Friday, September 28, 2012
Friday Fictioneers: "Gateway"
I skipped last week but am back again with another in the series of Friday Fictioneers. Click the link to learn more and join us!
We took a rocky path through rainy woods in the hills near the Portland neighborhood we'd grown up in. She knew I found her exotic and told me of how in Japan such trails have gateways where walkers compose themselves. We stood between boulders, I reached for her hand, and we climbed in step, her red Keds and my black ones disappearing into the leaves.
I asked more when we rested at the top, fascinated with the beautiful silky dark and light of her ancestors, her hair, her very still face. She scratched one long red fingernail against the corduroy over her knee and sighed as she mumbled about shiny pillars and a small roof—no good for shelter, just symbolic.
Two decades later I bought the hill, built the thing, and shored it up with brick from my childhood house--even lit it with spotlights. But she has long since disappeared into the city.
NOTE: If you want a REALLY great story, a true one that's nearly unbelievable, read my entry from yesterday.