Page 195 of Mangled Memory
And, as if the forest knows of my melancholy, the breeze blows, the leaves rattle, and the sun pushes to the ground, ruining the contrast in the picture. The light has ruined the shadow, and the time for capturing it has passed.
10
the unknown, the unknowable
Ayla
“Are you satisfied?” He threads my fingers through his, resting my wrist on his warm thigh.
I nod once, still staring out the window.
“I’m interested to see what you saw.”
“You were there.” I say quietly, rubbing back and forth across the cuticle of my right thumb.
“Yes, but I don’t see it like you do. You have a gift.”
“Thank you.”
We near an open-air farmer’s stand as we head toward Cian’s house, and he pulls over. “Want to get out and see what they have?”
Not really.I’d rather be alone with my thoughts, but instead I unbuckle and step out, not waiting for him to get my door. His face registers the frustration I feel but won’t show.
Jarred preserves and pickled veggies sit at one end while the early growth of fall vegetables takes front and center. I trail my finger over a butternut squash as Christian approaches the owner.
He lifts his chin in inquiry. “What are the things that we shouldn’t miss?”
“The squash is good. The peach preserves are my wife’s, and they’re outstanding. I like the cider but recommend it warm with some Jack.”
Christian seems to take all of his recommendations but adds aloaf of sourdough bread and a jar of stuffed olives to it, thanking him before moving our haul to the car.
But I’m not done. For some reason, I’m drawn to the man and ask if he minds a photo or two.
“Sure, miss. Whatever you want.”
I retrieve my SLR and return to the end of the stand. Camera out and at eye level, I shoot a few of his set-up and his wares, before snagging a couple of him. I take a card he extends and thank him for his time.
Christian opens my door, placing my bag in the back seat before circling the trunk and getting in.
He turns in his seat to face me, holding my eyes in awkward silence, before scrubbing his face with his hand on a sigh. “Today’s been a lot, it seems. I told Cian we were on our way. You still want to go?”
“I do. I want to see Ci and I want to meet Eleanor… again.”
He starts the car and buckles, waiting until I’ve done the same before putting it in gear. “What were the pictures of the old man’s stand?”
“Something about him seemed… I don’t know the word. Resigned or disappointed or something. Tired maybe. I thought it would be nice to show him a fresh perspective.”
“Do you think you got it? Fresh perspective?”
My voice is dull, and I fight to hide any sarcasm. “Yeah. Things are coming into focus for me.”
Fifteen minutes later, Cian’s front door swings open, and Eleanor bounds out and straight to the passenger side of the SUV. I barely have my door open when the fluffy brown mutt is climbing me, perching her front paws on my knees and licking my chin as if it were lined with peanut butter.
“Eleanor,” Cian calls, while standing tall in the open door. He’s barefoot in jeans and a hoodie.
“Hello, Eleanor. You sure are a beauty, aren’t you?” I scratch around the dog’s ears and down her neck while her tail whips side to side. She pants and it makes her appear to be smiling.
“Well, let me out already. We can go inside and play.”
