Re: Bus stop: Misha & Lou
Misha, he listened as she talked 'bout her cousin. He knew that type of hoping, the skin-deep kind that was trying to hide truth. She was sitting beside him now, and he lowered his fiddle and looked at her. "That hope you're talking 'bout, that kind with that 'neath it, it's there for a reason. Folks with dying kin, missing kin, babies coming that ain't right somehow, they all got that type of hope. It lives to ebb away, to let the heart and mind arrive at that place of accepting," he explained, understanding that sorrow real deep in the marrow, something just there and comprehended without schooling or real experience to back it. "The hope I mean, it's the kind that knows inside every single person walking there's the opportunity to take the fork in the road that's good, 'stead of the one leading to bad. And we don't face that once in our lives, twice. We face that every single day. Where's your cousin on the end of that?" See, Misha, he was talking 'bout things inside, not 'bout the world out there. He wasn't laboring under no misconceptions 'bout the world.
He tucked the fiddle away, long fingers on the case's buckles as she talked 'bout her grandmomma. "Belief, it always gets me thinking on the fact that there are so many, and that everyone reckons theirs is right. How come they don't look and see just how similar all the stories are, regardless of what church you sit yourself down in on Sundays?" He shook his head, and then he brushed fine hair off his forehead. "Your grandmomma, the protestants would chase her clear out of town. They believe in their book, and they believe it full and to the core."
He put the fiddle down 'tween his feet. "Do we call animals violent? I tend to think violence is something for folks, for thinking in the way folks do. I reckon animals survive." Then, he looked on down at the fiddle and thought on Amazing Grace. "It ain't my favorite. It just seemed fitting some for the conversation," he explained as the bus lights came into view, closing in and blinding. He wondered if Janus was driving tonight, and he reckoned Janus would scowl some 'bout the bruises, but there wasn't a thing he could do 'bout that with the woman sitting there. One display of power could just be one ability, and nothing real special 'bout that in Repose. But, healing, as Jesus had learned, got a person mobbed and real quick.