The Rivening

Night Vigil & Findley's Poem

NIGHT VIGIL

In the former corner variety store across the street, Peter chatted late into the night with on-line friends he'd acquired over the years. The open first-floor space housed his elaborate computer set-up, short-wave radio components, and a variety of exercise equipment.

Most nights he also communicated on his short-wave with a smaller, nerdier circle of long-time acquaintances. One of the things he liked about short-wave is that no one would be asking him to show his face - something he'd never do.

When he went upstairs to go to bed, he noticed that a light was still on in the young woman's bungalow. This was unusual as he rarely saw lights on at her place after eleven or so, and here it was 2 am. One of the slats on the blinds covering her front window had stayed stuck open, revealing a strip of light into the interior of her living room.

Peter reached for the high-powered binoculars he kept on the table and focused them on the narrow opening in the blinds. "Peter peeper," he quietly admonished himself.

He couldn't make out anything in the room beyond that no one seemed to be moving about. It worried him and he briefly thought about calling Jean across the street, but she would tell him to stop being a snoop and go to bed.

There seemed to be something lonely about the young neighbor and he'd grown to feel protective of her, though that was a futile impulse on his part. He put the binoculars aside and went to bed. He laid awake tormenting himself with well-worn thoughts about the inadequacy of his life.

Peter got up early the next day and watched anxiously for the young woman to appear. Which she did, heading toward the trail to the ravine. She seemed sadder, more hunched over, lost in thought, but her pace was brisk. It wasn't a physical hurt that was bothering her.

He kept watching for her to return. When she did, she seemed more at peace. He pulled out the binoculars when he saw her engage with Jean, who was smoking on her front porch. Now that was interesting.

FINDLEY'S POEM

When Connie woke up, she couldn't believe she'd slept through the night on the couch. She didn't recall any of her dreams and only wished that the revelations from her mother's notebook were all a dream. She picked up the notebook and leafed through it again. No, not a dream.

She showered, dressed, and walked to the pond immediately letting the vibrations wash over and allowed the sensation drawing her to the far side of the pond to grow strong enough that she nearly slipped off the side of the low jetty. Shaking herself, she pulled down her arms. Averting the near catastrophe shook off some of her brooding about her mother's notebook.

Near home, she saw Jean sitting on her small front porch smoking a cigarette. Connie paused. She wanted to make a life in her new neighborhood. This was her opportunity to build a relationship with the grumpy looking woman.

"Morning. Jean? Is that right? I'm not so good on names sometimes."

Jean looked up, a little grim, "Yeah, I'm Jean. That's right." Slightly warmer, "But I've forgotten yours. Guess I'm worse than you."

"It's Connie. No problem. I have a confession to make to you."

Jean looked startled, "Confession?"

"I heard you sing a couple of nights ago. Maybe to your granddaughter?"

"Kami. You heard me sing? How was that?" Jean looked puzzled. "Oh, yeah. I was out back. You were listening in?"

Connie plunged ahead, "I was sitting in the back of my house when you started singing and I didn't want to make a bunch of noise banging around with my back door. You have a nice voice. I enjoyed it. Hope you don't mind. I just wanted to tell you that I had listened."