It’s one of those late April days without rain, and the tulips and daffodils are everywhere: under the trees, hanging over the edges of window boxes, in vases on the tables in the Walnut Room, where she has just had a slice of Frango mint ice cream pie, coffee with cream. The clink of the china cup on the saucer. The clatter of forks. And now, the fresh spring air, the streets alive with people who have also decided to walk.
I like thinking of her this way, peaceful in her solitude. The El roars over her head as she crosses Wabash and heads toward the river. I want to crawl inside her thoughts, but knowing who she will become—mother, wife, demented old woman—I don’t dare interrupt this moment in the years of her youth, before all that, before all of us.
It’s sacred, this solitude, her young body, the way she thinks, perhaps, of dinner later, of being loved. She is young and attractive, and she knows she is loved.
I like thinking of her this way.