Keep Studying the Shadows (Eleanor Intro) (03/13/2021)

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review and a request for support. Intro by Eleanor Gallagher.

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I felt a little panic when I heard that the US may reach herd immunity this summer. Part of that reaction had to do with the thought of being forced back to the office 40 hours a week, of returning to a split life—work vs. home, separated by space and time. Pre-pandemic, I believed I needed this separation, I needed to keep my work life away from my “real life” to preserve some kind of purity (I'm a bit vague on my reasoning at this point). I believed in this split so much so that I held out against the company's request to work from home for several days after my colleagues left, until the creepiness of being in an empty office and urgent requests from my partner won out. But it didn't take long to feel the benefits: I only need five minutes, not an hour, to get ready to get to the office on the other side of my desk. I can prep food, shower, throw in a load of laundry, or play a round of backyard putt-putt during my work day; I can choose my schedule. I love having one integrated life; there's no way I want to give it up.There was more to my apprehension than a potential return to the office, though. There was a sense of not being done transforming in the crucible of this pandemic, of being taken out too soon, before my elements had fused properly and securely in their new arrangements. Before the pandemic, so much distraction was available, I could ignore the small inner voices urging me to rethink my priorities, pursue my deepest desires, discard those destructive habits. But corona lockdown has proven a relentless mirror. It's forced me to know myself in ways I never imagined, and in ways I never would have chosen to see for the pain the view brings. But there were deep, important secrets in those shadows; I needed to know them, make peace with them. Normal life was a kind of drug that kept me from that work. The pandemic made it inescapable.On my walk the other day, I saw a real, live boy playing on the playground at the abandoned school across the street from my house. It had been so long that for an instant, it was as if I had never seen a child before. I experienced a jolt of wonder at the small energetic body running across the grass; the sight brought tears to my eyes. I miss the kindness of strangers, acutely at times. I've taken for granted the nourishment of simple words and smiles exchanged with those who cross my path. When I return to the world of strangers, I will savor our interactions with new appreciation.But not yet. It's still pandemic time. Still time to study the shadows. Still time to plumb the depths of my inner reserves. My muse for this letter is our featured fiction piece this week, “Yellow Canoe.” I want to be the grandfather on the lake, for just a bit longer.Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here.Eleanor GallagherAssistant Fiction Editor

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THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FICTIONYELLOW CANOEby Patricia McCrystal "The grandfather will not respond but will stare into his daughter’s anchor-blue eyes longer than what is comfortable, and she will look down at the weathered dock beneath her feet and refuse to meet him at the threshold of his memories."READ ON

POETRYLEUKEMIAby Gary Moshimer"But what about when her fine red hair, its length,Falls upon her pillow in clumps.Her lavender eyes close for a moment,Then open with purpose."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONBROTHERLY LOVEby Raphael Kosek"Someone always has a brother to help carry your stuff. Someone has a car with which to retrieve you from some damp and dismal street corner, an extra bed where you may crash."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONTHE VIRUS WITHIN USby Martha Clarkson"I have captured these shocks to the system in a photo essay. The scenes are created with distorted scale because our worlds we orbit in have been distorted out of proportion. Life overwhelms."READ ON

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