Journey into My Imagination
I have missed you Carrie. I want you in my life. I want you to marry me and raise my children. Please. We fit so well together you and I. Can’t you see it in our cozy little house in the suburbs with our children and our dog and a minivan to get us back and forth? You will never need to write again. You invested so well and I make more then enough now for both of us. Things are looking up Carrie.
In amongst the dust particles on the hardwood floors were little tin soldiers in perfect lines and the lines spelled out the words… “Release us.”
“Well honey, it’s none of my business but if that guy wants to marry you then he should be trying to sweep you off your feet not avoiding you.”
“For what making me feel like a fool? Letting me stand there and tell you that I knew Mr. Murray…er…you…. intimately when you were clearly aware that I did not. You think that I could forget that so easily? You lied to me.”
“Governor William T. Hughes was an established politician. He was governor of the state of South Carolina from the years 1840 until his sudden death in 1853. He was not a well-beloved figure in the history of the state. He was known to make more enemies than friends, but his wealth and political ties allowed him to secure his election each term as unjust and unfair as that seemed to the other hopefuls. There were no immediate family members known at the time of his death.”
Jon stared at the little drowned waif of a girl standing in front of him for a full minute before he thought to introduce himself to her. The slick maneuvers and smooth words of other men were not second nature to him. He was honest and forthright and considered himself backwards in matters of love and yet he would have been very surprised to discover that that is exactly what women found irresistible about him.
I remember sitting by the lake, watching my brothers, one older and one younger, casting their long fishing poles into the water, sending ripples splattering off into the distance. Looking over beyond the farm, I could see my father walking through the cornfields. He looked like something out of a movie in his overalls and big, wide farmer’s hat. I sat on the swing, my bare feet dangling below me. I was wearing a plain cotton dress, a faded print of blue flowers. My mother would have said the dress was “serviceable.” She meant that it was as good as anything to wear around the farm, good as anything to get your chores done in and then to bask in the setting sun of the day.
Shannon McCauley - Author 