Disappearing

Written with my Thursday Writing Group with the prompts:  “59 miles,” she said, secret room filled with jasmine and. . ., never saying, this is going to be one of those days, she had that look in her eye, do, and you want to travel blind, light filtered through the trees, Linda, how to disappear yourself, a simple thank you

As we laughed at the prompts, I joked that we might try to start every paragraph with “light traveled through the –”  I don’t remember why I said this, but here goes. . .

Light filtered through the pines, illuminating the bent silhouette of a tall thin woman standing at the edge of the forest trail.  Startled, Marnie swerved out, though there had been no chance of harming the silent stranger.  Marnie stepped on the accelerator, picking up speed, eager to get through this deep thicket of forest.

Light filtered through the tall wooden fence that appeared suddenly on the west side of the highway. Jasmine was creeping between the slats and the heavy scent drenched the humid air like perfume spilt on a delicate fabric.  Marnie rolled up the window.  She did not want to think of the small secret room filled with jasmine and almond cookies, yellow and white, the tea tepid and the cookies too dry, long afternoons with her grandmother.  Nana always had that look in her eye, glancing at Marnie’s scuffed shoes and frayed fingernails.  The older woman’s lips would pucker into a taut line, never saying what Marnie feared she was thinking, leaving Marnie to wonder at Nana’s stern unsmiling demeanor. “A simple thank you would be nice, Linda,” Nana often sneered, and Marnie would wonder who she was talking to.

Light filtered through the hydrangeas, then disappeared as the road curved at a sharp angle, finally righting itself to point south.  “Fifty-nine miles,” Marnie said aloud.

She was alone in the car. Linda had refused to come.  Nonetheless she felt weightless, traveling blind. She caught sight of a road sign directing her toward the ocean.  “This is going to be one of those days!” she said jubilantly.  The first of many, now that she was learning how to disappear herself.