What frightens you? What makes the hair on your arms rise, your palms sweat, the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged? Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of a bedtime story, ghosts and goblins and witches hiding in the shadows? Is it the way the wind picks up just before a storm, the hint of wet in the air that makes you want to scurry home to the safety of your fire? Or is it something deeper, something much more frightening, a monster deep inside that you've glimpsed only in pieces, the vast unknown of your own soul where secrets gather with a terrible power, the dark inside?
Libba BrayThere is an ancient tribal proverb I once heard in India. It says that before we can see properly we must first shed our tears to clear the way.
Libba BrayA pair of Blue Noses on the next bench glared their disapproval at Evieโs knee-length dress. Evie decided to give them a real show. She hiked her skirt and, humming jauntily, rolled down her stockings, exposing her legs. It had the desired effect on the Blue Noses, who moved down the platform, clucking about the โdisgrace of the young.โ She would not miss this place.
Libba BrayCash or check?โ he said cheekily. Even the dullest Ohio girls knew that bit of lingo: Kiss now or kiss later? โBankโs closed, pal.
Libba BrayAll morning, Spence has been a well-oiled machine of activity. Everyone doing her bit, quietly and efficiently. It's strange how deliberate people are after a death. All the indecision suddenly vanishes into clear, defined moments--changing the linens, choosing a dress or a hymn, the washing up, the muttering of prayers. All the small, simple, conscious acts of living a sudden defense against the dying we do every day.
Libba Bray