Jyn Erso (kybercrystal) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-04-30 22:29:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !narrative, r * chel, r: grace rojas |
WHO: Grace Rojas
WHEN: This evening; her birthday
WHERE: Outside, just as the sun is setting
SUMMARY: Grace has a stolen moment
WARNINGS: N/A
Stealing outside with a cup of tea for a moment of quiet was Grace’s indulgence. Far from the hum of her computer, far from life, she could sit on the back deck and fix her eyes through the trees to the horizon. The sky, a pearlescent pink, seemed to throb in welcome. And whether it welcomed the trilling birds and the faint blossom-bearing trees releasing their petals in the breeze, or it welcomed her foreign gaze, she didn’t know. But it was her birthday and she wanted to reassure herself that Spring arrived. Along the border of the fence, she spied a line of red tulips whose yellow veins threaded lace-like through their petals. Those bulbs, brought with her from her parents’ house, had been a promise to the little family she was making. We’ll stay. She could remember the words clearly. We are going to stay and watch these flowers come back to us every single year. They bloomed faithfully even now, with her little boy now ready to embark on his own journey. (She took a quick, scalding drink of the tea to keep herself from tearing.) She loved her girls. She loved that they had never known the unsurety of place or identity. She loved that their lives were infused with both their mother and father’s family, personality, identity. And she had so often regretted not being able to knit a good story for her Finn. But in the intervening years, she had come to think of their family much like the little yellow veins running through those tulips. The differences made them unique. They elevated their roles and fused them to one another. Finn was different. But so was she. And it was that difference which had knit them to Diego, to the girls, to their life on this little plot of ground. “ … and it’s meaningful,” she murmured. Meaningful in that it was their life now. She had wrestled with the memories of the woman before. Jyn. Stardust. She’d wrestled with the portent of memory which invaded her perfect little world, its laser precision a heralding glow upon the horizon. But in that moment, in that chair, with her hands warm and her family laughing in the kitchen behind her, she let her eyes hold the horizon in check. “This is who I am.” |