Let’s get cozy
Many years ago I met a girl named Shylarynn, and I fell in love with the name. My current project, One Dyke Cozy, came from that name but I’m not exactly sure how.
The story revolves around two girls, Shy and Gabby, who meet at a very young age and immediately become best friends. It covers some of their more significant moments from grade school to Shy’s untimely death.
I have included the prologue for Cozy in this post, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
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My mother used to say that people come into our lives for a day, a season, or a reason. For the most part, I’ve always found that statement to be true. There were exceptions, but most of the people who entered my life did fit predominantly into one of those three categories.
And then there was Shy. My best friend, my pseudo-sister, and the person who was by my side through thick, thin, and everything in between.
I say was, because Shy’s been gone for quite a while. But her influence remains, and not a day goes by that I don’t hear her voice in my ear, guiding my steps as I meander through the years in search of some deep meaning for my life.
Shy was with me for a season. A long season, though not nearly long enough. More importantly, she was with me for a reason. Had we never met, I truly believe that I would have lived, grown old and died as a carbon copy of my mother. I would have married my high-school sweetheart, popped out a couple of kids, and then spent the best years of my life as a stay-at-home mom. I would have been an excellent cook, an immaculate housekeeper, and I would have had no interests beyond the devoted care of my husband and children.
At some point, I would have woken up and climbed out of a bed that my husband had not been home to sleep in. I would have looked in the mirror over the bathroom sink and seen a 40-something face from which beauty had long since vanished. Like my mother, I would have wept bitter tears and wondered what I could have done differently. What I could have done to prevent distance from growing between us and to keep his love with me, as he had promised in our vows. I would have been one more pathetically hopeful divorcee at the SeaTac Hilton, sipping martinis at the bar while hoping that some lonely businessman would take the empty stool to my right.
It’s even possible that I would have followed my mother a step further. Unable to bear what she considered a personal failure, she had gone to sleep one night with no intention of waking up. I don’t know where she got the pills, but it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that she had no life of her own and did not know how to find one. In that respect, she mirrored her own mother as much as I believe I would have mirrored her.
Wise beyond her years, Shy saw my most likely future long before I did and made it her personal mission to send me in a different direction. It didn’t matter what direction, as long as it was different. She was a free spirit, what my mother had always called a wild child, and I willingly followed her from one adventure to another. I can’t begin to count the significant moments that we shared, but that’s probably because the number is uncountable.
From the backyard swingset to a quiet room where I sat alone and watched the candles flicker, Shy was always close at hand. We were joined at the hip, and neither one of us wanted it to be any other way.
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Thank you so much for stopping by my blog today. I’m hoping to be back on Wednesday, but if I don’t make it, I’ll be here on Sunday for sure. I’ve read a couple of fantastic books, and I”d like to tell you about them.
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