Yvonne LaRose's Page

Her ears ached yet there was nothing physical nor physiological to cause the dull pain.

Her mind steeled itself to numb in order to endure the discomfort. Yet she sat on a plush sofa chair in a comfortable, upscale coffee shop near one of the most prestigious universities in the country. The ache persisted.

The notes and melodies of the cello solo flowed through the speakers and made the ache even more pronounced. It was uncommon for the coffee shop to play classical music after

For some reason, the lyrics that crackled from Willie Nelson's melody brought forth recollections of the favorite aunt.

"It wasn't supposed to be that way," he crooned. And a vision emerged. It was painful because of the realization that being there to actually witness the event could never be. Equally painful was appreciation of the inordinate remorse and pain being endured by the one who wailed. But the entire 30 seconds of the scene became an indelible image. The sounds were etched

He was charming. He was painfully attractive. He was soft spoken and well educated.

While it appeared there was some attachment between him and the young woman, he denied the romantic involvement with great surprise.

The first hint was the night he moved away from the young woman and chose, instead, to sit near the more senior one with white hair. His excuse was the environment was quieter. The other occupants exchanged glances bearing the same look. They had an argument.

It had been a long time. Shyra pulled herself up to her full height, twisted the kinks out of her back muscles and considered the impending battle.

"It shall be a good fight," she told herself.

They years had come and gone since that last seige. That was good. Days of calm, regrowth, a sense of normalcy are important to rebuilding. Skirmishes and small spats marked the coming of the new dawn. As they increased, Shyra began to take notice and observe the identiy of the players.