What isn’t said

There were people in the house. I could hear them downstairs, in the back room. I could hear footsteps on the floor below, and the particular timbre of the stairs as someone ascended. There were often people in the house; I entertain frequently, and enjoy having guests. Particularly when I am not the one responsible for the food and bartending. Amid the clatter of cutlery in the kitchen and the bubbling conversation, I heard one voice rise above the others.

Her voice was not loud or piercing. Her voice was calm, low-pitched, and reassuring. “Thank you for letting us come to your house,” she said. I glanced from the hall down the stairs. She was walking up. “Your home is beautiful; I like it here.”

I smiled, in spite of myself. She’d been to my house before on a couple of occasions, usually a week-end. She was happy just to sit and look at the pictures on the wall or to have a quiet conversation with someone nearby. Once, she looked at me and smiled, as if she knew what I was thinking. Perhaps she did.

As she found a seat in the corner near the window, I was about to approach her and thank her for coming, but there were two other women in the house; a couple of girls I’d seen before but had never met. They were walking upstairs. I watched them walk, with cameras in hand. I watched the flash light up every corner of the room. I watched them walk back downstairs. They did not smile. They were like many of the other people I’d hosted in the last few years; they talked and talked but did not say a word. They demanded and took advantage of my generosity, but they did not care to understand it. Girls like those are a sad reminder of why I no longer speak to many of my guests.

In the corner, the woman by the window smiled frequently. She’d been joined by a few of her friends. She looked up and saw me standing by the railing. I watched her watching me before I held up my skirts and ran down the stairs. I can’t help but feel sometimes that everyone wants something from me; something they are unwilling to or unable to articulate. I am generous and forgiving, but I am no mind-reader.

For some time, I did not see her again that night, but as I peeked over the railing later in the evening, she was looking upstairs. What did she see up there? She looked upstairs and smiled. I wanted to ask her what she was smiling about, but before I could approach her, she and her friends had risen to leave. She lagged behind them, thanked me again for my hospitality. I thought what a wonderful teacher she must have had when she was young.

Then, the children behind me getting ready for play distracted me from her. When I looked again, she was gone.

  8 comments for “What isn’t said

  1. turk182@shaw.ca
    25 July 2010 at 7:38 pm

    Your writing is a snell hook dipped in cotten candy.

    • 25 July 2010 at 8:13 pm

      At least there’s a hangman’s noose in there somewhere.

      • turk182@shaw.ca
        25 July 2010 at 8:20 pm

        Consider me well hung? …no of course not

        • turk182@shaw.ca
          25 July 2010 at 8:44 pm

          Riel was indicted by Judge Hugh Richardson on six counts of treason on July 20. Riel’s counsel immediately challenged the court’s jurisdiction, but these motions were denied. Riel then pleaded not guilty to all charges. Riel’s lawyers argued for a delay for the defence to obtain witnesses. It was granted and the trial began on July 28, 1885. Of the 36 people receiving jury duty summons, only one spoke French – and he was unable to attend. Moreover, the only Roman Catholic (an Irishman) in the jury pool was challenged by the prosecution for not being of British stock and excluded. In the event, Riel was tried before a jury of six composed entirely of English and Scottish Protestants, all from the area immediately surrounding Regina. The jurors were Francis Cosgrove – foreman – Whitewood, Edwin J. Brooks of Indian Head, Henry J. Painter of Broadview, Walter Merryfield of Whitewood, Peel Deane of Broadview and Edwin Eratt of Moose Jaw.

  2. turk182@shaw.ca
    25 July 2010 at 8:17 pm

    Sorry about your boobs (I’m sorry multiple ghost dads behind me)

  3. turk182@shaw.ca
    25 July 2010 at 8:53 pm

    “Life, without the dignity of an intelligent being, is not worth having.”

  4. turk182@shaw.ca
    25 July 2010 at 9:42 pm

    Fuck this site and fuck your employer?

    • 25 July 2010 at 10:36 pm

      Well, no.

      But thanks for coming out.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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