Risk, Courage, and Women: Contemporary Voices in Prose and Poetry

jared found

170 jared found Bert Kruger Smith Now sitting in the darkened living room with the afternoon sun trying to shine through the blinds, she remembered. On the dark blue rug she saw a shaft of light, almost silver in the dusk. And she recalled that day when she was a little girl, still in pigtails, and her father had brought home the piece of quicksilver. There she had stood, her square hand sweating with excitement, holding the shimmering object. In its depths she had seen pure silver and had thought of how she would spend it on licorice and peppermint sticks. How the light had gleamed, giving promise to her heart. And then, in an instant, it was gone. Shining warmly from her wet palm, it had disappeared. And with it the dream had gone. The living room smelled stale from the withered carnations, and she wiped her head damply with one hand. The yellow telegrams looked withered too, like old rose petals, and she closed her eyes briefly against the reality. But the dream was worse, and she quickly opened them again. She didn’t hear Henry come in, only felt his hand tender on her shoulder. “Louise,” he said gently, “Jimmy and Ellen want their dinner. Come, let’s eat.” She shook her head and leaned it against the warm brocade cushion. “I’m—not hungry, Henry. I’ll wait awhile.” Henry’s hands on hers were cold. “Louise—darling, what are you waiting for?” She looked up at him, quickly angry. But then the anger left, and there was only the dead weariness. “You know what I’m waiting for, Henry. He’ll come home.” In the deepening darkness Henry’s eyes looked very large. He ran a finger through his dark hair and licked his lips several times. “Louise, you won’t face the reality. And yet you know. Jared isn’t coming home—not ever.” There was a strange confused blur of images before her eyes, and she could feel the pulse in her head begin to throb painfully. Her anger was so great that for a minute she could not get words past her throat. And when she spoke, her words were dry too, and harsh. “You’re saying it, Henry. He’s lost. He was seams of our lives 171 sick, and he got delirious and left the hospital. He’ll come back. He always has.” Henry took her shoulders now and shook her tenderly. “Louise, my darling , come out of your dream. You were too sick to go to the funeral, or you’d be sure. Jared died, darling—died five days ago. Don’t you remember?” She couldn’t recall where she was or what Henry was so excited about. Jimmy and Ellen scuffled in the other room. She could hear them faintly, as through a thick wall. She opened her eyes against the darkness. She supposed she should get their supper. They must be hungry. It was time to call Jared for dinner. He was probably riding his red tricycle up and down the driveway. He played too hard. His hair was always wet when he came in, and his eyes were big and tired. She stood up. “I’ll call Jared in now, Henry, and then we’ll eat.” The colors came and went again before her eyes, and she could feel her heart begin to thunder as Henry sat her back down on the couch. She heard his voice, again, faintly, and the pain that was like an ax pressed against her stomach . “Louise, don’t—please don’t shut yourself up in that dream world again. We need you, we three. Don’t keep waiting for the little boy who’s lost forever .” She felt that sudden biting anger, but she spoke rapidly, against reality. “You don’t know Henry, don’t know what you’re saying. I’ve always been the one to hold up. Remember when Jared was two, and we lost him at dusk? Remember how frantic you were? I was the one who found him. There he was, sitting in the middle of the street, with all the cars coming. I found him.” She knew her voice was shrill. “A six-year-old can’t get lost forever. I’ll go out tonight. I’ll find him again.” She could see the tears in Henry’s eyes, and she was instantly sorry she had made him cry. “Don’t worry so, Henry,” she...