They were almost yelling. Fiercely tearing the air between them–words sharp and hot, bursts of fire. Madeline had tears of anger sliding down her cheeks. Through a grimace and a bearing of teeth she said, ” I don’t want your medicine, I don’t need a sparrow in my heart.” With squared shoulders she stared at Vincent.
Vincent remarked the small distance between them, conversely thinking it an impassable abyss. Words seeped in a tangible yearning fell from his mouth, “you know every patch you sew onto my clothing; every thread goes through my heart. I want to be your medicine; to feed the sparrow in your heart.”
She quickly strode the two steps of abyssal distance between them–and slapped him.
Vincent heard the magnified sound of the blow, felt the soft of her hand grate across the rough of his stubble and he turned away–feeling nothing more.
Madeline sank to her knees; debating whether give fully into sadness or anger.
It had begun to rain–cold and penetrating.
Vincent had no more words, his face ran with tears. Tears of pain, regret and the sting of her hand.
The day had started with such promise. Top down, the sun warm on his face, a beautiful day. A trip to the country, he and Madeline. Such promise.
Vincent’s love Madeline was unmatched, and very known. Madeline’s love for Vincent was vacant. Empty.
Earlier today Vincent was blind to this fact.
Currently, his eyes had been opened.
With a cold heart and cold hands he urged Madeline to her feet. They slogged to the car in silence, Vincent walking slowly in front with slumped shoulders–Madeline dawdling behind. They arrived. Vincent did not bother to open the door for the stranger he brought with him.
He started the car.
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Sparrow and the Medicine
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