Jeannie Becker 15.4.13 A Beginning…

This is an oldie, for want of a better phrase, popped up tonight as I want to post a little something but for some reason, known only to the Muse, ma wurdz are not flowin’ like they normally do, but I still want to share something. However, in a strange twist, those same fingers have decided that they can play guitar once again (which hasn’t happened in a while!) and I’m riffing out some Satriani with no problems at all. Bit flat on the bends tbh, but I can live with that!

So, anyhow, here is a small fragment about a something I haven’t decided upon, featuring a very sympathetic character who has a long road to travel yet, in a country I’ve never been to…. (OMG I’ve turned into Neil Gaiman!)

 

The more doors that close behind you, the more that open in front of you. That’s what Jeannie Becker had been told from a very early age. Never let one moment of opportunity go past you without grabbing hold of it with both hands and holding on as tight as you could, and you hold on tight my darling Jeannie, you hold on tight.

That’s what momma always used to tell her whenever the world decided to upend everything she knew.

So it was that this Wednesday evening – why was it always on a Wednesday? – that she found herself walking along a deserted country road in the middle of Wyoming, coat turned against the wind and ears shielded from the shouts and doubts that had dogged her thoughts  since slamming the door shut two hours ago.

The bitter chill of midnight air clung icy fingers around her legs and she shivered, much as she had done for the last week  or so, at it’s touch. Some days the weather seemed to dictate a persons mood. Others not. Up or down, wet or windy, she often felt her life being reflected through the glass of her front window as she watched yet another rainy shower descend and flood a little more despair into her life. Only a little mind; just enough to slowly erode her sense of self worth and being. Never enough to tip her over the edge.

The stones she kicked aside as she walked along the road clattered their protest in the guttering, reflecting her own attitude and reticence to move on, which was something she should have done years ago, but never had the guts to make happen.

Oh well, tonight – as the song goes – is the night…

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