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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

Here are the two Drabbles for this month—the first one that got things started, and the second one that came out after the first one was written. The author wishes to remain anonymous:

Drabble #1

Saying Goodbye

How do you say goodbye to someone who saved your life? To someone you thought knew you better than anyone ever did or could, who made you feel, when you couldn't feel that way by yourself, that your life mattered as much as theirs did?

How can something who hurts this much be right . . . how can you hear your own voice in the midst of your own screams?

How do you walk away from someone your life depended on? And how do you know for sure that it doesn't still?

How do you know there is somewhere to walk to?

Drabble #2

What Really Matters?

Is it what goes on day to day, what it is that gets you through? If it's not that, then what—because if you don't get through . . .

Or is it freedom? Let it fly, let it rip. Take along a companion. If you feel obligated, must the love not be real?

What if all you can hear, all you can tell yourself, is smoke and mirrors? And the mirrors only reflect other mirrors.

Do all genuine responses matter? We do our best to know it when we see it. If it's here it matters, here in the eyes of love.

This month, today, I became a cat. Maybe I didn't want to be me today. I felt my angels around me, but you can see why. My oldest kitty, he's 17 plus, had so much trouble breathing two nights ago that I slept in old sweats in case I had to rush him to the vet hospital. And my income is once again in danger—I may have to leave my place where the climate is tolerable for my health and move to where it isn't. And there's more.

But life goes on, doesn't it, so I returned the phone calls of two friends, one who needed a phone number from a notebook I had on the bottom shelf. I sat on the floor for the rest of the conversation, and after I hung up, wistfully contemplated getting together again with them tomorrow. I looked at me, and I looked at the four cats on the floor around me—we were all stretched out, sighing, checking out our toes. I had crossed the species barrier.

For next time, our Drabble topic is crossing a barrier. Was there ever a time you saw yourself suddenly in a very different light? Tell it in a Drabble, exactly 100 words excluding title, and submit to drabble@wvu.org by the tenth day after this column reaches your mailbox. Check complete guidelines for details. See you next time!

About the Author
Hello, and welcome to Drabbles. I'm Michelle, your Drabbles editor. I live south of San Francisco, with four spoiled cats, near the sea where I love to walk every day. I've tutored English in workshops, classrooms, and individually at San Jose State University, and have worked on the Fiction Panel here at Writers' Village. Comments and questions are always welcome!