More self-indulgence: a sort of reply

Now I'm being really self-indulgent: three people read my last entry, so I decided to write a sequel.

This is fiction and doesn't mean anything at all, I'm afraid. It's less disturbing, and the bees are only marginal. Probably less enjoyable as well.

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Hi there!

This is a sort of letter, though I can't send it. You know where I am (mostly), but I have no idea where you are. Maybe I'll shoot off some rockets with copies and hope for the best! But I've so wanted to talk to you again over the years, and this is the only way I know how.

I planted bitter gourds when you left, and they've crept up the side of the house. I thought I would stop gardening when you left because it distracts me from my work, but I enjoy it. I only eat the dirt I collect on my fingers now. Anyway, the gourd flowers have just begun to bloom, and the bees are persistent and all yellow. I can watch the bees' tiny little legs rubbing and collecting pollen moving between all the yellow flowers. I know they are helping the plants to come together, and to grow, and the buzzing really only bothers me when I sit in the backyard, alone, watching them too long.

I started looking at silence, like you said I should. The mirror in the bathroom shows a little bit of it, but oddly enough the little compact I carry with me is most revealing. I don't use it for anything else now; I just stare at it. Sometimes I set it next to my desk and try to surprise the silence while I'm reading: you would laugh, seeing me! But I think I see now what you said was there. I'll keep trying.

I've kept at my work. My little mud men (and women now!) don't move very fast, but I can get them to smile now and again, and sometimes when I leave them for a few days they'll have moved from one side of the barn to another. But they don't know each other, they don't know me. I put them out in the yard last Halloween, and I think the kids loved it. They played tag, and of course my mud men always lost! But one of the kids thought one of my women was very cuddly, and he wrapped his arms around her. She didn't move, and just stared ahead, and the poor boy walked away so dejected! But I sent him away with plenty of candy, and he seemed happy enough. I've seen him a few times after that night, and I don't think he remembers. The mud woman just stared straight ahead. I don't think she's moved since.

It's gratifying to make these fantastic little people, and so frustrating! Everyone thinks they are my servants, but they don't understand. I don't train them to do dishes or anything! You understood. My hope is to one day get them to talk, then maybe everyone will understand.

I'm working now on building bubbles, huge, beautiful things! I build them up around people, and when they walk, the sides shine so wonderfully in the sun. Even better is the light of the moon, everything is ghostly pallid but you can feel the coolness and rest. There's some of that silence shining in the sides of those bubbles, I'm sure of it; you would stand in awe! But I should be more modest...blush. Still, it feels like I'm not creating anything at all: it's just there; I just happen to be the only one that sees it.

Aggh. I hope you are doing well. I worry about you, though I know I shouldn't. I'm sure you are dancing with the locals, climbing mountains like a butterfly and flying down just as fast as a car! I'm afraid you would find it very boring here. You've probably forgotten about me, even though you said you wouldn't. We always talk about you, far away, while here the rain falls and washes everything away.

Why did you leave? But I know why you left. I wanted to come after you. You know, I even pulled out that old bike, the one we used to try to fix? But it still doesn't work, I don't know why. You spent so many hours on it, turning knobs, lifting levers, and it was so hard to watch you, because it would never go. I never wanted it to go. But you knew that, I guess. Still, you kept trying.

I've waited so long for your letter. I know you don't know my address, but after so many decades I had hoped that you might have sent a letter to every house in town. Surely someone is still delivering letters, after all this time? I've lost track.

I'm happy. I hope you are too.