Written in cahoots with a dear friend.... a little sap for your Holidays. Published in Issue 3 of U Magazine.
Sliver
by
J.W.
Bouwman
and
Corey
Rowley
He stood on the pier, a
boy inside a man suit, ten steps from the brink of being totally
complete.
The
girl inside the boat popped her head out of the cabin, a burgeoning
electrical charge having caught her attention. She put her nose to
the air and listened. What she thought she'd find was a summer
thunderstorm - her favorite kind of rain. What she actually found was
him, standing on the dock, looking at her with a dazed expression on
his face. She knew immediately he was the source of the
mysterious pain that had always lived inside her heart.
To
achieve maturity and the right color
A
soul will need to travel at least
The
distance of the eye to the heart, in slivers
Taking
with it the day’s accomplishments
Sliding
on broken dreams, stockpiling personal madness
When
he was born, his mother was the only one who saw the small sliver of
his soul that broke off during birth. The sliver was beautiful and
filled her heart with awe, mixed with a wee bit of fear that her
child should be not be complete without it. As the splinter floated
by her wide eyes, it found the tiniest currents of air to stay aloft.
She reached for it, focusing so hard that the din of child birth
faded, the joy and pain surrounding her, suddenly not as important
as recapturing this small part of her boy's soul - but she
could not catch it. Being one of the most aerodynamic things in the
universe, the sliver floated higher and shone in every color, all
limned with silver, in the bright fluorescent rays of the birthing
room lights. There it floated for eight years, needing only the
slightest of air movement to keep from settling to the floor. The boy
was incomplete, something he felt keenly as the years passed
into adulthood. His mother apologized to him on her death bed, “I
tried to get it back for you,” she said as she passed, knowing that
he knew of what she spoke. He said nothing.
When
arriving in its prone position
The
soul accepts everything new by kneeling
Like
conversing with a child on propped elbows, smiling
Judging
intuitively, leaking innocence like a viscous new oil
Grasping
for what is perfectly solid, synergistic
One
day a baby girl was born, and her soul was as whole and as perfect as
a soul could be. Her beauty and fullness of
self coalesced with the joy of her mother and formed a
moment. A moment in which time stood still just long
enough, causing the sliver of soul to drop out of the air and land in
the baby girl’s eye. The intrusion of the splinter made
the baby girl cry for her entire first year. Her parents were
frustrated and scared of the incessant wailing, but no doctor could
diagnose the problem. One day an old woman on the subway
noticed the baby girl's distress. She tried to tell the mother what
the problem was and how to calm the little one's pain, because after
all, it hurt to hold someone else's soul, when your own was already
complete. The mother dismissed the old woman as senile and cursed the
wailing of the child. One day the sliver finally passed from the
baby girl’s eye, slipping into her bloodstream and finally her
heart, remaining there with only the occasional twinge. The baby girl
grew into a lovely young woman, still possessing her perfect soul,
having gained wisdom and strength from all the years of
being the keeper of the boy-man's sliver. From time to time, the
sliver made her restless and overfull, giving her an unsettled ache
somewhere in the region of her heart. The urge to share herself
scraped at her, for she possessed no real knowledge of what
there was to be shared, or even who it was she was meant to be
sharing it with.
If
you try and hold it in your hands
The
soul will fill your thoughts with wonderful pencil sketches
Of
a life you could have if you only took heed, gracefully
A
roadmap of simplicity, sprouting the divine, easing worries
Hold
it too long and slip, addiction, death, loosen your grip
Long
before the sad day of the boy’s mother passing, she had sat in the
garden every afternoon with tea in solitude. She whispered her
secret to the wind hoping to ease the guilt she felt for not catching
and restoring the boy’s soul the day he was born. One spring day, a
raven caught her secret and like a silver chain took it back to his
nest below the boy’s window. Every time the boy opened the window,
the raven would taunt him, cackling (as all nosy ravens will, given
the chance) that the boy had no soul, that his mother had stolen it
at birth. The boy had believed the bird, because he'd always felt
that there was something missing from his life. As he grew, a
deep melancholy hung around his head and he searched for his soul,
never knowing quite where to look.
When
the right one plucks at that part of your soul
Meant
for sharing and welds it, mixed media sculpture
Bending
it to fit theirs and coveting it mightily
Time
stops….rendering life as we know it useless
Creating
an aurora of beauty and bliss we don’t deserve
All
of this leads us to where we began: with the girl on the boat, with
the boy clothed in a man's form, staring in silent stupefaction at
one another. Breaking the stillness, the girl reached down and pulled
him onto her boat, smiling so hard her face hurt. When their fingers
touched, both of them jerked slightly, their fingers lacing together
instinctively. Her heart felt as if it would explode. She looked
at him, her eyes welling with tears. Everything that the girl
was, was given to him in that one instant. He gasped for air as
her beauty and perfect soul created a vacuum of sorts within his own,
his mind humming at the perfect frequency for what seemed like
eternity. As the unity of these two souls came into being, there
grew a lightness so overwhelming, it made anyone within a mile radius
of the boat reflect for a moment about all the things important to
them. He looked down into her eyes and spoke for the first time, in a
voice that felt like pure honey to her ears.
What
he said was, hello…
What
she heard was, I
love you…
What
he meant was, I’m
yours.
Her
soul trembled as the splinter in her heart slipped out through the
tears in her eyes, to be kissed up by his lips from her cheek. They
walked along the riverbank, hands and hearts and selves entwined. She
felt peace as all her puzzle pieces fell into place, and he felt
complete as his world finally slid into a place he knew was home.
The
penultimate place for the soul
Is
in her pocket tight, brought forth for playing
For
the ultimate place could be high in the air
Gravity
is no match for the aerodynamics
The
question remains, does it empty again?
