Sunday, June 4th, 2006
Blogs | Sociology of Sheena
A Glance at a Ring: James F. Pyles
Today is June 4, 2006. Today I am looking at this ring and its pearl and stones. At the silver and for some reason it reminds me of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Holy. Gothic. Elegant.
Did you ever see Saint Paul’s Cathedral?
I did and it was magnificent. It silenced me. Jesse said that and the Basilica Du Sacre Couere were a bit overwhelming for him. For me, it brought God to the forefront of my mind. “you exist and you are here and you are bigger than me. you are bigger than any of this.”
Two years later, I still find myself haunted by the significance of the touch you had on my life. I can’t get over you. Time hasn’t healed this wound. It remains an open scar. Maybe because I pick at the scabs while pouring salt on it myself. “don’t heal. don’t” I have this notion that in healing, I’ll get comfortable and over time the scars will fade and my memories will take longer to bring to mind. So if not healing, if baring this sore wound will keep you in my thoughts and keep me from being comfortable and just moving on, I will tear at it.
In the news there were these two girls who were in an accident and they thought Girl A had died and Girl B had lived but was in a coma. Girl A’s family through a funeral and grieved. And I suppose Girl B’s family sat by her side in the hospital praying.
It turns out someone was wrong. And that the other girl had died. They had the funeral for the wrong person. The wrong name was on the tomb stone. And the girl that was alive was Girl A. Its really freaky and weird.
I wish that were your case. I wish the other person in the car accident…God, I shouldn’t say that outloud. I shouldn’t wish death on someone else. I’d be taking away someone’s child. Someone’s love. But I can’t lie to myself. I wish through some sick hand of fate that it was mixed up and that you were in some hospital in acoma and that two years ago it was someone else. I shouldn’t say these things outloud.
I don’t think I can bare seeing your grave. Something is unnatural about that. Me standing before your grave. Looking at the inscription. What did they write about you? What flowers are there now? I started a story the other day. Its been three years in the making. I’ve been taking notes and reading books for three years now and I started it a few weeks ago. The story starts with me collapsing before your tomb. Its going to be very painful to write. I don’t think I’ll be the same when its all over and done with. I hope I’m not the same. I hope something shifts in the world by the time I get to the end. I doubt some people will like me after writing this story. Its all the truths of our lives. Us, very confusing young adults trying to live our lives not really knowing what the hell we’re doing. But like I said, I hope something shifts. I hope something changes.
I was just sitting here wondering if you ever got to see Saint Paul’s Cathedral. I think its something you would have loved.