Clippings from the Edge of a Day

Rain drips from eave to earth just outside the double glass doors, offsetting the sense of exposed insecurity caused by the clear panes (as there is something of the animal in me, the instinct of concealment remains strong). Though all my screen-dazzled eyes can see now is the glow of my laptop, I know the trees are outside the house, close-grown and tall, looming high over this small property. When I was small I would think of the trees and feel safe; now, that sense of security is long gone.

Ibuprofen leaves a metallic taste in my mouth, and my feet are cold.

~ ~ ~

The steps of Bonamana are clumsy when I try them. I stand in front of the mirror and snap my fingers out towards my knee, pleased at the definitive click; however, the clarity of the other moves are lost to my awkward shuffling. I memorize the first three seconds, pausing the video numerous times to repeat the sequence on my own, then minimize the video and sway to the beat of the music, abandoning the dance for a more primitive mode of movement.

~ ~ ~

I spend most of the day curled up on the mattress in the room I share with Aigul, moving between SCC and Paul Currie, who is traipsing through downtown Lancaster in search of a specific coffee shop. Before settling on the location of his hangout, I located all shops and tea rooms in the city, then explored their interiors via business photos and menus, not to mention customer reviews. Transporting the information into the scene itself is no trouble at all, and weaving facts into story gives me a thrill of pleasure, as does discovering Paul's passion for tea. He and Lynne will get along famously once they meet.

Aubrey I took into SCC for the first time, as a fifteen year old boy (I didn't dare bring him in a middle-aged man), and was delighted to realize just how much of a darling he really is. Really. Like a pinch of Danny's good temper thrown in with a dash of Derek's stability, and the rest of him is his own man; he is going to be so much fun to write when I get around to tackling that novel. (And I will, even though second drafts are intimidating when your quondam self trashed the story and characters on the first go-round. Especially when your characters know it and are refusing to talk to you as a result.)

~ ~ ~

Words must wait for another day, because I must abandon typing and crawl into bed so Jama can sleep. Besides, okaa-san, I am so tired, and my eyes ache. Ai wo.