CORNELIA WEBSTER

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''two by Lindsay Jacquard & Jeff Arbeau narration: Julia Rogers''

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<p style="font-size:40px">CORNELIA WEBSTER</p>

<<masteraudio stop>><audio autoplay loop id="myAudio"> <source @src='setup.AudioPath + "JuliaAudio.mp3"' type="audio/mp3"></audio> <video autoplay muted loop playsinline id="myVideo"> <source @src='setup.ImagePath + "Background_2.mp4"' type="video/mp4"> </video>\ \ <div class="content"> \ \ <center><span id="btn1"><<button "Pause Video">> <<script>> // Get the video var video = document.getElementById("myVideo"); // Pause and play the video, and change the button text if (video.paused) { video.play(); $("#btn1 button")[0].innerHTML = "Pause Video"; } else { video.pause(); $("#btn1 button")[0].innerHTML = "Play Video"; } <</script>> <</button>></span></center> \ <center><span id="btn2"><<button "Play/Pause Audio">> <<script>> // Get the audio var audio = document.getElementById("myAudio"); // Pause and play the audio, and change the button text if (audio.paused) { audio.play(); $("#btn2 button")[0].innerHTML = "Play/Pause Audio"; } else { audio.pause(); $("#btn2 button")[0].innerHTML = "Play/Pause Audio"; } <</script>> <</button>></span></center> \ <center><<message 'Show/Hide Text' btn>> Admittedly, you’ve never had the best sense of time. The passing of a single day was slow, but the changing of seasons... Well, you were always surprised by how suddenly winter fell upon you, the first snowfall as a sign to slip below the water’s surface and sleep among the lakebed stones. But your time with Mr. Coleman; it felt like an endless summer, both in its joy and its... impossibility. Here you are: you have known him for mere seconds. A miscalculated landing has brought you face to face with a stranger. The space that separates you is impassable, incommunicable, and yet, he crosses the divide like it’s only air and inches. All you’ve known of hands is force and grasp, but his move slowly and openly. They read to you like palmistry, and suddenly it’s not fishing line, it’s a fated line between you. You’ve known him for days now, and formed an unlikely truce. What to make of this man who makes these soft offerings? You sniff the shallow dish placed at your feet, large enough to swim in. You lap at the buttermilk, drink in the golden light of dusk through the main street windows. All it takes to stroke your head is a single finger tip, he lifts you up to see the city. Today, you are just a little thing, looking out on busy people. Tomorrow, you can reach a little higher. Countless tomorrows come: you have known this man for months, a time which has changed you quite... measurably. Where once you could be held close in cupped hands, he now struggles to hold you in his arms. You watch carefully for that silvery line which joins you, hoping this doesn’t begin its unravelling. You are always close enough to hear his call; dear Cornelia, be near Cornelia. Sometimes you wish it wasn’t just to impress a crowd or to achieve some feat; is it not enough to share a drink when the lobby is empty and the lanterns are out? Ahh, but you have known each other a long time. You sit together on the mossy bank, a pleasant change from carpet underfoot. Back at the lake, to the beginning, and for the end. You slip into the water, feel the chill wash the summer dust away. Neither of you notice the fishermen across the lake; today they reap their haul not with hooks but with a blast. If only there was a line tethering you back to him, your bond a sturdy thread. Maybe then he could reel you in to safety. Instead, he calls for you, desperately, one last time. Each thing can be measured: your body weighed in pounds, the duration of your friendship, in seasons. How will they measure your impact on this man? He could not pull you in, but he will find your body and carry you home.<</message>> </center> </div>

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Who is Cornelia Webster?