Abby Gunderson
This is how I always pictured Jane Eyre in my minds eye. This is how my mind’s eye invented Jane Eyre and I carried it her with me all these years. This is the kind of beauty that comes from within and without like the waves, so you don’t know anymore where it begins or where it ends.
I have been thinking how a foolish romantic person I am for loving the Brontes and Jane Austen. I have been reprimanding myself for being a romantic idiot who lost touch with the reality, probably since birth. Felt the guilt because I always felt out of this world and was considered weird by many children of this age. I felt the guilt for not fitting, for not wanting the same things, like home, money, possessions like so many children of this age.
I wanted true love but it turned out to be treacherous; it betrayed me so many times like it betrayed so many children of this age. Stabbed me in the back and left me bleeding. I wanted to love and be loved. True love means freedom, for me. But it wanted me caged in.
This little bird reminds me of Jane Eyre and of freedom. I borrow her freedom for everyone to enjoy it. Maybe for just a little while, it could be mine. At least for today, Abby is her name and she’s playing Waves. She weaves her notes like a hurricane. A quiet hurricane. That’s good enough for me. At least for today.
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