Fragments

It has been over a month since I've posted anything. That is alright, I suppose. This is a place where people can share their stories and thoughts any time they ever want to. Lately... I've had trouble writing down anything about Verny, not because I'm short on anything... it has just been painful for me to try recently. In the play I'm currently in, I am a marine who has returned home after seeing war atrocities, and civilian casualties as well as comrades. The character goes through PTSD, and then reflects and reveals thoughts about the loss of life, and the sensations accompanied in being a survivor.

Basically, for pretty much this entire month, my grief for Verny has been manifest into this character, especially this week, as it was opening week for the production. As you can imagine, calling upon all of those emotions you feel, about not being able to share the world with a person you love most, day after day, is a trying task. I've had tears on and off stage, but since crying naturally wears you out, I've had to do my best to avoid pondering Verny too much in private life, least a drain myself and have no energy left during the production.

There is a brief and ambiguous monologue I have, near the end of the play, that for most of the last two months has looked to me like a random grouping of words about being in the middle of nowhere. I simply wasn't connecting with it, nor understanding its purpose. However, on opening night, when my character finally hooked into me (it's an actor thing), the words finally clicked. I was sitting on stage, in the "background" before my cue, during which time I was thinking about all the things that have been hard to face in acknowledging Verny's absence. My cue came, and I walked towards the spotlight, thinking about a day that Glenda and I took a trip to Maryville. We took lots of flowers to various loved ones. Our last stop was with a very special loved one--Veronica. I couldn't get out of the car, I couldn't even look outside. I was suffocating. My heart stopped, and I began my lines:

In the aftermath,
One feels the chill in the countryside
The low-lying white mist
Shards of farmhouses in the haze
Shattered stones
No grass
No ruins
Empty streets
And silence
No living thing
No bird, no animal broke the silence
No dogs
No children
Not one stone left standing on another
Rather a wilderness of stones
Even if you could trace it for a distance
There would be a chance of getting lost
Because there is no sign of direction