Worthwhile Writings

She arrived back at the condo late, having stayed at the beach house as long as she could. As much as she wanted to stay, she really had to rejoin her bandmate and get back on tour. Besides, her brother had everything he needed to get back on his feet. More than anything, she'd probably just get in the way.

Now she needed to pack two suitcases: one for her flight back to Europe and one to send to her daughter at the beach house. Faith had decided to stay with her uncle and his family, instead of by herself in the condo. The girl would need some extra clothes besides the ones she had on her back.

"Not just uncle's family, Ma. 'Our' family, actually," Faith had corrected her mother before she left. "Or at least that's what Cousin Ryan says." From the girl's tone, Syl could tell Faith didn't quite believe it yet herself, and she didn't blame her. The two of them had been on their own for a long time; sometimes it was hard to believe they weren't all alone after all.

She drifted down the hall towards the bedrooms to get to work, when her gaze got caught on some frames on the wall. Most held photographs of Faith as she was growing up. Others were of distant family from Canada and Mexico. She didn't see them as much anymore. A quick visit while passing through while on tour was all she could afford as of late.

The last few were magazine clippings, articles she had written a long time ago. She managed to get enough published to earn the Blue Pen Award, but only her best hung on the wall. Which actually wasn't very many. One of the reasons why she had given up writing altogether.

Frowning, she paused in thought. Then reaching up, she took one of the framed articles from the wall and headed to the living room.

She sat down on the edge of the couch and lay the frame glass-down on the coffee table. Calm and calculated, emotionless, as if she were a heart surgeon who had performed the same operation a thousand times, she opened the back of the frame and gently peeled the clipping from the backing.

She read over the article, a tribute to two people who she thought at the time were a pair of very extraordinary individuals. She doubted they had read it, but she never begrudged them for it. They had been on their honeymoon in Europe when it went to print in North America, and she never brought it up later on. It felt too rude and presumptuous to point it out to them afterwards, so she had let it go unread and unnoticed.

As she finished reading, she nodded to herself; it was still good writing, still one of her best. But some people, as well as opinions and circumstances, change over time; though others, thankfully, stayed the same.

Gripping the top of the clipping firmly in both hands, she tore it down the middle, then roughly tossed the two halves onto the coffee table. She stared at the scraps for a moment, contemplating, then rose from her seat to go back to packing for herself and her daughter.

It had been a good article, in both writing and subject matter. It deserved a follow-up, some sort of update, but she couldn't make herself care enough to write one.

The time, the effort and the trouble she would get into made the topic simply not worth writing about.