Restore to last position

Right back to where they belonged

It was one of those marathon talks that I knew, and hoped, might one day come. You might know the ones. The ones were you realise just how much you stopped listening? Where you see just how much you were focused on being right, and proving the other person wrong?

And there we saw the transference. You play the exasperated mother and I will play your sarcastical determined teenage daughter. How well we play our roles, as if rehearsed to perfection. After all, we are both good role players; we’re just used to playing out these parts with different actors.

The destructiveness of caustic accusations. The acid stains of scathing thoughts. The irrevocable nature of words said in anger. How badly we screwed it all up. How bitter we became.  How broken we felt after the bitter penny dropped. How much the trust between us had eroded, until it had transformed into a virulent thing beyond all recognition. All of the acerbic mud that we had slung, all the bile and the vitriol we’d managed to conjure, in that venomous mother of all battles 6 months ago. It was, as you said, horrendous.

Hmm… maybe you don’t know the ones?

“We can be two nasty bitches when we want to be,” we agreed, as we laughed, and laughed some more, at what we’d written between us. It felt so long ago, as if watching two irrational people we could only barely recognise.

Sometimes things slowly disappear over time, and sometimes they vanish in an instant.

I’m sitting alone on a chair in an empty club, in the middle of what was by then a six-hour long IM, and all the furniture around me, including the chair I’m sitting on, begins to disappear. And then, as if I’m dreaming, the walls too begin to disappear before me. Toasts start appearing one on top of each other on the right hand side of my screen, as a long stream of objects gets returned to my inventory.

“Get over here quick! The Club is disappearing!” I said, or something to that effect. You were over in a flash.

And there we were again, fighting the good fight. Complaining to the landlord, our new common enemy, that we were right and he was wrong was futile. The language barrier just got in the way.

“Don’t panic, we’ll figure this out.” you said. I smiled as I saw you once again assume your role as the protective mother, ready for any crisis, because hell, you have to be. But this time I listened, and remained calm.

It wasn’t more than what seemed like a few minutes before we had found the solution: “Restore to last position”.

And there it was, a look-up here, a mouse-click there, and all the missing pieces began to magically fall back into place, one by one, and then in clusters, right back to where they belonged.

10 thoughts on “Restore to last position

  1. I wanted to say something when I first read this story, but it was so intimate, so personal, I didn’t quite know what to say. I think the other commenters have got it right, I think it is written with your golden pen, I love it and it is beautiful.

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    1. I understand what you mean. It can be difficult sometimes, to comment on something so personal. I’m glad you returned to it though, and said what you said – it means a lot to me, that people care to read about my innermost thoughts, and maybe, here and there, can even relate a little bit. Thank you.

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      1. I think the whole idea of opening our inner thoughts in our writing is what many readers are attracted to. It’s hard to do this but it has meaning to far more people than I think you imagine. Some will comment in your blog, some will seek you out in SL but there are others, who may not come to you for years or ever, whom you’ve affected and helped.

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