As a writer, I like to give myself challenges. I’m wrestling with my crossover story right now, trying to blend at least four genres into one story. A few years ago I wrote this, my first (I think only) foray into Second Person.
You’ve come home again. You’ve gotten out of your car, grabbed up several articles, as you always do. Rarely do you walk without carrying something, a book, some mail, or your heavy purse. Your face is animated, as if you are conversing with yourself but having the presence of mind to keep the words from being heard by others. Distracted, you seem to catch a whiff of the air. You realize there are scents that blend with the airflow, that connect you to the world around you. You are always trying to put feelings into words. Nostalgia, atmosphere, a brief yearning crosses your face as you try to express it.
At last you look up, into the night sky. A tiny puffy white cloud sits back, out of the way. Stars illumine in jagged, bumpity lines. And there, in a frame of landscape, you see me. Blue, you think, glowing. Crisp, and mysterious, I see you trying to define me like your other impressions. What do I remind you of? Is there any specific memory that draws that slight pleasure on your face?
But no. I have seen you too many times to suspect that. Memories blend into feelings for you, times that meant something, people’s faces and their bright spirits underneath. Seeing me, and my performance in the sky, your eyes go vague. I think you must be adventuring again, off on some tangent.
I am solid. I am here, although from your perspective I change frequently. That too, can be charted, exact changes occurring with regularity, and smooth changes having to do with my path across your skyline. My path around the world, drawn like a line of light. I’m trying to connect the dots, to point to the others that populate the world, to remind you of all that I see.
People sleeping, hiding, crying, and flirting. Arguments and closed doors and the occasional person who stops, looks up into the sky and sees me.
So you think you know by feelings, that I am a good thing? I am constant, but not always seen. I light the way, but I give no warmth. I try to look beautiful, but I shrink at times. I have no feelings, but I think you like me. That’s why, sometimes, I take the time to notice you, too.