Just Some Things #9 : Lorayn Emterby.
This
is the latest instalment in my feature Just Some Things!
In
case you don't know, here's how it works: I
send a writer an individual email with a series of prompts from the
'642 Things to Write About' book – chosen at random – and then when I
get the responses, I dedicate a post to them and their piece. It
could be short, long, backwards, in another language, I don't mind.
It'll be an adventure whatever happens! And they can use or ignore
however many of the prompts they wish.
When
published on the blog, their piece will be put in first and then I'll
add in a little piece beneath it, my response to the same prompt. I
will always ensure mine is shorter and less prominent, obviously.
It's all about featuring my fave writers.
This
post features and celebrates the rad Lorayn, writer and traveller
extraordinaire. I am so honoured to feature her on the blog.
Her
prompt was: Comfort and
she has quite brilliantly combined it with another I gave her: Corpse
in the undertaker's window.
Last
Embrace
If
you told me a week ago I’d be going back to climbing through
windows in the dead of night to get close to you I’d have laughed
in your face. If you told me a week ago never again would we walk
hand-in-hand among the crisp, orange leaves; under an unforgiving
summer sun; soaked to the bone in completely impractical clothing; or
wrapped up in oversized scarfs and hats with bobbles on that danced
as we walked, I would never have believed you. But, here I am,
clambering into the basement in the dark to be your paramour.
I
pull my cardigan close as I shiver, take your ice cold hand in mine
and will the warmth from my skin to permeate yours. Fourier’s Law
(Q = -kA(dT/dx)) says that ‘the time rate of heat transfer through
a material is proportional to the negative gradient in the
temperature and to the area’. Do you remember telling me that?
We
were watching the fireworks in Becket’s Park and it was the first
time you held me in public. You assured me it was for ‘scientific
reasons’. We both knew it was as scientific as yawning and
stretching your way into a hug but we went with it all the same. The
cliche of sparkles filling the sky above our heads lost on us as you
talked of potassium nitrate and burning metal.
So
science tells me if I hold your hand long enough, if I can be warm
enough for the both of us, that eventually your hand should begin to
heat up too. Maybe then I can pretend you’re still here. And here
you will remain. At least for a moment.
Now
I'll be responding to one of the same prompts: Comfort.
Our
eyes were closed. Obviously I couldn't check if yours were, because
mine were, but I'm pretty sure. If you'd had your eyes open, you
could've easily found my hand. Instead I felt a confused tapping on
top of the duvet; your arm had emerged and your fingers were
searching for mine, tap tap tap. I didn't assist you in any way. I
wanted you to find me.
Finally
you got there, you got my hand and grabbed at it lazily. Then you
held it tight and for a moment I thought you were trying to send me a
message, through your fingertips. I could almost hear it, feel it in
my veins. 'Good morning, I'm happy you're here.' I replied with a
squeeze that roughly translated to 'I'm glad I stayed' and then a rub
of the thumb, along your palm, that definitely meant 'so...what now?'
Then
we both smiled, as our eyes opened. What now, indeed.
If
you would like to take part in this blog feature, email me at
[email protected].
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