The music of the new ice cubes dropping into the empty glass broke through the silence of the house. It was a satisfying sound. Just as sticking fingers into a bowl of dry beans was a satisfying touch. Sometimes she would interlace her fingers tightly together to feel how perfectly they fit together within themselves. That, too, was satisfying.
Posie listened intently as the sun-warmed tea split tiny cracks into each ice cube. Within less than a minute they had already shrunken in size. Now a slice of lemon, the juicy swoosh of the knife along with the immediate citrus zest hitting her nose brought back memories of summer. Summer in the country where tensions were only high when they went to town. Out on the farm they could run and be free, with no one to bother them most of the time.
Grandmama would tell them scary stories around the summer campfires as she sipped her cold tea and ate warm watermelon or cucumbers. Decades later Posie found herself in the library, reading through newspaper stories, discovering that the scary stories her grandma told were not fiction, but the sad reality she had lived through.
Posie stopped her memories to rummage through her refrigerator, triumphant in her find of the dark green vegetable. The other day at the store she had seen this beauty and knew she needed to buy it. Her mind had known she would need it today.
Today, the anniversary of the last day she ever spoke. For who needs to speak when no one will listen? Amazingly, ever since she stopped speaking she found the joy of noise, the music of nature and life, the memories of days passed by. Now Posie spent her days reflecting and drawing pencil lines between sounds and memories, sounds and conflict, sounds and resolution. If only everyone would be slow to speak…or perhaps not speak at all, then the more important things in life could be heard.
But that was a journey not everyone chose to take. Even he wouldn’t have, had one year and one day ago not happened. The last day she sang and spoke and refused to listen. The day she lost and lost big. The day before she sent herself on a journey to rediscovery. Because when life continues even after everything is lost, you can either choose to listen to the ice cubes clink together or close everything out and live in a black hole of darkness.
Posie raised her glass, the droplets of condensation rolling down her wrist, and smiled. Yes, the path to rediscovery was better than darkness.