Author's Note: Nothing special, just a drabble/vignette of sorts. Trying to teach myself to write again. Post S3
Blind Spots
I.
She splays her palms at her sides, opening and closing her fingers, grazing the tips of the grass below. The moisture from the ground soaks into her hair and the fabric of her dress, but she does not move. The wind stirs; the air is cool and smells of dirt and leaves and the vague melancholy of a storm. The water beads on her skin and rolls off in rivulets, like tears from every pore. She knows the rain by feel and scent, but she does not see it because her eyes are closed.
II.
Grief has been her constant companion, steady and ever present, her touchstone to the world. But time has passed, slowly and imperceptibly, and she finds that she depends upon it less and less. There are days when she sheds no tears, and moments when she laughs and feels it in her heart. She relishes time spent with her son, finally able to think about what she gained rather than what she lost. She remembers the words she said to Carson long ago, about knowing happiness but never achieving it. She knows now that she was wrong. Happiness is all around her. Like love, or peace or any of the other incorporeal feelings of the world, she knows it is real, but she cannot see it because it has no form.
III.
It doesn't matter what her mother or her sister say, or even how granny raises her eyebrows knowingly. It doesn't matter that her father seems smitten, or that even Carson seems to lighten in his presence. It doesn't matter how often a glare lingers longer than is strictly appropriate, or a hand rests on the small of her back a fraction longer than is necessary. It doesn't matter that the adoration that shines from his eyes is plain to nearly everyone; she does not see it because she isn't ready.
IV.
The old places don't haunt her anymore. She can sit on the bench beneath the ancient tree on the lawn and feel the warmth of the sun instead of the cool grip of panic. She can walk along the lane with steady legs, and take her son to visit his grandmother. She can press her lips to the pair that has now become so familiar and feel nothing but the pleasure of knowing him. She can hear the words he says, which make her feel things she wasn't sure she would ever feel again. She's come to learn that it's not about forgetting the past, but rather building from it, and starting anew. The pain still lingers, however dull. It follows behind her like a shadow cast by a reflection. But she does not see it because she is done looking back.
