Visions

Something Like Wonder
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River Road
The Virginia Exhibit
A Lost Car on Spike Canyon
The Beneficiaries
Invisible The Morning After
Beautiful Shadows
Something Like Wonder
Try to Keep Up
A Series of Moments Between Clocks
The Unromantic REAL World of Gulliver's Travels
Meant for One Thing
The Lesser of Evils
Love and Nemesis
The Sinning Bishop
The World In Your Pocket
Higher Purpose
A Promising Look at Genesis
Not For The Ladies
Fooling Around and Falling In Love
The Tediousness of Tragic Love
Poetic Analysis for "The Trees"
Creation On Dub
Creating the Universe
Fast Acting In Small Doses
As Crazy As They
We Can Always Use More Utopia
A Little Church in Corinth
The Theory of Carl Rogers
Historically Speaking
Different Shades, Same Color
A Rose for a Funeral
Reflection
Obsessed With Race

     He was staring at her across the table with something like wonder.

     If his peripheral vision had actualy been registering, he would be beginning to see the first few streams of rain running down the kitchen window where they would pool in the unused flower box. The coming rain would surely wash the dust from his 69 Mustang that had collected on their journey through the back roads of nowhere. He was glad... It always gave him a sick feeling to look at the car covered in what was essentially a plethora of very small rocks.

     The clock above their new stove was clicking almost silently in a counter-rhythm to his watch. Almost seven minutes had passed since either of them had uttered a word, but somehow it wasn't an issue. He had forgotten all about time, as he commonly did when in her presence. If he had been able to focus on that thought alone at this moment, he would have smiled at the concept that he now would be able to enjoy much more of her presence...a thing that she could so rarely grant him until this day. Now none of that would matter.

     She was gazing down into a catalog full of home furnishings...love seats and lamps and curtains to decorate one's abode. If he would have asked her why she had taken such interest in this particular catalog, she would have closed it self-consciously and insisted that she was just browsing to pass the time. There was still a strangely awkward feeling for her associated with the step they had taken- the step into responsible adult-dom. Regardless of any of that, he couldn't stop staring at her. Her long, straight brown hair was woven into a messy braid that became almost nonexistent near the bottom, where it was tied with a broken shoelace. His eyes traced the curve of her jaw line and the length of her neck beneath the braid, memorizing it.

     Just as he was losing himself again, she glanced up, catching his eyes in what seemed like an eternal moment of reality.
     "What are you looking at, Cowboy?" A small, crooked smile lit her face from somewhere deep inside like a lantern. Her long eyelashes seemed to reach all the way to her eyebrows as she widened her eyes in interrogation.
     "You," he responded simply, hoping that his brief answer would stimulate further questions.

     She laughed dryly, chewing her lower lip ever so slightly. "Better look while you still can. When everyone finds out what I did they are going to send an angry mob after me."

     He returned a dry laugh as the rain started coming down harder. Yes, he supposed that what they had done had been a highly unpopular idea in the minds of her strict and, in his opinion, quite abrasive parents. The angry mob thing, however, was unlikely. What was likely was something inherently worse...they would disown and eventually come to entirely ignore her. She would become something of their past, and they would develop a habit of politely changing the subject when her name came up. He wondered how anyone could ever let go of something so precious and vital to existence. Apparently, the natural requirements he associated with love were his associations alone.

     "I'm really glad we did this."

     Her voice cut through his thoughts and pulled his eyes back up to meet hers. She had been fairly reluctant to voice her opinion on the matter, and he had been forced to judge her feelings through her actions. She closed the catalog and took his hand in both of hers. He could feel every smooth centimeter of her pale palms and the slight calluses on her fingertips as she moved them on his hand.

     "Me too, Beautiful."

Katherine Kennon (2005)