Night Air

 

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air streaming through the car window.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like wet laundry on a windy day;

Buffeted like a blanket of rage, of fatigue.

Buffeted, she said;

Buffeted.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like a world that couldn’t get quiet enough;

Buffeted like a cat call in the street, like a sly press in the subway.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like a memory of the last kiss from a lover, the last hug from a friend.

Buffeted like the regret of departure, the disappointment of arrival.

Buffeted, she said;

Buffeted.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted like your stomach after a meal, or a memory, eaten too fast;

Buffeted like your heart when the last train has departed, when the last memory of your grandmother has faded.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air, like it takes exception to your struggle.

Buffeted, she said:

Buffeted by the night air, like it’s yearned for your arrival.

Buffeted, she said.

Buffeted.

Cobweb

 When it had started, the cobwebs were simply a nuisance. The furtive brush of the hair and body when walking in the garden, hanging out the laundry, digging through the garage… You never saw the spiders but, really, when did you ever see the spiders? These flimsy, silken shacks: no wonder so many were left abandoned in their otherwise undisturbed corners.

But then they began appearing in places that made less sense: in her laundry (had it been sitting there that long?), her shoes, her cupboards (since yesterday?)… she cleared it out but it returned almost faster than she could remove it, never in quiet the same place. The wisps, ephemeral though they were, clung to her, followed her, appearing on one arm almost as soon as she had cleared the other.

The nuisance had become a vendetta, though on what side she could not be sure. And as the vendetta escalated, so too did the volume. She would open her closet to find, not a single shoe covered, but an entire rack; would open her pantry and find her food replaced with gauze. She reached into her pockets and found only the sticky white filaments; into her hair and… well, who could ever really tell the difference?

Soon her walls were barely visible behind the thickening mesh, the breezy halls now a dimly lit cocoon, her sanctuary now a thicket of gossamer.

The battle long since gone from her, she had to admit it was quiet here. Had the light not always been a little bright, the hustle and bustle little more than a din?

And somehow in the chaos, food had reappeared in her stores; small offerings left by her (still invisible)… captors? guests?

She stretched her legs and settled into her nest satisfied, she was sure, that there were worse prisons than this.