Playing with a piece of writing

“Long ago and oh so far away, I fell in love with you before the second show…but you’re not really here, it’s just the radio.” Thank you Karen and Richard Carpenter for these lyrics from your song, “Superstar.” The piece of writing I am going to share has your song playing as my muse.

I have been playing with this piece of writing I did some time ago and it has been tucked away for a good many years waiting for me to revisit. I promised I would start sharing what I know about writing. I have read and studied many that talk about writing and their writing process. After all of this, I am sure writing is not formulaic and it is unique to all of us. Writing for me is serendipitous, I never know what to expect, and that is part of the discovery process. I write to know what I think.

I have always planned to build this short short story into a longer piece of writing. It starts out situational – I guess I have this in common with Stephen King as he talks about all of his writing as building on a situation.

Well, here goes – enjoy.

“Even now, what can I say to you? It all happened so long ago. Yes, I remember it clearly, but they are my memories, and mine to choose to share. I know I’ve never told anyone about this – the less said the better.”

She stopped talking and stared down at her hands. Moments of silence passed which seemed long and strained the quiet.

After a while, she started talking again. “I promised myself never to speak about this to anyone. I hate breaking that promise, even for you, but I supposed now I must.”

We just sat there again without speaking, the silence creeping back into the room and slipping down over the last echoes of sound. I regretted this visit, the question I asked, and my making her feel so painfully uncomfortable. Yet, I knew that from this moment on, we would think of nothing else.

Her cat tip-toed into the room. Cats always seem to be able to find comfort even in the most awkward of times. It licked its paws and curled up on a chair in the corner acting like we were the intruders.

After another eternity, she began again. “You know, he wasn’t really a bad person. We all did love him so.”

“He could make us laugh until our sides ached,” and she seemed to let a smile pass across her face. She tried to look up at me secretly to see if I noticed.

“Mother loved him the way you love your firstborn, and she hated him too. More than once, she damned him to hell.”

I just looked at her and never said another word. This was hers to share if she wanted to. My part in this whole affair was over. I listened now whether I wanted to or not. I started something, and now it had a life of its own.

Published by Ed Pirie

I am a native Vermonter. I am a child of the 50s, 1951 to be exact. For much of my youth Vermont had one foot in the 19th century and one in the 20th century. The old ways coexisted with a world that was changing. We were sort of insulated in Vermont from much that was happening outside our state, but our little protective bubble was shrinking. My understanding of today has been greatly influenced by the past as the past was always part of our present in the Vermont of the 1950s and even the 60s. I am not much of a follower and like to do my own thinking. You will find my thoughts on many topics here. I value my family and a quiet existence in a very rural part of Vermont. I try to write clearly and simply. I hope you enjoy and thank you for visiting my site. Take care.

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1 Comment

  1. Nicely done, Ed. In these troubled times, it is good to see that you are able to escape to your mind and to writing. Play with it, have fun with it. this was a fun read. Keep it up.


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