First Place Short Story - Victoria Register-Freeman

Victoria Register-Freeman's short story, "Peace not Pieces" reminds us all that our "inner attorney" just may not have all the answers.

Peace not Pieces
by Victoria Register-Freeman

Peace Not Pieces “Oh, Victoria,” drawled my forever blond friend Jennifer while viewing my backyard labyrinth for the first time. “How adorably TINY. Only you, my friend, could think of creating a finger labyrinth for FEET.”

Shaking her perfect pageboy and laughing her silvery Savannah laugh, she began her labyrinth walk by stepping off the Benedictine prayer stone with the word “Listen” engraved on its face. Watching her graceful figure twist and turn on the pine bark path, my own meditative state vaporized. The implication of her casual comment speared me. “OK, Jenn, “ I thought, “so you’ve seen the labyrinth at Chartres as well as the one at Grace Cathedral and now you’re a spiritual snob.”

Surprised at my own reaction, I took two, deep yoga breaths, but the irritation had clamped on like a pit bull. Closing my eyes I summoned my inner wise woman. “Why, Sophia, did I let Jenn’s comment cause my serenity to fall in shards around my Nikes?” Yes, the labyrinth is small, but it IS walkable… and not just by me… lots of folks from the hospital come and walk it…one Navy officer in dress whites came and walked it before leaving for his second tour of duty in Iraq. And the nuns, a covey of them come on Quiet Garden Days…a few come every Sunday. Aren’t visitors some validation of the labyrinth’s worth?”

Sophia agreed, but she was elbowed aside by my inner attorney, a very vocal member of my cranium committee. Thumbs behind his Tommy Hilfiger suspenders, he presented evidence for Jenn’s prosecution with amazing speed. “Ok, Victoria, you couldn’t afford a large labyrinth from a site on the Internet. As a recently retired teacher and accidental B&B owner, it was the largest one you could afford. The installation was free. You traded the Presbyterian women a retreat in exchange for their help in planting the six hundred sprigs of dwarf mondo grass that defined the labyrinth’s shape. Don’t forget, too, that little labyrinth is noble history. When Hurricane Frances put whitecaps in the B&B’s basement, the labyrinth alone emerged from the flood unscathed.”

“Still, Victoria,” countered Sophia. “I can understand your feelings. Jenn’s opinion is important to you. After all, she is your oldest friend and you did lure her down to Jacksonville with glowing descriptions of heirloom tomatoes, blue heron sightings and labyrinth walks at sunrise. Now, you’re afraid she may think you have performed a bait and switch. Live with your anger, it may be fear.”

As usual Sophia was on to something. As usual also, I didn’t listen to her counsel. I hired the prosecutor. (After all, who can resist righteous anger?) At his instruction, I entered the labyrinth for my own walk and perfected my case against the comment. Who did Jenn think she was? Ever the debutant, of course, ever the sweetheart of Sigma Chi. Thirty years I had played Lady-in-waiting to her majesty. Now, it was time for me to grow up and stand up for myself and the labyrinth I loved.

Mentally scripting my response to Jenn’s next tinkling utterance, I stepped up my pace and strode out of the labyrinth just a few minutes behind her. Normally, I was ---after a walk---serene. After all, the entire labyrinth experience was a sensory delight, bathed as the circuit was in mockingbird song, jasmine scent, and seagull sightings on the cobalt blue St. Johns River.

This time, however, I was impervious to the labyrinth’s peace-giving power. I was steamed. “After all, my lawyer, said. Your sweet little labyrinth deserves a champion.”

I stepped over the “Listen” stone ramrod straight, chewing on my lower lip. Jenn seemed not appear to notice my stance or my twisted bottom lip. She was standing in the grass looking intently at the garden labyrinth. Her head was tilted a little to the left and her hands were placed on her ultra-suede hips. I waited for another jab about the labyrinth’s diminutive size when she queried, “Vivi, do you happen to remember the website? Do you think I could fit a labyrinth like this on my side yard under the crepe myrtle trees?

Hearing the question my interior attorney snapped the cover on his cell phone, shoved his palm pilot in his briefcase and vanished.

Copyright 2006, Victoria Register-Freeman