She came up and spoke in voice barely above a whisper. Soft, gentle voices – my ears can barely register their existence. Too many hours around loud, clashing machines roaring beside my head. I can’t hear gentle voices spoken by gentle souls. The harsh, brash intrusions that tunnel into my ear canal are all too familiar.
“Pardon?” I asked while looking for help from others around us.
She asked her question again. At least I thought it was a question. I noticed a pad in her hands and saw the list of days of the week, her pencil poised to register my response. Ah, she was asking for my favorite day of the week. My brain processed the few words that I heard from her and pieced it together.
I can barely remember was day this was. Wasn’t it just last Monday when I woke up in that quasi-aware, half-awake, half-asleep, semi-dream-world moment in a state of panic, thinking this was Tuesday and I had an early meeting somewhere? I have to process each wake-up call before I can remember the day of the week.
Thinking of her question, my only answer is that I don’t have a favorite day of the week. Each day is its own and I have some days I work here, some there, some outside, some inside. There are days that I can’t work outside because it’s too cold, it’s raining, or the wind and weather prevents me from doing what needs to be done. Some days are spent inside because that is what is needed. The day of the week doesn’t matter to me. The type of day does matter. My life is pushed by the winds.
“Any day I spend in the woods is my favorite day,” I told her. Her pencil did not move as she awaited my correct response. No tic marks were on her list and I was the first she asked. Or maybe I was the first she asked today. Isn’t Today a good response?
I sensed the beginnings of her frustration bubbling up and I told her, “Thursday.”
Why, Thursday?
I don’t know.
Maybe because Thursday happened to be:
Tomorrow.
Linked to Poets and Storytellers United - Friday Writings #23: Write Your Medicine
I want to know more about him, his circumstance, environment, the 'why' of those questions. Loved these lines especially "The type of day does matter. My life is pushed by the winds."
ReplyDeleteHe seems to be a complicated sort and others think of him as a simple man.
DeleteWe may hear from him again someday.
"Maybe because Thursday happened to be: Tomorrow." I think that's a brilliant answer
ReplyDeleteThank you, Debi. I appreciate that you thought that
DeleteHa, great finish. And altogether you do a lovely job of getting us to identify totally with your narrator.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Rosemary. Much appreciated
DeleteHa! Love that ending. :-)
ReplyDeleteThank you, Su-sieee
DeleteI love how you said 'My life is pushed by the winds' and I second 'any time spend in the woods is my favourite day' or any time in nature.
ReplyDeleteLove the end as well
Thank you, Marja. I spent two of the past three days among the trees.
DeleteGreat story, and love that ending. :)
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of my early days working in a telephone exchange with all the relays going on and off. Can barely hear anyone talking a bit softly.
Thank you, Cheong Lee San. My issue is tinnitus. Not quite the same ringing in the ear as from a telephone. Ha!
DeleteTinnitus is an awful thing....try not to be stressed...it makes it worse!! If you become completely absorbed in the creative process you might find it goes away...Keep enjoying your days inside or outside
ReplyDeletewhat an ending!
ReplyDelete