NASA Image of the Day

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Part 23: Stolen creamery of Robin's breast

She threw the headset on the settee, shrugged tiredly out of her sweater, wiping at her nose absently with a tissue. With her other hand, she wiped at her eyes.

She wished the snotty bastard wasn't so short with her. The job was hard enough, and she had no trust fund or silver spoon pedigree; she just had this fucking job, a couple of college diplomas, and a good heart, and sometimes it wasn't enough to keep on giving a shit, when someone continually spoke to her as if she was, alternately, either just slightly mentally retarded, or less than a piece of garbage - especially since she genuinely wanted to help them all, and couldn't afford a medical degree, or the time it took to get one, with all of the responsibilities, financial and mental, she had taken on. Besides; she was too old now. She looked sad, at the thought.

"The root of hospitality is hospital". She heard her parents' kindly voices in her head, working hands hugging her close to them.

"You have to not care that no one else cares, and lead." She pondered the words, thoughtfully. "There is never enough care, in the world, kitten; always too much rage." The voices were soft, gentle.....and firm.

Sometimes she wished she could just be cold and clinical; detached, and removed, and elegant, like the languid women whose faces seemed effortlessly perfect, staring at her from pages, billboards, screens and men's arms. Everywhere she seemed to look, lately, they stared out at her, impassively; never out of control, never fitful, never feeling inadequate; never within reach.

That may have been a good thing, she mused, quietly, reasoning that the huge mental hands seemed bent on grinding her into a chiseled hole in the cement, most of the time, it was so bloody cutting.

"He's lonely", she said to the little cat, black and white, that had padded out to meet her in the dim dinginess of the gleaming, sparsely furnished surroundings:clean, proud.....and poor, like her. Roughly-hewn canvases, some framed in branches, others in crudely-crafted remnants of sideboard and edging, hung about, brilliant, and defiant, and ......hopeful.

She bent to pour a little of the pocketed plastic creamers, one at a time, until all three were gently poured into the battered pottery bowl on the floor beside the stove, deftly peeling and flipping the foil lid on each one, expertly. The little kitten, grateful, purred in anticipation.

The tired eyes, brushing back the bangs, and straightening her glasses, smiled. She did not touch the cat.

"I didn't tell them I take it black", she murmured to the kitten, eyes twinkling. She laughed, softly, in the gloom......

Personal Flight

Whenever clouds abound amidst the highest peaks,
Blotting out the azure glow of sky,
And circling wings of keen-eyed eagles seek
The treasured blink and small-winged cry,
But find it not, take heart;
All soon will fade away, like misted days
Long past:
Then greater journeys, and better notes,
Will ring.