Fury is being reborn inside me and I’m out of my bed and screaming at him, and he’s slapping me. Inside my heart on this other plane I am sinking further and further into this montage of my past agonies. Sixteen now and on the telephone with a boyfriend, I feel how much I love him and I’m grinning as I pick up the phone talking in my happy lively way until I stop suddenly, my face falling eyes wide listening to what he’s saying. I’m not his soul mate, he can’t be with me anymore. Very quickly I flash through the achingly terrible fighting that occurred between he and I, and the six months of healing that followed. With focus on the rough spots. I’m beginning to get this feeling in my chest like my hearts becoming almost to full, re-feeling all this at once. The sadness of my life I think now, that it’s over while still scarring in it’s own way could not be nearly as bad as others I’ve known in my life, or just the standard of bad itself. Now with eternity sitting out before me I. Sailboats and small fishing trawlers gliding in and out of the harbor created by the bend in the Beaufort River. And slow, gracious southern hospitality. So we were beyond mellow already when the call came through on my cell phone from Sal. Fiddler’s Delight had been sold, and the advance, at least in my mind, was astronomical. I was burbling my bonanza to Julie in unrestrained tones, when the waitress came by with our desserts. She had misheard what I was saying and said, ‘You needin’ directions out to Fiddler’s Rest, are you?’ ‘No, sorry,’ I answered. ‘Fiddler’s Delight. That’s what I was saying. It’s the name of the book I just sold.’ ‘Oh, sorry, honey,’ she said. ‘I thought maybe you were here to look at the old fiddler guy’s house that’s been for sale out on the cove.’ Just a misheard phrase. That’s all it was. But that’s all it took. While we celebrated with double-decadence chocolate desserts, the coincidence of names rolled around in my head. I liked coincidences. I followed.
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