The Empty Stare

Raw Material

She sniffed, and random thoughts began to accumulate. She tried to remember how many times she had had pneumonia in the past few years. A few more, and it would be hard to keep count.

She was reminded of a song somewhere -- about a man on the road, who comes back to find his wife has moved their son to 'a drier climate.' She wondered if she should move to a drier climate, as well.

Her thoughts were odd in this way, wandering frmo one vague memory to another, a scent that was related to a taste that was present when she heard that sound... Eventually, every sight, noise, place and cup of coffee was unalterably linked with a hundred other memories, sensations and experiences. She spent minutes at a time, at once amused and perplexed.

And, this was one of those moments. Currently, she was trying to remember why the scent of fresh cut grass outside, and the wafting smell of lilacs from the back yard was reminding her of tacos. 'It should', she thought to herself, 'remind me of my mother's yard, back home.' Slowly, the thought percolated and coalesced into another smell, that of fresh collard greens. And she remembered, the collard-wrapped vegetarian tacos from a downtown restaurant about three years ago.

Truly, her thoughts were odd in this way.

It was getting late, on a night when the hours between now and the morning alarm were too few to be civilized. But she knew her owlish habits were her own fault, and a sort of sanctuary at the same time. Soon, she would let the creaking wave of sleep overtake her eyelids and the darknness of this room become purples and greens behind those closed lids.