Vampires

[vaneramos]

Eramosa River, 3 pm.

Additional photos posted in texture (1, 2), and doorwindowwall (1).

~~~~~~~~~~

The world is black and white today, and yet it is neither bright nor dark. It lies somewhere in between, a crepuscular zone where snow crinkles around the edges of leaves and ice creeps upon the still Eramosa waters. Cars for sale in the lot next door look like cadavers, their features muted by body bags. Perhaps they are only half dead, vampires ready to emerge from their coffins when someone pays the right price. A tribe of hollow bodies skims up and down York Road, whispering in the same sibilant language, stories of coming and going I will never comprehend. I sit writing at my desk, or stand at the kitchen window; my thoughts following the incessant hiss of deadly tires. Running and running. Nothing can stop us.

I talked on the phone today with an old friend. Old in my terms means anything longer than three years. I've known Daniel since 1996, which is practically a lifetime. We have drifted apart since I started seeing Danny. We've exchanged voice messages a few times, but haven't actually conversed for at least six months. It annoys me that he still shows no particular interest in my relationship. It was such a difference from the Guelph crowd: last night at choir practice several people asked about my boyfriend. Ray said Danny looked positively scrumptious at the December choir concert with his new haircut. It took me by surprise, filled me with a glow. I love singing next to Ray; he is a little man with a rich, dark bass voice.

Daniel is part of my life. The only man I ever dated who I still consider a friend. I need to let go of wishing things were different, get over my unforgiving. If he doesn't understand my life, maybe he will learn from it. I have learned much from him. It's not like he rejects me, the way some people have done.

Today I received a Christmas letter from Linda P, a woman from my old church. This was the third year in a row. There is nothing inviting in these letters, no peace offering, only a declaration of Christ's love presiding over her family, how He provided for them, which of her various children prayed the sinner's prayer this year. I know what she believes: that I will eventually tire of running from the Lord, and return penitently to the unconditional love so evident in her life. Her only living purpose is to preach the Gospel.

This is a woman who wouldn't speak and turned her eyes away the last time I said hello to her at the grocery store. A friend of 12 years who cut me off when my marriage failed, without once asking my side of the story. Later she must have thought better of her actions. Maybe it was guilt (you must love even the sinners!) that led her to track down my new address, I don't know how. It felt invasive to me. I kept that first letter for a few months, then threw it out.

Last year her tone hadn't changed, so I tore the letter up at once.

This afternoon when I found the envelope in my mail I didn't even open it, but scratched out my address and wrote "return to sender," then deposited it in the mailbox across the street. I had been looking forward to that all year.