FICTION
The Sittin’ Sofa
Where it is always betwixt and between
It was at the Old Sittin’ Sofa where you told me to wait for you. I was just a girl then. We’d walk the backroads and tracks for hours it seems, but as the sun would fade, we’d find ourselves here. Remember? We’d watch as that perfect time between twilight and starlight lit everything like magic and I would wish upon my star. You would lasso my wish and, like I was watching a picture show in a movie house lay it out before me as the sun went completely down and we sat in the light of the moon. The “betwixt and between” stories I would call them, and you told me so many of them, one evening after another, I began to believe in the magic you wove.
And then, finally, you promised to pick me up at 6 in the evening, just as the first twinkle began.
Betwixt and between, you wove my mind into your stories, and I came to believe myself in them. Sometimes you promised fairytale snow covered cabins with roaring fires… so real I could hear the crackling, smell the pine and cedar wood and smoke, and feel my warm hands — so cold. And when I outstretched them upon the floor-to-ceiling glass window panes, I loved how they would leave frost ghost impressions against a night sky in the glittering darkness as the sparkling snow fell. And like a mirror, I could see you laughing…
