These Boards Across Their Heart

"You’re doing it again."

"I suppose so."

"What is it this time?"

"It hurts my heart."

Betty took Noah’s hand and gave it a long loving squeeze, at the same time shaking her head in as mild an exasperation as she could manage. She wanted to walk and just be with him. She wanted that to be the most important thing. Instead there was this other thing.

"Let me guess. We’re looking at a buggered old shed that’s about to fall down. You’re feeling bad that nothing lasts. You’ve done that before."

It was late autumn and a fog off the sea was upon them. The leaves left on the trees and all around them on the ground glowed with a golden luminosity. On its mooring in the mirror-still water below, a yellow lobster boat also glowed.

Noah emerged from his revery with a sigh. "I’m thinking how people give up. On other people. On themselves. They think no one knows. But you can't miss it. It's like they've nailed these boards across their heart. So it can't see. And then they can't see. They walk around like they're blind. It hurts my heart."

"I think you see things no one else can see. At least that I can't see."

"But it's beautiful too. Somehow it's beautiful. The shutter itself. And that makes it hurt even more."

Betty stood very still. She wanted to see what Noah saw, feel what he felt, know what he knew. Anything to be closer to him.

A breeze arose. The leaves began to stir. On the water the yellow boat nodded at the little waves that were suddenly there. Betty shivered and zipped up her jacket. Noah put his arm around her. It was a moment she would always remember.

13 December 2024
Texas Jim
West Dover, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca