American stories. Kennedy’s Children by the American author Dewey Edward Chester. Enjoy your Saturday, Yareah friends.
On some long bus ride, I peered sadly from a closed window. The outside world seemed suddenly vulgar and vain. I had lost distinction. The scenes I saw from the window were common, since I had become common to see them. Simply, I had become one of them, myself.
But now, in a burst of flame, my spirit exploded into pieces. In pain, I reached out….to Laura’s newly laid grave. It was the only thing she left behind. Small wonder, I thought grimly; in death it was Laura who changed me.
What happened to her…….well, one night she was driving through Mississippi. Some devilish men followed behind, and murdered her. I could not cut off her memory. Her death consumed me.
When I arrived at her cemetery, I noticed someone else was there, a short plot away. The other man’s grave-site was apparently fresh, too. I could see his bowed back among the clustered monuments and mortuary yews.
With heaviness, I walked over and rested my head on Laura’s gravestone. What else could I do? My answer came when the other man looked up, wearing an expression that cut me like a knife. I winced at the sight of this man’s pain.
He withdrew, to slowly advance along the path. I could see something else on his face I hadn’t noticed before—–a deeply stricken face that looked quite dead. Yet, he lived! What made this man bleed to death, yet live?
I had been afraid of romantic commitment; always held back. I was uncomfortable with the feeling.
Suddenly, I grew cold —– stupefied at my blindness. I had presumed it was I who was important. I had made a mistake. Laura had seen what I could not. When I asked her to wait for love with me, the wait itself, had been my portion. I now understood why she had watched me stupidly stare at the only escape she could offer. My escape would have been to love her, unconditionally. Than I would have lived!
Now, beside her gravestone, I felt I failed her miserably. A low moan rose through my lips; as I remembered, the best days of our lives.