New Year's Eve, Thirteen Crucifixions, 65

I can't think of anything to write tonight.  I am spending New Year's Eve, as always, alone.  A friend who is in town for the holidays decided to make other plans, perhaps because I had other plans when he wanted to see me last night.  It doesn't matter.  I never get invited anywhere and I don't know anyone who wants to see me and I don't like staying up late.  So I'm spending the evening reading, writing, praying, reflecting and refusing to feel sorry for myself.  Here is the lasted installment from my novel: The Thirteen Crucifixions:

“How did it occur to you that I should read this?”

            “I just knew.”

            “But, how?”

            “Dwight and I were sitting in the silence and I simply knew that you should read Richard’s journal.”

            “Tell me about this silence.”

            “You’ve experienced it yourself.”

            “I guess I have.”

            “And now you’ve confirmed it.”

            “That was bizarre.  Margery?”

            “Yes Glen?”

            “Do you reckon that, that the raven had anything to do with Bryan’s death?”

            “I think that it might have.  I was very mean to him.”

            “Don’t blame yourself.”

            “It isn’t that—I just can’t help wondering if I was connected in some way to this.  I didn’t hate him, but, yes, this needed to be said.  I just wasn’t expecting shock-waves.  I feel especially bad that he was a close friend of yours.  Did Carol say she was coming?”

            “She had some unexpected business with Derek.”

            “I can’t believe she’s seeing him.”

            “She is.  He had a thing with my mother for a while.”

            “With your mother?  How old is he, anyway?”

            “My age.”

            “I thought he was younger.  But with your mother.  How did you feel about that?”

            “Well, my mother’s a very attractive woman, and she seems to have always specialized in younger men.”

            “How does that affect you?”

            “It creeps me out is how it affects me.  I didn’t even know it was him, until after the crap with Carol during and after the Walk for Peace.”

            “What do you make of him?”

            “Venal.”

            “Kind of snaky.”

             “Carol seems to be keeping him in line.”

            “How does she do it?”

            “Ask her.  How are you and Dwight enjoying married life?”

            “We’re both having second thoughts.”

            “Really?”

            “We’re not really compatible, it turns out, I mean in the matrimonial sense.”

            “But you both seemed so sure about it, and so in love with each other.”

            “Well, we love each other.  We’ve stopped sleeping together.”

            “So soon?  What are you going to do?”

            “I think we’re going to stay married for now.  Neither one of us had the emotional reserves right now for dealing again with divorce.  And we still seem to like being together, but not as husband and wife.”

            “More like brother and sister?”

            “More like something.  Glen, I don’t know, and he doesn’t know either.  We’re taking it a day at a time.  Actually, we’re both comfortable with this kind of arrangement, or so it seems.”

            “It doesn’t get frustrating?”

            “We’re not physically attracted to each other, it turns out, so it looks like we’re settling for a spiritual union.”

            “But surely you’d like to have children.”

            “We have you.  And Carol.”

            “Thanks a lot.”

            “Any time, love. Any time.  Dwight is probably home now.  Shall we walk over and see him?”