The Gathering

"The Writer's Cramp is 23!"  Winner! 11-25-2015

It was the heart of November when I received summons from my Uncle Ronald. He requested I attend a most disagreeable occasion at a cabin in the Adirondacks. He invited our entire family, or the remnants thereof. Much to my agitation, I felt myself required to attend. I’ve never claimed to be a party-goer nor a man with close ties to his kin. I am a writer after all, and writers write. We do not keep our feet on the ground as we’re told they belong. No, for there are no stories there.

I was unfortunately born into wealth. Shortly thereafter I came to realize the corruption of money. There’s a stark difference betwixt the wealthy and the poor. We possess a distinct inability to feel love, for we only negotiate love moments whenever it suits our purpose. We will never understand the suffering that is life. For that is all life is – suffering. There may be moments of happiness and solace betwixt the chaos, but we suffer all the same. In the end the true curse of mortality is not death, but life and being forced to live it.

As such, I wasn’t particularly jubilant whence I arrived. It was dreadful cold that holiday, and trudging my way through a mire of snow riddled foliage and frozen streams gifted me with a mood as icy as the weather. I was the last to arrive. Twilight had fallen in the wilderness wherein it showered the silent forest with a violet light. Despite my mood, it was a moving scene, like something from a William Blake poem. I found myself silently reciting the verse of “Eternity in an Hour.” A lovely poem it was, in spite of simplicity, there was a certain err of complexities beneath its surface that begets a mystery as to the man’s conclusion of natural existence.

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

Alas, there was no sand nor wildflowers in the wilderness, but I was quite certain I was staring into the heart of eternity. We would eventually return to the dust from whence we came, but this serene world that was sheltered beneath the blankets of a winter’s lovely embrace was eternal. As such, I forced a smile and walked up the rickety stairs to the cabin.

Aromas of sweet potatoes and turkey wafted about the place, sweetening the air with a certain unsettling shroud of festivity. I say unsettling for it felt a violation to the nature around me, for the icy smell of winter was to be the only true scent of the world in these mountains. My family had violated that accord. They had no idea, but I held a certain vision that was lost on them, for the wealthy cared little for dreams.

The door opened for me to the smile of my second cousin, Amelia, Ronald’s daughter. She held my fancies since I was a boy, but I never found myself the courage to pursue a courtship. Shameful as it was, for a poet to be without love, it was in itself, quite poetic. She was much like me – a dreamer, and a girl more interested in the goings on of the sea and the wilds than of the businesses of bureaucrats.

“It’s good to see you, Virgil.” Her voice was silken smooth as bee-pollen on summer’s breeze. Warm it was, and sweet as honey, as she lifted her hand.

I kissed it. Awkward as I was, and nervous in the presence of such a beauty, I managed to surprise myself with my greeting.

She ushered me inside, wherein the family – the whole family were making fun and laughing whilst playing blind man’s bluff. An entertaining game it was, for a child, but I was no longer a child and neither were they. The laughing ceased as I removed my waistcoat. Flakes of snow fell upon the floor like wayward ash as I hung it on the hook.

“Virgil,” the ragged, and old voice of my aunt Rose called. “We didn’t expect you to come.”

I removed my hat and bowed to the gathering. It was best to follow along with the courtesies and half-hearted greetings I’d been taught in my younger years.

I recognized all of them, but there was one who wasn’t there. Ronald, my uncle. I turned to Amelia, who held a satin ribbon in her hands, smiling at me.

“His affairs in England keep him long overdue I’m afraid,” she said.

The cur had summoned me to this event and not even had the decency to show up himself.

“He told me you wouldn’t come, but I didn’t believe it. Cousin, I know you wouldn’t slight the family.”

I had a desire not to attend, but I wasn’t foolish enough to cause any more of the mild neglect my family already held for me.

Amelia held the ribbon out toward me. Her lilac eyes shimmered a luster that would melt the very heart of winter. “Will you play?”

“I will,” I heard myself say. It was then I felt it. A swelling it was, a courage to no longer shy away from the one woman who among the well-offs was unlike all of them. The family was silent as she tied the blindfold around me, and turned me round and round ten times.

I gave chase to sounds in the darkness. A snicker here and a sharp breath there. I caught the scent of lavender, and made pursuit. The door opened, and I stumbled down the stairs as I chased her onto the porch. Inside, the family was silent as Amelia’s laughing came to crescendo when I’d finally found her. She removed my blindfold and I fell for eternity into those eyes.

“I’m glad you’re here, Virgil,” she whispered. “My father hoped you’d come. He hopes you will court me, and so do I.”