First this chapter went nowhere, then it went in a bunch of different
directions, then it got lost and decided to wander aimlessly for a while,
then it found a bar, had a few drinks and dozed off, then it stumbled out
of bed with a hangover and downed eight mugs of coffee. This is probably
why it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. :) Sorry for the delay and thank
you for the reviews--I love you all!
***
Carver turns the card over.
The second card from the left is a painting of a burnished gold chariot, splendidly engraved with wreaths of laurels, standing in the dust. The metal is searing hot, shining in the sunlight and flashing into dazzled eyes. The tethered horses are strong, powerful ebony-black stallions with flowing manes. The leather reins dangle loosely over the edge of the empty chariot; there is no driver.
Carver feels those knotted cords of leather in his palm, tightens his fingers around them and feels the reins tremble in his hand. The horses are impatient, scraping and pawing at the ground, tugging at the bit. Beneath the rickety wooden floor, the wheels begin to creak.
Isn't this supposed to be not real?
The soft swish-swish of silk and the tinkle of tiny bells float through his thoughts. "The Chariot represents determination, control, and self- assertion. Victory comes through resolve and fortitude, strength and willpower, but often at the high price of self-denial and rejection..."
***
Maria scratches the little wrinkle at the bridge of her nose as she waits. Her fingers are raw and red from the cold, slightly swollen at the slender tips. She sneezes, then sniffles as she pokes around in her pocket for a Kleenex. She tucks back her hair and shuffles her feet, scuffing them against the raw concrete.
The wind picks up, clicks the beads in her braids together with a light patter of clacking noises. She blows her nose with a loud splutter and snuffles into her Kleenex, wiping at her red eyes with the back of her hand.
She didn't stop crying all night. At first she was sobbing frantically, with choking, shuddering gasps in between as she wheezed and panted; she muffled her crying in her pillow and wept away her tears until she snuffled and gulped into silence. She tried to drown herself in sleep, tried to breathe deeply and close her swollen, aching eyes. Instead she lay quietly awake as the tears drifted from her shut eyes and dropped into the darkness.
Maria didn't know a heart could break this badly.
A calm, even, detached voice ringing hollowly in her ears, speaking clearly and serenely. He never wasted words when he was serious. One phone call, not even ten minutes long, to tell her that it was over.
She and Ron are breaking up. Breaking apart. Disconnected, disjointed, splintered... leaving behind a dream, bright and beautiful like a glittering piece of glass, shattered into shards.
Oh, she knows why. She knows it's important to him to pursue law, to fly off to Boston and study at Harvard, to be the best at what he loves. She knows it's important to him to make his family proud--his family who has no other child to be proud of. She knows that she can't hold on to him like this, keeping him here with her forever, clinging feverishly to him like a sickly weed curled around a strong sapling.
She knows. It still hurts.
The bus has arrived, creaking to a standstill as the doors swing open and a rush of warm air brushes her face. Maria's cheeks and nose are numb, her lips are cracked and dry. She swallows and lets out a small sigh, rubbing her hands together, then rubs her eyes as she climbs the steps. The doors slide shut behind her and the bus lurches off again.
***
***
Carver turns the card over.
The second card from the left is a painting of a burnished gold chariot, splendidly engraved with wreaths of laurels, standing in the dust. The metal is searing hot, shining in the sunlight and flashing into dazzled eyes. The tethered horses are strong, powerful ebony-black stallions with flowing manes. The leather reins dangle loosely over the edge of the empty chariot; there is no driver.
Carver feels those knotted cords of leather in his palm, tightens his fingers around them and feels the reins tremble in his hand. The horses are impatient, scraping and pawing at the ground, tugging at the bit. Beneath the rickety wooden floor, the wheels begin to creak.
Isn't this supposed to be not real?
The soft swish-swish of silk and the tinkle of tiny bells float through his thoughts. "The Chariot represents determination, control, and self- assertion. Victory comes through resolve and fortitude, strength and willpower, but often at the high price of self-denial and rejection..."
***
Maria scratches the little wrinkle at the bridge of her nose as she waits. Her fingers are raw and red from the cold, slightly swollen at the slender tips. She sneezes, then sniffles as she pokes around in her pocket for a Kleenex. She tucks back her hair and shuffles her feet, scuffing them against the raw concrete.
The wind picks up, clicks the beads in her braids together with a light patter of clacking noises. She blows her nose with a loud splutter and snuffles into her Kleenex, wiping at her red eyes with the back of her hand.
She didn't stop crying all night. At first she was sobbing frantically, with choking, shuddering gasps in between as she wheezed and panted; she muffled her crying in her pillow and wept away her tears until she snuffled and gulped into silence. She tried to drown herself in sleep, tried to breathe deeply and close her swollen, aching eyes. Instead she lay quietly awake as the tears drifted from her shut eyes and dropped into the darkness.
Maria didn't know a heart could break this badly.
A calm, even, detached voice ringing hollowly in her ears, speaking clearly and serenely. He never wasted words when he was serious. One phone call, not even ten minutes long, to tell her that it was over.
She and Ron are breaking up. Breaking apart. Disconnected, disjointed, splintered... leaving behind a dream, bright and beautiful like a glittering piece of glass, shattered into shards.
Oh, she knows why. She knows it's important to him to pursue law, to fly off to Boston and study at Harvard, to be the best at what he loves. She knows it's important to him to make his family proud--his family who has no other child to be proud of. She knows that she can't hold on to him like this, keeping him here with her forever, clinging feverishly to him like a sickly weed curled around a strong sapling.
She knows. It still hurts.
The bus has arrived, creaking to a standstill as the doors swing open and a rush of warm air brushes her face. Maria's cheeks and nose are numb, her lips are cracked and dry. She swallows and lets out a small sigh, rubbing her hands together, then rubs her eyes as she climbs the steps. The doors slide shut behind her and the bus lurches off again.
***