She laid there in the semi-darkness (which she supposed others might call semi-lightness) and thought about it all, now. She listened to the voices on the other side of the door. Little one, big one. Couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it had all been said and done 5 million times anyway, hadn’t it?
Life had been full of voices. It’s why she liked fishing, she supposed, and being completely underwater. Fishinfolk did not arrive at the water with bait in order to converse. That all but faux connection did not break through the sacred salted air. Their eyes spoke, their pointing, their smiles, their laboring to haul in a real catch, their nch of disgust when they caught up on the seaweed, about to lose all tackle, or the sigh to have hauled in a freeloading crab who somehow knew he’d be thrown back.
Overall, hers had been a pretty good life, but could she say that of others’ whose lives were supposed to be blessed by hers, even today? Many of them did, but could she say so?
There would be no blessing of others via any action that she knew of, today. She was tired. She hadn’t thought about blessing anyone for a long time.
However, they’d just come back from a store — one of them had received gift money simply because, and had gone out shopping. Indeed, one of them would want to show her the purchases, to double the joy of plentitude. There would be at least one new children’s outfit in those bags, and coloring books, and new, papered, unbroken crayons for starting over, starting over, starting over..
She hauled herself off the bed like a big, caught sunfish, removed the deadly hook, and went out to ooh and ahh right away, not later.