hurry up and wait

I've had some hesitation lately in really diving into this book.  I think part of it is my way of doing things: procrastination then determination (I wait until the absolute last minute and then sit at my desk for days on end until it's done).  I know this book isn't going to happen like that, and it's scary, so I put off writing more than the few pages I have.  I think another part of it is this weather... It was 80 degrees yesterday!  In November!  In Colorado!  (Yes, I am blaming the weather for my lack of chapters.  I recognize this is a bit ridiculous).

There is nothing more frustrating than someone making you hurry up and wait.  Therefore, I formally apologize to my audience.

As a token of my appreciation for your patience.  Here is draft one (I repeat, draft ONE) of the Prologue.  Comments, suggestions, criticisms, encouragement, acknowledgments, and any and all other comments are welcomed! 

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PROLOGUE

“Does it matter?” Grace asked, wiping mustard from her mouth with her napkin, and, in the same movement catching the tear that rolled down her cheek.  She had gotten really good at that over the last few months.  Incorporating “trauma-management,” as she called it, with the mundane parts of everyday life.  Hours earlier she had been on her knees, heaving into the toilet in the office bathroom and resting her cheek on the cool plastic toilet seat as if that were the most natural action in the world.  After catching her breath and checking her watch, she swished with the bottle of mouthwash she kept in her purse, swung by the kitchen to refresh her coffee and returned to her desk in time for her 9:30 conference call with corporate.

“Of course it matters G,” Anna responded.  “I think at this point it’s the only thing that matters.” Anna was that friend, the kind who wouldn’t let Grace get away with a cop-out remark like that, no matter how terrible she was feeling. 

Grace sighed loudly, begging to be convinced.  Anna took the bait.  “You loved Sam.  No one could ever say you didn’t, but you didn’t want to go back.  You didn’t want - ”

“Didn’t want what Anna?  My life back?  Our life back?  How do you know that?  How do you even know if I knew that?”  Grace sputtered, now angry that Anna had suggested lunch in the first place.  She didn’t want to have this conversation again.  She was exhausted, and although she probably knew deep down that her friend was right, she didn’t know how many more times she could hear it.

Grace stood up and quickly gathered her purse, leaving her half-eaten sandwich on the plate.   “I don’t want to be angry about this,” she said.  “Honestly, I’m not even angry.  I just can’t do this right now.”  She turned and walked out of the patio, and, with absolutely no idea what the total was on their tab, handed a fifty dollar bill to the waitress and told her to keep the rest.  Anna made no effort to follow her and instead motioned to the waitress for a box for the other half of Grace’s sandwich.  She would take it over to her house that night when she went to apologize.  It seemed to Anna she had been doing a lot of that lately. 

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