Maureen Laura Johnson (moo_commotion) wrote in thelibretto, @ 2009-02-08 22:53:00 |
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Who: Maureen and Joanne
What: Discussing birthdays, Valentine's Day, how much they like and/or dislike one another...
When: 8 Feb, 2009
Where: Mo and Jo's place
Status: In progress
Silence can be a blessing, a small time of peace one cherishes after a long day of running up-stream against all the bedlam of modern living. Quiet is the tonic which recharges one’s life force, the only solace many find between all the trials of existence. Rest is the part of life which nourishes wakefulness. One needs rest, quiet, and solitude, one cherishes it, waits for it, drinks it up in magnanimous gulps. Or so one generally does, unless one is Maureen Johnson.
Finally alone, after a long day of running around the city, completing one errand or the other, Maureen flopped down on the sofa with an audible exhalation. She looked around to see if anyone had heard her expression of boredom, then remembered that she was by herself. She grabbed a pillow from the other end of the couch, hugged it to her chest, and sighed again. She looked around the small living room. The sun was too far set to bring much natural light into the place, so a lamp glowed low in the corner, spilling a steady fountain of soft yellow light. Maureen ran her fingers along the side of the pillow, tapped the pinched corner with the edge of her fingernail. She bit the fingernail. She looked out the window as if she’d see someone, anyone coming up the steps to see her, to talk to her, to listen to her. She tapped her bare foot against the carpet. She sighed again.
“Dinner time,” she chimed down at the pillow. Where was Joanne, anyway? She was becoming impatient, though Joanne was scarcely any later than usual. But Maureen missed her, she wanted to tell her about her new ideas, her birthday plans, how much she loved the new jacket she bought (and then stitched patches all over). Mostly she just wanted to talk to someone. Mostly she just wanted to talk.
“Shall we open that bottle of wine, or wait?” she wondered in the direction of the pillow once more. “Wait… I guess.” She sighed again, as loudly as she could, hoping the pillow might catch on to her restlessness. “Well, baby,” she said, hugging the pillow to her chest, “when is our pookie coming home do you think?"