A Rainy Heart

A novel, page 4



And tonight, this very night I am leaving the bed to join the new faces. Then we will talk and laugh, then the night turns to daylight, then what, a few more hours of shopping, gathering, dining, and each will return to the usual. Is this how a weekend should be? Yes I am walking now. If they cannot see me, then I can turn to the left toward the kitchen, leading to the back door.
“Hey, you’re awake. Sorry about the noises,” Brent blocks me in the hallway. “Come, let’s join us,” he says.
I look at his blue eyes and wavy blonde hair, slender built and tall. Then I follow him to the living room.
They, the strangers, standing in groups of 3 and 4. It seems like about eighteen or nineteen unrecognizable faces. Half men, half women. Then I turn to my right where the sofa is, Nate sits with a white wine glass in his hand, watching me. Brent still stands next to me. I look up at him, “Can you get me a red wine? Thank you.”
“Sure, take a seat and I’ll be right back.”
I ease myself next to Nate. He does not look at me anymore. His large brown eyes take another direction. This man, how he has changed in few years, with flat scattered brown hair and a round belly. This man used to smile at me, but the smile has faded the last three years.
“Here, you want red wine, right?” Brent smiles and winks.
“Thank you,” I say. I wish Brent would sit down next to me. I look at him, waiting.
“Brent, can you get more wines out for the guests?” Nate says.
“Why don’t you get them?” Brent says.
“Well, you’re still standing and closer to the dining room,” says Nate.
“All right,” Brent leaves me sitting there with Nate.
 
Each time the sun has gone down, I think of that night. It flashes through. Sometimes I still see him in dreams. The way he looked at me that night, that look, I see still. Has he changed now? Does he still have the same gaze? We were young then. With the nineteen years, how his eyes must have changed, at least the shape. I don’t think people’s eyes change. Perhaps the mind does change, and for some, the heart shifts. As for love, can love change? If it is real, can it change? If I did not notice his eyes that night, if . . . I can’t seem to have an answer now, and after these years, I still don’t know the answer.

Comments

D. Wallace Peach says:

January 26, 2017 at 7:24 pm

I really like this. It’s so full of expectation and regret, (without all the swooning). Beautifully written.
Liked by 1 person

Reply

artfervors says:

January 26, 2017 at 9:39 pm

Thank you so so much. I was worried when I posted these pages. I wrote this novel 9 years ago and put it away without revising; now I change it to present tense as I rewrite the novel day by day. Thank you… your words really encourage me. Thank you.
Like

Reply

alvinchardon says:

January 31, 2017 at 12:04 pm

Ooh, I like the darkness in the voice. And the air around the scene? Not artificial, or dead even, but somehow, unalive?
Keep at it, Arty. Tell your story. The World needs to hear them all before our magic wanders off for good (or in your case: For another nine years).
Good journey!

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Published by

waterdove

Besides the love for arts, I am fascinated with words that depicted the human mind and heart. I live in southern California and spend all free time when not working to dream, read, write, draw, and paint. Please note that all my writings on Wordpress are unedited since I write the words as they appear in mind at the moment.

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