The Scintilla Project: Hit Rewind

I am still mourning the end of Scintilla, while at the same time sitting awash in the emotions from the event. There were several prompts that I would have liked to answer but didn’t have time during the actual project, so I’m going to answer them over the next little bit. The prompt I am answering today is from Day 10 and while my interpretation may not be quite as intended, it is what is right for me: Sometimes we wish we could hit the rewind button. Talk about an experience that you would do over if you could.

Hit rewind. Watch everything blur together, find just the right place to start again. Press play.

Aren’t you supposed to be at choir practice? The question was legitimate. It was Wednesday night, which meant choir practice night and my mother of all people knew this. Yes, but, it’s basketball season and Duke is playing and Big Momma wants me to come watch at her house. Y’all can pick me up on your way home, it’s not like I don’t know the choir songs anyway. And off I went. To sit in her gliding rocker and chat while we cheered on our Duke Blue Devils. Just a pedestrian night with a grandmother and her granddaughter, nothing extraordinary happened. We just were.

Hit rewind. Let the tears blur the pain into a memory worth keeping. Find an exposition. Press play.

The hall echoed the silence of my audience. The final notes of Schumann’s Papillons had died away perfectly. The anti-climax after the rise and fall of the music, to this peaceful and dreamlike farewell. It was the perfect ending to my time at Baylor. Finally I dropped my hands. Finally the audience was released. Finally the applause, the congratulations, the rush of it all being over. In the music had been the pain of the injuries, the frustration of a collegiate period not quite up to expectations, and the freedom that hovered just out of reach. Now I was able to celebrate. Now I was able to laugh. No I was able to be.

Hit rewind. Memory becomes legend. Legend fades to myth. And even myth is eventually forgotten. Find what is not the beginning, but a beginning.* Press play.

The air in the car was thick. You said that it wasn’t what I thought it was. My words were accusing, but halting. I know, was all he could say, I just didn’t think you would have agreed to it if I’d told you. I looked at him sadly, the months of friendship culminating here was not what I had imagined. He started again, I just didn’t know either of you well enough to know for sure. I interrupted, If you’d given me the choice, I might have made one, but you didn’t and so now I have. I won’t do this, I won’t be with someone who thinks it’s okay to lie to me. I like you, but I respect myself more. We said our goodbyes, we went our separate ways, and while we eventually found the simulacrum of friendship again, nothing was ever the same. I was sad over the lost potential but proud over being good to myself first.

Hit rewind. Close your eyes and let the feelings wash over you. Know the perfect moment and let life linger there for a little while longer.

I have something to tell you, he said. And then he said nothing. All day long he’d been texting me as he drove back down to see me. Teasing me, telling me that he would pretend to not know what I was talking about when my friends asked why he was dating me. That I was just a place to stay in his 13 hour detour. That he was only coming to see me because he liked my smile. Three weeks after we said goodbye. Six weeks after we met and here we were, in the silence of my apartment, waiting. I almost told him not to worry about it. I almost told him we could talk about it later. But for the first time in my life, I let the silence linger. Finally, he spoke again. The real reason I’m coming back to see you, the real reason I drove out of my way, is because I’ve fallen in love with you.

Hit rewind. Get lost in memories. Press play and live life grateful for what has gone before.

~The Countess~

*Quote bastardized from Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time series.

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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