Sunday, April 29, 2012

Sunday’s Child


Out in the driveway, the paper looks like a leg of lamb in a plastic bag. Yesterday afternoon, in the flowerbed beneath the big window of this room, I planted begonias, forty-eight in number, some pink, some white, all with shiny green leaves. Begonias love that spot, for the sun they receive during the first part of the morning and for the cooling shade the rest of the day. I tried geraniums there three years ago. They did well too, although they would have been happier with a bit more sun. Then the worms got them. But before they did, I liked the way the spent blooms scattered themselves along the walk, red and white and pink on grainy gray. The image reminds me of blood on a boy’s sweatshirt: upon noticing it, he no longer remembers what made him bleed. Later, though, his mother, standing at the washing machine, knows full well the stain was made by salmon eggs from their last fishing trip. And for some reason this reminds her of their visit to the doctor. Before giving her boy a shot, just as a horn sounded and a cloud cast a shadow on the street, the doctor asked him if he was still taking piano lessons. The boy winced, but didn’t cry; she wondered if Mozart was like that. He played on and on, and then one day the doctor died and was laid forever in his grave. The flowers, he thought, were from his mother’s side. From Adam a stick or root, and from Eve, a love that never dies. Such is life in this grown man’s mind.


14 comments:

Anthony Duce said...

I like how the simple grows here into so much more. Amazing scope for such a humble beginning.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks for reading, Anthony. Your observation reminds me of the way a landscape is transformed, flake by flake, by snow.

Jonathan Chant said...

Seems to comply with 'William's Law.'

William Michaelian said...

Which is:

Grief in finding it broken, joy in the beauty of each new piece.

I like to think of it as a law you can pick up, put in your pocket, and find true again years later, all within the space of a few minutes. The kind of law that isn’t a law, but something two kids might trade at lunch, worthy of a bottle cap or feather.

Or maybe even baloney.

Jan said...

William, you have taken me thru many thoughts and emotions in one paragraph. You are amazing~~~

William Michaelian said...

What is amazing, Jan, but not surprising, is that you are kind enough to think so.

Bitch said...

A small kind of melancholy is coming with your words..
Is this only my imagination?

William Michaelian said...

I don’t know, Monika. Either way, I hope the melancholy is a sweet one.

vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras) said...

Good to see your hiatus has brought you back in one amazing piece, Wild Bill.

William Michaelian said...

Hey there, Oldtimer. How can I leave you be when you’re as wild as me?

tánemar said...

and we too, just like you characters, are all connected
in thoughts and deeds, never fully aware of the impact
we may have on each other. good thing to remember!
thank you for reminding me in such beautiful way, tanya

William Michaelian said...

And thank you, Tanya, for stating something so positive so well....

erin said...

how is it that you cause time to be pushed through me as though by a bellows?

a beautiful piece of writing/living/thinking/feeling.

xo
erin

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Erin.