The Light Heavy Wait

The mind in wait is the playground of demons and saints.

The heavy wait
Any parent listening for the sound of the garage door an hour after their child was supposed to be home, has slogged through the surreal land of wait. In the limbo, restrictors let the demons loose and a cocktail of chemicals are released in the brain that evoke a hallucinogenic rambling strong enough to bring any man to his knees. It's vivid and detailed, his daughter has slid off of the road, rain falling on her face through a shattered windshield. One after the other they flood in and the second he hears the door, the restrictors cut off the cocktail, the visions vanish and he feels an utter fool. The long hug is filled with relief and anger as he says, "I love you, I'm so glad you're home. Don't ever put me through that again."

The light wait
The boy couldn't keep his eyes off of her and the first time they talked he couldn't believe his good fortune. Now, he waits at the bottom of the stair, his mind wandering into the unrestricted land of wait. The softness of her lips, the reflection of the moon in her blue eyes, their silhouette etched into the seascape. It is so real, the hope in the time of wait. She appears, the wait is over, she stumbles, he pokes her with the corsage pin and a perfect night begins in the imaginary moonlight.

The light/heavy-wait
Waiting to hear from WordServe is a mixture of both wait classes. An hour or two after submitting the query letter, my email "pinged" a new email. In the tiny wait before clicking the message, I drifted into the waiting room. I thought, that might be Rachelle responding to my submission! I've hit the impossible shot! Could it be? Could it be? * Click * AT&T with an offer for, who cares. I laugh at myself, what a fool, but that's how it is in the land of wait. As I dwell in this land, I'm fighting not to believe the opposite image. The fine folks at WordServe Literary Group are having one hellacious laugh over the comedy of my submission. When aspiring writers enter the lobby, my query is framed and hangs under a sign that says, "Perfect example of a BAD proposal."

The land of wait has weight, light and heavy, please put me out of my agony, but don't crush my dream. I know, it's a lot to ask.