our village (41)

I’m wondering what you’re wondering.

I mean, here I go on and on about this and that – and I’ve got plenty to say; I’ve got plenty more to say, y’know, cuz there’s so much curious stuff and I’ve got questions about it and it makes me wonder, and, well, today I’m wondering about you.

We have these little check-ins, you and I – words words words, mostly mine – and I blather on because, well, that’s who I am, I guess, and it’s not like I’m gonna deny who I am, right?

All these years – day after day, that’s all it is: one day follows another, and over the course of it people change, kids grow up, people die – all these years I’ve been in this village, watching things mostly, telling a story or two. Sometimes things seem so clear, like I’m watching this village in a clear fish bowl – there you are, there I am, there’s Mr. Bellis, all of us swimming about in our own circles, crossing paths, like you can see it all clear enough in a cute little well-maintained fish bowl on the kitchen counter, all lit up and full of little domestic fish. But then other times I feel like I’m looking – trying to look – into the murky lake water, trying to see just what’s going on. That’s what it’s like when I’ve got all my questions, like how much does Mr. Bellis know? What’s gonna happen with Lilly-Anne’s baby? And what’s going on in your head? What’s your role in all this?

I don’t want to ask too much.

But that’s what it feels like to me: all this water around – y’know, the supposed 70% – but it’s murky as hell half the time – excuse my language, please – and I just want to see who’s swimming where, and why.

Y’know what I’ve been trying to do lately? Pray. Can you tell? It’s my own version of prayer, I suppose, but that’s the way I see it. Does that make sense?

What do you care? Crazy old lady of the village. It’s not what I thought I’d become – when I was young, this wasn’t the future I imagined for myself: stuck here in this same village, crazy old lady who doesn’t even know how to pray right – but this is the way it is, I guess.

And maybe I’m the only one who thinks Lilly-Anne Smarmouth – our neighbor; my friend – is pregnant with a child of God, but that’s what I believe, and I’m just going to keep praying about what to do. Your mind is inscrutable, but I can pray for answers.


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