explain it all to Jenny, but not this night. He did not wish to drive her away by exposing his tender emotions. It was too soon in their relationship. Hopefully, she would later better understand.
He walked late into the night, unmindful of the fulgent moon and stars in a cloudless sky, deep into a darkness of spirit which he felt might never leave him. His dear Grandma was dying. It was a reality that should have not been so alien, not so devastating, not so soul wrenching. But there it was, a truth he had to accept; a truth he had to know was coming; a truth, despite its natural relevance and its simple rite of passage, a truth that became a sodden and heavy weight upon his heart.
With dawn and the fire of the Arizona sun he thought again about living.
He thought of Jenny.
Chapter Eight
It was 'as lonely as Sunday.'
Mark Twain had written that line in Connecticut Yankee . Funny how it came to her now so vividly, years after reading the book. The lightning had apparently cleaned out her recall circuits. She usually could not remember much of what she had read.
“As lonely as Sunday.'
The words, the feeling, embraced her like a gray soggy memory of an afternoon in Lawrence, Kansas, sitting at her bedroom window seat, looking out at the ceaseless patter of raindrops. That day, she was sure that her life was a tragic crossroad, that her heart was surely about to break. The tears were overflowing and becoming a syncopated blur with the noisy falling rain. She had a major fight with her steady boyfriend, the star quarterback of the high school football team. He had wronged her in a cruel way, sneaking behind her back, leaving their date early on a pretext, to spend a sex evening with the school harlot. It was the most devastating and humiliating experience in her young life.
'As lonely as Sunday.'
It was like that now but in a less tumultuous way. It was Monday evening and she sat in the dark listening to a taped Bach symphony, watching the moon track its way across the starry eastern horizon. She was not devastated as on that distant rainy day in Lawrence and she had no concern about a fragile heart. She was not without hope but she did sense another crossroad in her life.
She was lonely, lonely for Jason Prince.
Why had he not called? What had she done to upset him? Had she been too premature in her school girl glow? Had the lightning made her more susceptible to anticipation and yearning? Was she expecting too much too quickly from a fateful rainy day meeting?
Jenny thought about their last night together at Grandma Wimsley's house. Something unexpected had happened there that night to cause a change in Jason. Was it something she had said or done? She thought back carefully and could not remember an utterance or faux pas which would have caused his shift in mood. Was it something that happened out of her earshot when Jason had talked to Carlton? What had happened?
She wanted to scream!
She was so sure that they were evolving into 'something,' a very 'special something.' She could not have been so wrong about that. A person knew when a feeling was special, when the heart was pumping faster, when that feeling was being shared. She could not have been so wrong about that. She was sure that she was falling in love with Jason Prince, and, that he was falling in love with her.
It was several days now since the dinner. Why had he not called? Jason was not the coy type. He would not play silly macho games with her. Why had he not called?
The moon had left her window. She could no longer see its slow rising arc. The stars, though, were there in a crystal clear and deep night sky.
Bach was now repeating the regal, tranquil movements of his symphony 101. Jenny sighed and curled deeper into the old familiar stuffed chair. She understood a rather spectacular notion that weaved itself in between the lapping folds of loneliness. She felt somewhat peculiar in her understanding. There was no despair. Actually, there was an
He walked late into the night, unmindful of the fulgent moon and stars in a cloudless sky, deep into a darkness of spirit which he felt might never leave him. His dear Grandma was dying. It was a reality that should have not been so alien, not so devastating, not so soul wrenching. But there it was, a truth he had to accept; a truth he had to know was coming; a truth, despite its natural relevance and its simple rite of passage, a truth that became a sodden and heavy weight upon his heart.
With dawn and the fire of the Arizona sun he thought again about living.
He thought of Jenny.
Chapter Eight
It was 'as lonely as Sunday.'
Mark Twain had written that line in Connecticut Yankee . Funny how it came to her now so vividly, years after reading the book. The lightning had apparently cleaned out her recall circuits. She usually could not remember much of what she had read.
“As lonely as Sunday.'
The words, the feeling, embraced her like a gray soggy memory of an afternoon in Lawrence, Kansas, sitting at her bedroom window seat, looking out at the ceaseless patter of raindrops. That day, she was sure that her life was a tragic crossroad, that her heart was surely about to break. The tears were overflowing and becoming a syncopated blur with the noisy falling rain. She had a major fight with her steady boyfriend, the star quarterback of the high school football team. He had wronged her in a cruel way, sneaking behind her back, leaving their date early on a pretext, to spend a sex evening with the school harlot. It was the most devastating and humiliating experience in her young life.
'As lonely as Sunday.'
It was like that now but in a less tumultuous way. It was Monday evening and she sat in the dark listening to a taped Bach symphony, watching the moon track its way across the starry eastern horizon. She was not devastated as on that distant rainy day in Lawrence and she had no concern about a fragile heart. She was not without hope but she did sense another crossroad in her life.
She was lonely, lonely for Jason Prince.
Why had he not called? What had she done to upset him? Had she been too premature in her school girl glow? Had the lightning made her more susceptible to anticipation and yearning? Was she expecting too much too quickly from a fateful rainy day meeting?
Jenny thought about their last night together at Grandma Wimsley's house. Something unexpected had happened there that night to cause a change in Jason. Was it something she had said or done? She thought back carefully and could not remember an utterance or faux pas which would have caused his shift in mood. Was it something that happened out of her earshot when Jason had talked to Carlton? What had happened?
She wanted to scream!
She was so sure that they were evolving into 'something,' a very 'special something.' She could not have been so wrong about that. A person knew when a feeling was special, when the heart was pumping faster, when that feeling was being shared. She could not have been so wrong about that. She was sure that she was falling in love with Jason Prince, and, that he was falling in love with her.
It was several days now since the dinner. Why had he not called? Jason was not the coy type. He would not play silly macho games with her. Why had he not called?
The moon had left her window. She could no longer see its slow rising arc. The stars, though, were there in a crystal clear and deep night sky.
Bach was now repeating the regal, tranquil movements of his symphony 101. Jenny sighed and curled deeper into the old familiar stuffed chair. She understood a rather spectacular notion that weaved itself in between the lapping folds of loneliness. She felt somewhat peculiar in her understanding. There was no despair. Actually, there was an
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