Not Cathy and Heathcliffe; they weren’t lovers. Not Romeo
and Juliet; too clichéd. Let’s go for Lancelot and Guinevere, or better still,
Randolph Ash and Christabel LaMotte. The memory of the latter is particularly
poignant.
The message isn’t lost on me, and the lesson is already learned. Life
is a whole lot more complicated and difficult than fiction. Maybe that’s why I
write fiction. Life at the mundane level sometimes has too hard an edge for the
heart of a child, and the mature mind has a hell of a job coaxing the kid through yet another hungry night.
Like a good parent, however, the mind gets tired but
declines to abdicate its responsibility. This one is about to go and put
the second coat of paint on two window frames. Painting window frames is one of
the best of distractions.
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