You said once that she thinks too much about the future. She always denied it. Lately, she has been carefully building various plans and putting them away in little boxes under the stairs. From time to time she will pull out an existing box and look through it, get excited, take steps towards making that box her life and then, without explanation, hurriedly put the box back in its place under the stairs.
Month upon month she adds to the delicate pattern of squares under the stairs, watching on as you use the same ragged bag to pack hasily made plans into and head off into the world. Reckless, she calls you, bull at a gate. But she sighs heavily and sleeps badly.
The plan boxes grow dusty and she grows grumpy and loses weight, perhaps from all the extra fidgeting. She drinks too much red wine and laughs too long and loud. Sometimes her heart beats faster without explanation, her hair quivers at the roots and her hands and face grow hot. You cannot help her because she will not answer your calls.
One night she wakes up shivering and sweating. She showers and eats breakfast in the quiet dark of 3am. Into a small bag she throws some probably inappropriate clothes, says farewell to the cat and leaves the house, stopping only momentarily to smell the mustiness of the cavity under the stairs. Reckless, the boxes whisper to her.
She pulls the door shut behind her, watches her breath create clouds in the cold air and wonders if she will see you somewhere out there.
This is my submission for this month’s Monday Project. This theme is particularly potent for me at the moment because I am struggling with my own bravery (or lack thereof!). Perhaps I should read this book again for inspiration.