Posts Tagged ‘Varvara’

the morning of the day

In Uncategorized on May 23, 2011 at 2:33 pm

Varvara wanted only one thing from the day, but it was more than she had ever wanted from any other.

She forced herself, as she moved from her bed to the bathroom and into the shower, to take the deep and centering breaths everyone talked about these days. Stay in the moment, she told herself. Not long now. She stared at herself in the mirror, but not for too long. The time for such things had gone.

She heard Brenton leaving the bed, he would be in the ensuite soon. She hung the towel.

‘Good morning,’ she said as she left the room. It meant nothing that he didn’t reply.

She flicked on lights, made toast, boiled the kettle, fed the bloody dog.

She yelled when they hadn’t had breakfast and she sighed when they still weren’t dressed. She said, of the dishwasher which had to be emptied, ‘I don’t care who did it yesterday, I want you to do it today.’

Varvara dressed herself in expectation of a day gone right. The black jeans with deep, safe pockets, the red boots with just enough heel, the silver ring from Tiffany’s. The story of why she left the earings behind is one for another day.

She would carry an umbrella, not so much for the rain, more for something to do with her hands. She would need things to do with her hands.

Half past seven, eight o’clock. Time was passing, but it would be hours until she would know.


Varvara dreams

In blogopera on May 21, 2011 at 8:51 pm

When Varvara dreamed,

it was

of being a lawyer, a doctor, a clown

a swimmer, a dentist, a coach

a mother of twins, the wife of a man who hadn’t been heard from for years

the child of a mother who sewed her own clothes

a gardener, a farmer, a fisherman

still in her thirties, alive in her sixties, dead at ninety five

hair of red or chocolate or charcoal and natural streaks of grey

dressed in silks woven with gold and patterned with gingko trees

shadowed by cats, adored by dogs, covered in talking birds

a vet to exotics, petted by Kings, a maid-in-waiting to Queens

fluent in French, widely read, but never dismissive of soaps

tall and long, finely tuned, a feted tennis double

heard to laugh more than she sighed, never heard to cry

When Varvara dreamed,

it was

of being

anything but Varvara.