"This scene: I am at a party in a green, shady place. There are lawn chairs around in a big circle, and people are drinking tall cool drinks or, in my case, wonderful coffee. Many people have come, some bearing small bags.
"I come to realize that I'm the honored guest at the party. I've only been the honored guest twice in my life -- my sixth birthday and my high school graduation, and few people stopped to either event. I think there are twenty people here, and I'm nearly crying. People here -- for me?
"I mingle -- after all, this is my party -- and make sure people have enough to eat and drink. There's a beautiful berry trifle and a cake and cookies and pitchers of ice tea and lemonade, and I didn't make any of it. It was here, simply here, for us. I move through a sheen of tears. I talk in my own peculiar way, not asking about the spouse and kids, but asking what they're doing, what they're creating, whether it be scrapbooking or music or a pretty home or quiet for themselves.
"Then someone makes me sit down in my chair, which they have moved to the middle of the circle. And each, one by one, comes up to me and gives me a hug and whispers to me that I am loved, that I am important. They hand me stars and hearts and flowers from the bags. They have scattered all over my chest, galaxies of shiny affection."
"I want to run away I feel so uncomfortable. I don't deserve this. Instead, I burst into tears and tell them, all of them, that I love them. And I hug all of them, fearing that this will go away as soon as I blink my eyes, that this will all be taken away from me.
"That's why it's my worst fear."
No comments:
Post a Comment
I believe that everyone here comes with good intent. If you come to spoil my assumptions by verbal abuse, excessive profanity, spam or other abuses I had not considered, I reserve the right to delete your notes or delete your participation. I am the arbiter of what violates good intent.