There never will be a shortage of sad stories. Twice as many at least as there are people in this world, more than double the measure most people want to be told. But they’re not trackers or stalkers or paid-for followers you can elude by crossing a street and melting into the flowing crowd. The crowds of course are where the stories live, and there is nowhere you can walk where you won’t catch even the faint tone of one in the air.
There’s no home too humble or elegant that doesn’t hold its roof over a narrative tender and agonized. You are, each of us is, one of these people, the title-holder of one of these tales. Don’t be so surprised when you find one day that that barely detectable quaver in a voice heard in a fine room is the small unintended weakness in your own. I was. And by the time I recognized that voice was mine, I felt I’d made every mistake, accepted every bad decision, taken every wrong step one could and still be alive to tell my tale.
©2010 Catherine Graves