Ellen Robins was feeling good. One of those rare mornings that she didn't wake with a frisson of anxiety jolting her - or a disassociated sense that she was living in a parallel universe. Just a lovely shining morning, with a sense of absolute peace, her pulse slow and sweet as the proverbial molasses running easily through her veins. Yes, Ellen Robins was feeling very good. Not a usual state for the thirty-two-year old. And yet, even this change, which usually would prompt a racing pounding shift of gears in her heart until she was trembling and her hands icy wondering if something wrong was lying in wait ready to spring under her feeling of well-being: Even this change, this odd sense of utter calm, and, yes, complete peace of mind stayed as she swung her legs onto the floor and walked barefoot dropping her tee-shirt and panties in the hamper and turning the shower on full force. Even on her typical gray days she always loved the way the skylight above poured light down on her along with the pulsing shower - but this morning there was a quality of golden almost tropical pure sunlight bouncing off the tiles and the hardware. She reached for the body wash and the shower filled with sandalwood and citrus and she threw back her head and smiled - the water streaming down her back as she soaped her breast and felt beneath her frozen fingertips, the small - the hard - the unmistakable - unmovable lump.
19 January 2013
Pearl Ketover Prilik's web: