Dear Girl: (A)
A crisis of faith is a profound thing. I should know, I'm experiencing my first. You sent me that postcard, explaining your awful laughing fit, and so I followed you here. I'm running on a hunch here, but I rather suspect that all I have to do is simply hand this off to Brother Vespasian (who seems to be the valet) with your name on it and they'll make sure it reaches your hands. Even if you're not, in fact, here. I simply can't tell- I only ever seem to see Brother V and Abbot Weaver.
So here I am, alone, not even sure you ever passed through. And it occurs to me that while I was heartbroken when I saw you last (for the holidays), it's only now that I'm here, and perpetually confused, that I realize how many things I've been second-guessing lately.
Which isn't really like me.
You know I''d had high hopes for my future with The Vixen And that's unlike me, too. I'd always known the future was going to happen, and known I might as well spend it with some one. But until her, I figured it would just happen. With The Vixen, I wanted to make it happen. So you can imagine what a shock it was for me when I lost that chance. I've never much believed in anything, and when I finally do...
Ah, but looking out my narrow window to to the cloudy sky has just gotten me melancholy. I can't sleep, Abbot Weaver's little interviews always set my mind racing. I've accepted his offer of wine, finally. I thought it was some kind of test but since the first night I decided to take some, there's been a bottle waiting in my room every night since. They seem to want me perpetually drunk... or hungover. My mood hasn't been it's best lately, but the Abbot seems nonplussed. he marches on, asking me with unfailing accuracy about all sorts of events in my life, gauging my reactions, discovering what I was thinking at the time, how I feel now...it's surprisingly exhausting. I'm not entirely sure what his goal is, any more. The Second Chance Abbey. So apparently, he's crafting, god-like, some kind of new life for me to inhabit when I leave. Vespasian explains to me that it'll simply be as though I'd made all the right choices. I've a sneaking suspicion that things will be exactly as I'd left them, and the cosmic joke of a lesson will be that the choice you make is always right, because it's the one you made or something equally trite. I can only hope some genuine change is realized. I can only hope it's a real second chance. I'd say that I'm praying for such results, but I wouldn't know where to direct those supplications.
I really ought to be turning in, there will be another early start and subsequent list of grievances and convictions. Or perhaps opportunities? Looking back, now, I can't tell the difference anymore between my crimes and my narrow misses. Is it just me, or does guilt, over time, occasionally turn into victimization? I probably shouldn't let that happen. or vice-versa.
Cheers & Tears,
Your Slinky Vagabond.
it goes without saying of course I'll be doing everything in my power to be sure opportunities abound for us to cross paths again in my 'new life'. I've not forgotten how great we'll be. SV.