Page 6 - BBR_fallwinter14

barely farther north than they are. And can you believe the house still smells so much like that cypress lumber? Hon- estly, the remodeling was done ages ago. We must not have been airing out the rooms enough. Come on, let’s open some windows!”
“But don’t you think...” The sentence died in Ray’s throat, and he pursed his lips with a distinctly uncomfortable look. Annie followed his gaze as it icked over rst the shrouded window, then the cradle.
“Oh. Well, I suppose you’re right,” she said with a wistful sigh. “Hazel’s still so little. She probably couldn’t handle the cold.”
Ray had furrowed his brow slightly at the words, and before he could smooth the expression Annie noted a certain tired- ness in his eyes. She was suddenly lled with concern for the man, and the longer she looked, the more washed out
he appeared. Compared to the glowing whites surrounding him, Ray seemed tired and sallow. “Are you sure you’re not working too hard? Why don’t you come back to bed, spend a morning with me and Hazel?”
Annie gazed at her husband earnestly, but there was no hesitation in his weak smile and gentle refusal. “I really have to get to the o ce,” Ray explained with a glance to his watch. “You’ll be alright without me all day?” he asked with a sudden intensity.
“Yes, I think I can manage.” A hint of uncertainty crept into Annie’s voice at her husband’s strange behavior. She blinked as her eye was drawn to the glint on his wrist. “When did you start wearing a wristwatch, Ray? You just got a new pocket watch,” she observed idly.
The discom ted look was back. “All the o cers who were in the war–well, are in, I mean–said this model is more e cient. It’s getting popular.”
“Hm. That’s nice. Well, I guess I shouldn’t keep you.” She rose
Narcissus
Poetry by Sarah Turley ‘16
from
her seat
on the
bed and
pecked
Ray
on the
cheek.
“Have
a good
day. And
I think
I might
open a few upstairs windows, and at least all the curtains, so the house might be a bit chilly when you get back.”
Ray sti ened, his hand freezing on Annie’s shoulder. “You’re sure?” he asked again.
“Yes I’m sure,” she said, smiling as she decided to humor her husband’s odd moods.
With a gulp and wide eyes, Ray backed out of the room. “I might hang around a bit longer. I need to make a phone call before leaving,” he forced out before spinning on his heel and practically running from the room.
Confused and slightly hurt, Annie stared after her eeing hus- band. “When did we get a phone?” she mumbled dazedly.
Looking around, the wilted feeling that had surrounded Ray seemed to persist in his absence, spreading throughout the room and casting a strange dimness over the various shades of white. A bit of sunlight was de nitely in order. With deter- mined steps, Annie walked over to the window and yanked back the curtains.
For a brief moment, dazzling sunlight streamed through
the panes of glass, throwing iridescent ecks on the oor
and making the walls glow, and Annie took a deep, satis ed breath. Then the light changed. It grew green, far too green, and descended over clean swathes of white like a shroud. A choked noise of surprise clawed out from deep within An- nie’s throat. She looked about with panicked eyes. In its new sickly cast, the room appeared dull and hollow. Paint aked o the cradle, surrounded by swirling motes of dust, and the downy bundle where Hazel had rested was gone, replaced by a browning bouquet of lilies and white roses. Annie slammed the curtains shut, but the room’s ghastly appearance did not change. Every surface, curve, and corner looked dim and neglected, and the owers near the bed glared at Annie like so many accusing faces. In her mind’s eye, next to the blank, lifeless sight of the room, the hatefully cheerful spring owers she had seen outside the window mocked her.
“Ray! Ray, are you still here?” Annie cried desperately. She ran to the cradle, staring in horror at the owers nestled in where her baby should have been.
Her husband burst through the door, skidding up to her on
frantic feet. “What’s wrong? Annie, what happened?”
“She spun to face him, nearly dislodg- ing his hands from where they rested on her back and arm. “Ray, the baby! Hazel's
gone! Ray, where did Hazel go?”
Why must one love themselves in only dramatic de- grees?
You can either hate yourself
or love yourself so much so that people label you. Vain. Narcissist.
Well I personally think that maybe Narcissus was right- fully in love with himself,
was he not beautiful?
Did he not deserve his own love?
Why could he receive the praise and envies of others, yet when he saw his re ection
and thought he was good looking, he was punished?
Spring 2015
5