Thursday, March 4, 2010

Suddenly, She Was Dancing

Letters - 359 Words
Lindsey Thompson

The envelopes fell heavily to the floor as the box tumbled upside-down over the side of the bed. The corners of pages slipped out of the open mouths, and the scent of the past crawled out from hiding. A single, lonely CD rolled out from the bottom, colliding with the leg of the desk and settling on the carpet. Gentle fingers pinched the edges of the disk and placed it into a CD player, pressing pause as she picked up the pieces of the cardboard prison. Melodies and harmonies emanated from the speakers and filled the room with a foreigner’s presence. He sang and drew her attention to the letters that now slumbered in her hands, waiting to be awakened by the trails of her irises, the trace of her fingertips.

Suddenly she was dancing, tossing her amber, curly hair among the stirring air of spring that rushed in and out of her windows. She sang with the voice of this man who she’d forgotten, more out of fear than anger, and she carefully turned the pages of each handwritten thought, rare in the days of typed speech and intangible messages. Each imperfect “e” and sloppy “t” warmed her heart, and her smile as he wrote her name radiated. She held these fragile things closer than life itself for one brief, poignant moment.

A knock, a hand, a face appeared at her door. He smiled to see her so bright. He asked, ignorant, what made her glow today. Sheepishly, she lied through her teeth, putting his name on her happiness. He grinned; she stood still. She took the letters she had dropped at his arrival and replaced them in the box. The music turned the now stagnant air while she filled the box with its abandoned contents and tossed it toward the wastebasket. She promised to be out in a few minutes, and he left her to soak in the song’s sender for a moment longer. She took up a pen and wrote a brief message to herself. She pressed stop on her CD player, picked up her things, and headed out to the man she loved second-most.

io (This Time Around) - Helen Stellar


  1. This peice immediately hits at the heart of every woman. How many of us still have the "box" and dusty, lingering feelings. Lindsey, you dared to write about that one thing we don't talk about. Bravo. See you next Thursday.

    Kathy Jo

  2. I would have to second Kathy Jo's remark, except for some of us this "box" might be a large, garish, wooden trunk :)
    I love this project, I love the pictures in your letters.
    You are fabulous.