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| Inner Glow |
A dawdling, insipid rush of sadness is steadily stealing away the very soul of the subject in Inner Glow. She’s dying, and will actually be so (dead, I mean) soon. Typical story, I’m afraid: beautiful young girl decides marriage (in lieu of college? her father asked) is the best choice for her; finds out shortly after the exchanged vows that the guy’s just another common bum (I warned you, didn’t I! Mom recalls); two kids who barely know their father’s frame substantiate the claim.
She’s nauseated all at once—My God, but she’s trapped, recognizing no reassurances coming to her rescue, concluding that it’s too late to turn back to anything, or anyone, now. So bravely she weathered the storm that never ends, ever hopeful that one day soon the sky would clear…ever aware that hope can be dashed incessantly against the cliffs by an angry sea…a body full of sour whiskey and cold, gray waves of hard crashing fists. Amen, and A Man.
Can you imagine an ironing board crouching close at hand, or that she’s just finished the evening’s dishes? She’s so attractive, the envy of the neighborhood women, object of lust for the men. But she’s too far gone to care about either situation, and the marriage is surely on the rocks. The tinkling of ice rises in the living room. Just moments and he’ll be heading in here for more. Her hands begin to tremble. TV blares, drowning out the cries of her youngest. Thankfully, for her, tonight will be like no other. She’s got that inner glow again, but, in a little while, all the lights go down.
