Beauty In A Hurricane
Picture Reblogged: girlinlondon
Rushing into the tiny trailor, surrrounded by familiar bodies, many of which who had never, I say never, stepped foot inside the doorway of her home, were moving at such a high speed, and all asking, demanding instructions, as to what to do, what to pack, where to go, where to be, and how to do this impossible task set before us. Turning from one to the other, their voices blurred, her head began to spin, her heart rate was suddenly too high. Fear gripped her mind and threw her in a tail spin. They were touching her things. They all expected, no needed her to tell them what to do. If only there were one or two, or even three, maybe three, she could do this. She could direct them as a manager, as a leader, an instructor. But no, there were too many. And she had saved her private things for last, to keep them from prying eyes or stealy fingers of the girl whose feet were paid to be behind closed doors of her new home, against her will. For the timing of it all was to her dissatisfaction. Delicate glass was thrown around as if it would not break. One turned up her nose in disgust to her heart of hearts, her very own family! Her things, they were touching, touching, she wanted them to belong, to be organized, to go, to move, in a certain fashion. Everything had to be done just right. It must be labeled. It must be moved and placed in a certain place, each one. They could not see why. Why?! And so she sent them home. Then she did the packing, and the moving, one car load at a time, all night long, into the dark of night, until she could not move her body anymore.
Then there was the next day, and the day after that, and the day which came last, but not least, after that. The neighbors, they were the saviors. For they understood her delicacies. They understood her mind frame. There was a fight, a war with words, heated emotions. But after so many years of getting to know each other, through the thin walls, even this did not deter. No, for they found ways, to apologize for the small things, the words which were thrown in amongst all the rest, among the ones that really did matter. So that the largeness of those big words seemed smaller with all of the small words undressed.
And the sunlight shone so bright. The garbage piled high in the yard, days later. She moved like lightening speed, that night, in the dark. Seeing only by the neighbors light. Picking one thing out of the shed after another, fighting off the fear of spiders unseen. Moving quickly, for time was of the essence to save any treasure stored for years upon years among the heaps of garbage and things which no longer fit, memories strewn about, and confusing debree piled high by the middle of the tree.
Found, a treasure, only to her eyes. Yet many more, books, kept by her mother, had been stored there. Saved, because she insisted.
In a heartbeat, decide, keep, throw away, give away, or for her mother to decide.
The next day she said yes to the man who she had been avoiding, to help which he offered. Fighting off his advances, they together found places to stock pile her things in the moving truck. Without him, these things would have been lost. He kept trying to kiss her. She evaded. Once she thought she might have to hit him. But he backed off.
After it was all over, done and said with, two weeks later, she looked at a small patch of grass outside. Ownership, buying to own, holds so much more meaning then to rent.
Through the curtainless windows, the moon says hello.
Copyright Kat Lyons