The Disappearance Of Celestine Frost

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Hello Lovlies!! So happy to present to you my fist published short story, now up on The Quail Bell Quarterly, read a bit of it here…

 

 

The

Disappearance

Of

Celestine Frost

i.

Whatever she was, I’ll never know. But to me, she was a bird— no, more like the ocean or the breeze that swept from it and wrapped it’s self around you in that calm, providing hug that said to you ‘I’m here now, it’s ok’, and like the dust shone from her hair I could never grasp her fully— you couldn’t hold on to her, she was fallen into disappearance, unable to focus fully and even more so it became after the accident.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, the sight of danger never felt like it could ever touch the two of us and there we were drinking like a band of pirates steeling off the shoal of the road in our perfect automobile, our hands up casting freely to the sky and screaming like fools who had no thought of anything other then our suicidal instruments we looked after like our own children. We spoke different languages, her and I, for whenever we were disconnected there was shudders, mumbles and words you could not understand, but when we were feeling alive and together, we could speak the word the other was thinking without any care or thought, it was just as pure as the sun rising and setting.

But that day we were as far away from each other as we could be, it was some foolish argument, I could not recall the exact idea, something about her staying out late working, and me always leaving messes and treating her like a housekeeper whatever it was, we were dragging along, and naturally the case in these situations would always be a bottle in the hand, just to wipe the frown off into replacement with something more bearable as an ear-throbbing smile, and no doubt to look more cheerful around other people, which was where we were off to. It was Mr. and Mrs. Eades’ house-warming party they had whenever they bought a new bungalow, this one was supposed to be a particularly special one because it was up in the south mountains of Connecticut. We had just bought at house a few roads down, Celeste found it ‘Absolutely ravishing’ living in the country, away from it all, I hated to commute to work, but it made her happy, so blissfully happy until the distance between the two of us became driven so far apart that nothing gave her pleasure anymore except drinking.

We were just going up the road, 506 Moosehooves road, it wasn’t even more then six down from our house, theirs was greek revival, very broad and staunchy for my taste, ours was the pink champagne manor, a piece of cotton candy we picked up by getting lucky from the couple living there being my co-worker’s wife’s grandmother. I saw the opportunity as a good housing investment, but if it wasn’t for Celeste, I would never have taken it, is was much too pricy, too pink, but she loved it. Everything about it, the furniture, the windows, the stairs, and I adored watching her glide like a queen through the floors of such a palace, her long green tea kimono dripping on the floor behind her as she walked and her hair fallen messily around her shoulders, from her dragonfly combs. She insisted on decorating the entire house full of plants and flowers, during our first week of living there I woke up to find workmen dragging dozens of trees, bushes and flowers through the marble floor, dropping mud and dirt all over. “What’s all this?” I could not bring my inward excitement from the prospect of seeing my house ripped apart to surface on my cool exterior.

“Oh darling, don’t look at me like that, they’re just flowers.” she said quite candidly.

I still do not know why it was that I married her. We met at one of those wretched  summer parties during my last year at Yale. Along all the rounds of men at the party I can guarantee that I was the most unsuited one for her, but by whatever means I fell hopelessly in love with her. Her, with her large violet irises and dark hair that had only the slightest bit of wave at the temples and the ends. We had nothing in common, naturally but every bit of love and extraordinary wonder about one another, “What is it you are going to major in?” “gonna be a doctor…well, that is grandly fascinating..”

“aren’t you spiffy, well what are you doing then?”

“I am…..a reader of thoughts..” smiles. Sending a lark into singing in my breast.

“are you? well, what is it am I thinking then?” I was sure that she could not convey anything that I really was thinking, how could she? She looked much too sweet to be smart, and I was sure god did not create women good looking and smart at the same time, it was either or.

“you are thinking…” she covered her hands over her eyes in thought “that you should not have left your motor running..’ my face fell. Had I left my motor running? Within a flash I attributed to going back to my automobile to find that it was indeed left on and how strange of a grin did come over my face when I realized that she was, not a narrowly committed reader of the mind but a brashly intelligent girl who saw me get out of the automobile while leaving it running to  go give my auntie Grady a kiss before she left, being thrown excitedly into the party that I scarcely forgot to go back.  I tried within my best air of coolness to walk back inside after quietly shutting the motor off and come back to the spot where she was sitting with a glass of pink champagne to her lips. When she saw me, a clever smile came across my face and we laughed. It was from then on that we became so close, so undeniably close that it seemed we could have been one person, the separateness seemed nonexistent. Which was why it shuddered me so when she became ill that I could not reach her, for it used to be as easy as waking up each day. But in some ways it’s the hardest reach someone who’s only within an inch from you.

 

read more here…

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