Bobby, By Any Other Name
By GRH Wagner
He is older than I am. He has always been older, and always will be. And he is smarter than I am. He knows everything, and what he doesn’t know; he is able to figure out. He really is quite brilliant, and he is my secret best friend.
When I was younger, when I first met him, he told me I couldn’t tell anyone about him. He said I would get into trouble if anyone found out that I talked to him. I asked him why, and he said grown-ups wouldn’t believe someone like him should be a friend with someone like me. I didn’t have any other friends, so I asked if there was something wrong about being my friend. He said no, but that there was something wrong with me being his friend.
I didn’t really understand it all, back then, and I’m not entirely sure that I do, now. But I trusted him, and so, I never told anyone about him. Until now. And I should say, now, his voice came to me as a thought or a feeling, not verbal, but an understanding that fed into my mind and a sensation that touched my heart.
I can still remember that very first day. I had come home from school, jumping off the bus in a fit of agony, and running to the very top of the hill behind our house. I did so quickly, before the tears in my eyes overwhelmed my vision and I was unable to see where I was going. Then, I sat on a rocky western ledge and cried my heart out, wishing only that I could die and disappear from the face of the earth. My chest ached so terribly I thought I could die of broken-heartedness. And when I didn’t, it hurt so bad I thought it would be more bearable to throw myself from that lofty ledge and crumble into a mangled heap below; food for the scavengers. At least, then I would serve a purpose, and have a reason for being.
But I was a coward at the age of eight, and there I sat, and wailed to the birds in the bush, and the rabbits what could hear, and the deer amongst the trees, and the bees what would care. I cried to the point that I was spent and, having no strength to spare, I closed my eyes and hugged myself, sopping wet from my tears. And then, I slept upon that rock. A boulder is what it was. And I awoke to the touch of a hand smoothing my hair and caressing away my cares. I didn’t move, but stayed right there in that tender and soothing embrace. Only when the warmth of the setting sun threatened to chill my skin, and the darkness of night came on and I should have long since been home, did I at last sit up to see who came to comfort me.
He was someone I had not met, and yet, I felt I already knew. And in his eyes I saw his smile, and it touched me through and through. Then, I turned my head and looked down the hill, and when I turned back to him, coveting the peace he did instill, I realized with dismay that he had distanced himself from me. And without a word, he sent me back to the life from which I had run, and yet with the knowledge that he would be there should I find need of an invisible childhood friend.
Copyright © 2011 GRH Wagner
All rights reserved.
At this point, I should say that it started out as a new novel because the epic one I have been babying along was not so well received on a writer's website that has, up until now, consumed far too much of my time and energy. I think it best to refrain from saying any more about the site, except to note that I was not completely ignored or disliked; there were four or five people who actually had nice comments for my writing. And so, one must realize that you cannot please all of the people all of the time.
The rest of those lost months were spent mostly on my novel. I had sent it to some select friends and relatives in order to get some honest opinions, and while that wasn't a good idea, it has redirected my attention to specific editing issues that are within my abilities. Realizing epic novels can be made up of more than one book, I believe I have been able to break mine into two, which will be of good news to those who like to wade through my ramblings. If all works out to suit me, my readers will be able to get book one as a free download. The bad news is that book one does not end, and is continued in book two, and the really bad news is that I've been told book two does not end, either, or it ends poorly. Which is true, I'll not deny it.
I had ended my tale somewhat desperately at 900 and some pages, knowing I had gone on too long. The orginal editing did not eliminate very much, nor very many pages, and I brought it to an end, when I really should have just taken a break and gone back to it later. However, everything for a reason and all things in their own good time, I have started on the third book of what is now to be a trilogy.
And the best part of entering the Lulu Short Story contest was finding out how things work over there, familiarizing myself with the UPUB thingie and cover designs (just imagine it is blue), which I never did figure out to my satisfaction, and most of all the little details of epublishing, an entirely new world to me.
The long and short of it is, I did not take a vacation, or die (though I was sickly for part of the time) and I am back, and I will try never to leave you lingering for long, ever again.
I've actually missed you, but I'm back in The Dungeon and ready to reveal more Dark And Dampy things.
