Fences Made of Facts
Sadness keeps creeping up on me. In the middle of my day at work I am confronted by a heartbreaking story in the pages of a report from a caseworker. A child is grateful for the free secondhand shoes he received, and even more excited about the free alarm clock. This is a child who has suffered monumental loss, and his joy in these possessions is evident from the slightly less terse than normal tones of the caseworker.
I can’t stop crying about it. I want to buy this child shoes and alarm clocks and all of the other odds and ends I take for granted every day.
Two nights ago I wanted to watch BBC’s Pride & Prejudice; the viewing used to be an annual event, but now I can’t even seem to find the time once a year.
Tonight I am drinking wine and waiting to turn the pages of a novel that beckons to me like a worn flannel.
I want to text the guy I am seeing even though I know he is busy.
I am flipping through Facebook profiles.
I stop and think about all of these little pieces. I feel disconnected from the people in my life. These little actions are my way of connecting with them. And the boy I have never met is the one I connect with the most. I don’t need many of his story’s details; the plot is as easy to follow as a Disney cartoon. There are highs, lows, and a happy-ish ending.
But my friends and my life, they are easiest left in the broad strokes that paint facts. Emotions. Those are harder. The answers are neither wrong nor right; they just are. They become incomprehensible facts. They raise more questions. The emotional details are the ones that bind you together.
I want to reach out and say something. I hold my tongue. If I say the words that are about to roll out of my mouth I can’t take them back. They are said, and they will provoke a response I might not like. They might even lead to a question I don’t want to answer.
I watch my movie and read my book instead. Here the emotions are one-sided. These characters don’t care how I feel. They are there whenever I want, waiting to entertain me. They demand nothing.
I give nothing except facts.
And then I am alone, and I’m crying over a boy I don’t know.
Print article | This entry was posted by Amy Confetti on August 21, 2011 at 5:05 pm, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site. |
about 12 years ago
The heart breaks until it learns to stay open, my friend. Hugs and kisses to you so you can sleep at night. xoxo