Electra’s dictionary JM chronicles/Back at the Barn;sexual healing

Electra—How is it that I am able to think so much clearer now….i had not expected to feel this; I feel different….much different….I feel alive again ….and the world less terrible somehow….it is not just knowing that I am lusted for and desirable, that is part of it I suppose but no, it is the act itself of getting lost in someone else; their energy…. their heat….their smell, their savage rhythm….all focused on me….but utterly caught up in them ….and so sore now, can hardly walk, three times in one night, I don’t need a work out for sure but perhaps sleep ….

I think this has opened a memory in me….a past life memory but something else —something like I remember now what it was that I have been blocking….it came to me during intercourse as he was trying something different with me I’d not ever done and it was because of the act itself that the memory just came to me

….I know what it is now ….but I must not ever say it aloud —Jörn must never know

I must talk to Gerald, I think 

Electra’s dictionary & film noir/Driving back to the Barn House;hosting a fugue of sound and mind

 

….so 

  We were last at Latitude 44 Bistro —weren’t we? Talking to Jörn …. 

well, I don’t know what happened….

    Sometimes …. well, so long ago now …. there was this thing that happened to me 

as a child. It —would ….just suddenly come upon me. It’s shameful. To speak of. Like, it’s crazy. But—as a child I’d fall into a trance. I’d feel it happen. I could not move. I was frozen. I just was ….stunned.

Later when I studied for my psychology degree —I read the label for what they call this but—I’d rather not say. Anyway. It seems to be that the event that first triggered this as a child all surrounded this big secret I grew up living 

but it was the cruelty and violence and actual inflicted harm to me by that psycho dad with his belts. He insulted me too. Called me filthy names. He made me wish I never lived nor ever breathed. He made me want to die. And it was because of something I am still trying to remember ….it was about my real dad.and it seemed to be too terrible for me to believe that I just went blank; like white out; I couldn’t move ….i was literally catatonic. I tried later to snap out of it but it seemed something kept me from talking. And the family freaked out. They didn’t know how to get me back 

I learned to outgrow it. But this was something that later happened over and over. A trance I couldn’t shake. Well….as a scholar I understand how this could happen to a child. Intellectually, I know what was the matter. The umbrella term is “dissociative disorder”

but

  I know why I had to. So their dumb DSMV book isn’t worth the label on me. I needed that to survive. It was not wrong. I found how to escape myself. I found the cell inside. I found the Celf. So it’s just a Darwin thing

But sometimes it still happens inconveniently 

And I must have blanked

 ….and when next I open my eyes it is to the view from within the interior of Jörn’s Volvo as he slows to the entrance to ….the old Barn House 

I sit up fast, bolt upright and rub my eyes behind my glasses as if to rub out a dream ….but now, he is pulling down the drive to the two story barn house with the two story picture window and a glimpse of Jörn’s white Steinway grand piano that I swear I can almost hear 

I turn my head slowly to look at him,

“what the fuck am I doing here?” 

But then as we reach the front of the house, I see Josef! stepping out the front door! and ….Elsa too…. 

I sigh heavily because I sense a plot —and that marriage contract we did actually go through with but….until this moment assumed it was in name only and they all got from me what they wanted ….

“What’s going on?” I keep looking from Josef through the car windows and then back to Jörn’s profile —as he is clenching his jaw 

“Just—don’t get how you get,” he looks at me in that appealing way he usually reserves for lady operatic ‘Mama’ 

“What does that mean?”

And now Josef (have we forgotten that I outed him as the Interpol director?) is reaching to open my door! 

But no, I want an explanation first, not another ambush 

I realize Jörn has not released the lock on the door. 

I realize this is for me. 

So I look at him and wait. 

I raise my eye brows to gently prompt him with forthcoming intel asap 

“Papa is retiring,” Jörn says 

Three words. Succinct. They say more. 

No, his eyes say more 

It’s like slow mo—I start to notice there are quite a lot of cars parked by the house. And also note the strong constitution of Swedes as Elsa stands outside in —an evening gown; aka, a fancy and expensive garment meant for hosting or going to ….

I look at Jörn again from that alarming image 

He says,

“By the way, you passed out—but, it saved time because ….”

“Let me guess, am I going to a party?”

“No duva —you are hosting one.”

Back into the Deep Morass; (jm muse chronicles) Electra’s dictionary film noir/The medallion factor

 

I find myself utterly lost in thought. 

I am sitting there. I even forget ….where. For a moment. And…. well I don’t know if it’s ….the puzzle itself that has my mind going 

     I like puzzles; labyrinths ….knots, I’m like a cat but I’m a fox but I’m like a cat this way —curiosity —you know the saying 

Anyway I convince myself that it’s the need for intellectual connection that I realize I 

    don’t suddenly want to go home 

or do I? it’s confusing 

Haile Selassie….because it sets off the memory button in me —I cannot let him sense the wire he’s tripped. Trigger. 

I melt into the seat. 

Try not to hyperventilate 

He was given a medallion by the Emperor of Ethiopia. So many photos of him wearing it. But then it was stolen. Disappeared

I catch my breath and cover my face because I feel the blood drain from my head. I’m so dizzy. 

If Jörn knows the source of my code methodology ….?

I now look up as he had gone outside to take a call and he walks in from the snow like a Viking. He does not feel cold. He’s Swedish. He brushes off the snow from his open trench coat and glances at me as he re-ties his hair back and sits back down in the seat before me. 

He studies me without saying anything.   

Openly. 

How is it that we can go months without seeing each other but as soon as he’s near me ….i forgive him everything….? no—not this time 

I got caught in the Nordic kryptonite that can be as cold as that sea, so cold, like ice and I do not like to freeze 

“What are you thinking?” he finally says as the waiter places down two coffees 

“I thought we were going,” I say 

“Going?” Jörn asks as the waiter disappears “going where?”

“What has Gerald been saying about my nightmares?” I finally ask

Jörn leans back and stretches his long arms and holds his head from behind as he slumps low in the seat casually looking at me; shrugs; scratches his head; reaches for coffee ….

Says,

“you know Gerald…. he’s all about ‘eternal soul’ and all that ….”

“Well what does he say?”

yes, the nightmares have been horrible lately. Worse than ever

“No—well….” Jörn is openly uncomfortable now. He looks right at me and reaches for my hand, “Duva …. some omen or what do you call it—a vision —he got or concern for your wellbeing and it’s not really my field but he mentioned —he mentioned Retnuh Nivek and —his timing to tell me coincided with his reappearance on our radar so…. it caught my attention, let’s say, he’s been helpful on some of my other cases, by the way….”

But I hardly hear that last part….

Still lurking out there. Free as a bird 

I shudder. Slide my arms inside my coat that I’d shrugged out of in my seat after the first shot warmed me up now over an hour ago ….it feels I’ve hiked a mountain and think 

We never get closure in life. 

And ….that is what this is about ….what’s been haunting me all my life and …. I realize ….that is what is on the tape —my session with Dr Rothschild. I remember parts of her regressing me ….because the memories flooded later —past —and— present lives. Sometimes as if mixed as one but about memories of my father —my real father ….memories I was told never happened 

That is what has been haunting me. Because we talked about becoming a family, out there on the beach …. so many times…. it was the three of us ….the restaurant on the water where I fell asleep that time too. On the seat. The window overlooked the bay where his boat was parked; memories I could not have invented and within the snug interiors of his boat which I always fell asleep on….we planned memories together, the three of us, he carried me on his shoulders—no one else ever did that; I didn’t imagine those days which were later full scale denied; torn up in a diary like tiny snow flakes falling …. a hope lost and replaced by an unexplained emptiness where once was the escape from that horrible life in the yellow house ….with the man with the set of Baly leather belts ….but in the eggshell mind she once was, it was always going to happen and she never stopped waiting….but then it ….never did….ever happen so I think that chip got stuck in my brain; in my mind there is a part of me, still there….like actually still waiting for him to come like he’d promised and 

If this is a key

to that part of mycelf —my key

it must be valuable for someone like one of Jörn’s terrorists. And as none of it was solved really, so much covered up—why do I think the lost medallion Halle Selassie gave him is somehow ….

I’m staring into my coffee cup as if it were tea leaves

“He wants you to wear this Buddhist medallion—“he holds up a chain with a pendant that dangles 

“What?” I look up when I hear medallion as he says this at the very moment I think of the missing one

But if this is a key to the breadcrumb trail back I may have to go into the deep morass 

JM muse Chronicles & film noir more code/ & the dancing bin men

 

“For the longest time I felt I could not be myself…. And it feels like I wandered away from who I am—or was ….but can I go back to the me I was before? I….wish I could. I want to. But —I can’t find her….” I look at him now to see if my words have any impact 

I cannot tell

I say,

“do you know how strange it is to forget what are the things you do between sleep and awake? Not hounded every second, censured thoughts ….. and end up like you feel like you have becomea zombie …. a stranger to ….myself ….you don’t know what I mean; I can see that by how you are looking at me —it’s like, even the books I once loved feel …. I’ve lost all connection ….i cannot find my safety inside.it feels —I am empty inside, a shell shock soldier and…. I’m trying so hard to …. find my —or any footing …. that feels real or solid or safe. What is safety to me? When everyone, people I think I can trust all ….turn out to be frauds and ….it all is so ….terrifyingly random and I am tired of dodging bullets.”

“Come home,” he says 

Those two words are incongruent 

…. you know, I mean in particular to whom who says this to me

How dare he?

“And where is that exactly?” I ask with some leap of an invitation he might be privy to information I’ve not myself come across

Home?

“Last I checked….” I open my purse and take out my driver’s license, “look, says here I’ve got one of those —so …. thanks!”

“You know what I mean….” he says and —when I look at him sat hunched over a cup of hot coffee I notice how small his tallness makes everything around him seem as his large fingered hand cups the little mug

then, I notice that furtive glance around he does 

“Is this really home, duva?” and looks around again 

“It’s honest. No strings attached. No overhead manipulations or euphemism expressions that demand acts —like empty trades for shelter—I’ve been trapped by enough of you predators ….” but I say this much more quietly and stare out the window, “really, what the fuck do you want?”

“You,” he says, “and your conversation—I miss your thoughts …. you thought I wasn’t listening but I was —and ….”

but I know better.

“Than why not say? Why not let me know? What purpose is it to listen only and not be willing to be as part in the experience of knowing the whole of all I am? I cannot believe anymore and that is —too bad. But it is not possible to will a feeling you don’t have and it is not possible to put faith into something that is a fraud.”

just using all  the lines, I was not born yesterday. Tell me, what does it all mean? I’ve lost the will to believe 

“Wasn’t there a code you mentioned?” I shake my head, “you are so full of shit. My conversation?” but I use the distraction of my phone to escape his conversation and happen upon a funny thing on YouTube 

Jörn pulls away my phone in annoyance and forces me to look at him, holding my face by the jaw,

“yes— you are witty and clever and a brilliant artist and some men —one I mean— who really are worth your time can see that,” but I avoid looking up into the bolts of kryptonite

I agreed to meet at somewhere public. There is a nice cuisine down the road from me called Latitude 44 Bistro so ….I agree to meet 

the drape from the window …..winter in the mountains; it is a horizon of cartoon Frozen and polar and fleeing geese which harkens its limp Charlie Brown appeal; the swell in my heart expands. As…. I nearly choke with its joy.

But it’s me. Like consider it is only just a mood, like how I worry for the world but by now I see, it’s not really needing that; it is a habit I must break. it is not my war. and allow what has thrown a dark cloud upon me to will it to go away. I must stop caring so much. Stop feeling. Stop searching for things that are simply not there and never were

“I do recognize and value there is so much more to you than —oh, I don’t know, some kind of a —sexbot,” he says this and drops his head down and says, “unlike—who is that guy you know —why do you?—you should know he is screwing his married coworker!” he tells me

I feel smarted as if by some blow

but I am confused 

“What are you talking about?” I suddenly feel that vertigo and cover my face and from inside my hands I say,

“Jörn, what …. Are you insinuating you are monitoring my calls?”

Spies

they dig up and throw in your face. I shake my head and look at him. Did he really come all this way just to …. to ….hurt me? in this state of frenzy I reach for reasons for such a motive—what reason ?

“No—but why are you here? You do realize the Barn house and old farm house are about twenty minutes from here?” Jörn now tells me 

Is it? 

well, maybe by car 

He hired a car to bring me to Latitude 44 Bistro

I feel like I want to go home 

     and once again I feel that chill because I don’t know what Home is. What or where. Bereft of whatever props that requires 

“Another?” the waiter stops by to ask as he takes my empty glass 

Home?

After the waiter evaporates I say,

“you know, I should have known you’d reappear—pop right back into my life when I saw that article about a Swedish airplane hybrid being tested at my local airport here—it’s like—you had to be behind it! Some excuse to disrupt my life again!”

Jörn looks over his shoulder. A habit. Because the restaurant is empty behind him. 

But then he says,

“yes, because I know the nightmares have returned for you —and—yes, there’s a code only you can crack because ….” and here he seems almost in physical anguish before he says, “there’s a taped session of you that just surfaced….its from one of the sessions you did with Dr. Risa Rothschild which only they seem to have possession of and —this code was created as use for what we consider terrorist purposes.”

But I laugh. Only not at first. I keep replaying what he said. About the fifth time I laugh. 

But stop. Because I replay part of what he said again.

“How do you know about the nightmares?”

I notice the snow has started again. 

Slowly, I raise my eyes to him. 

I get a chill. Like I know before he says it.

“Because Gerald has been in touch with me. He’s worried.”

Worried?

Now I say,

“can you Venmo me money to Uber home now?”

“No—wait….I should tell you ….I was sent part of the tape so—I know what it is about.”

That sick taste. It rises up. And I feel sick. 

I look at him and search his face and wait but —I feel as if I already know 



Side street mystery; Post haste

It is at the post office where Pierre Reaux bumps into Faun

He looks almost comically awkward when all his papers go flying, so, taking pity, Faun runs to help him and when she gathers his papers he begrudgingly smiles. He wears a black hat. Somewhat fedora you might say, but on him it becomes another article entirely. 

Awkwardly he says,

“we might ‘ave got off to a bad start, Mam—mad—rrr—Mizzz—“

“Just Faun is fine,” she coolly asserts the papers under his coat covered armpit like a friendly jab, “there you are, all sorted.”

She starts to step away but he follows her,

“excuse me—Mzz—Faun, madamme— I just wondered if I may talk to you for just one moment of your time?”

Faun pauses just a step to look at him but then continues to the yellow Volvo anyway, 

“Is there something you want, Monsieur Reaux?”

“Well….as you know my jurisdiction is only as far as the Canadian border—“

“Yet we find you here so frequently,” Faun stopped to smile now 

“Yes well…. You ‘ave the Sam’s Club and the Walmart….” he scratches his jaw thoughtfully as he tries to seem casual 

“You come here to shop at Walmart?” she looks at how he is dressed. Three piece suit and that trench coat was far from Columbo 

He is inspecting his nails as he smiles looking back up at her,

“not me, Mz Faun—but most of ze characters I must investigate do tend to frequent such places.”

He says all this with his heavy French Canadian accent whilst twisting his mustache absently 

“So how can I help you today?” she asks now 

“You are still running ze bookshop for ze Bishops?”

She waits a moment to reply. She looks at his expression to read him. 

“I am. The chief of police over there could have told you whatever you’d like to know,” she watches his face.

“Have you remained in contact wiz Monsieur Grant?”

Faun had sensed this must be about him somehow 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems he may need your help.”

in bed with a wolf

It was somewhere after passing out and waking to get up in search of the toilet to vomit in and feeling miserable after when she noted the unfamiliar surroundings. Then remembered ….Greg….what was he said about the morning ….? 

But her head was just pounding too hard to contemplate anything in any great depth and it’s funny how the mind goes to familiar things when in a moment of abject misery ….Imogene always kept sodium bicarbonate in the bathroom medicine cabinet next to a handy glass. 

“Aha!” Diandra found it 

Then it was ….two —what do they call them here? In the drawer next to the first aid kit.

After that she got into the shower and sat on the floor of it and let the water beat down on her until the danger red finally went away. 

It must have been after that when she dropped back onto the bed Greg had hours before dumped her in, her hair spilled out in twisted, mad, wet, ringlets and her skin scrubbed to a flush, she fell naked back asleep. 

But as the sunlight later came spilling in with the morning when she opened her eyes 

….there was Greg at the foot of the bed 

ye old Side Street Curiosity

 A Recap :

When last we left that adorable little Side Street, there was something of a mystery about; or at least a few to name 

But before we get too in over our heads or even —what about ‘is that English for tea?’—it’s best to break this off into tiny cucumber sandwich bites or, alternatively, a vegan nori roll quartered thrice 

….just where were they? 

About to have tea after Grant’s sudden appearance in her kitchen ….and a guy named Guy  who had mysteriously been honored to serve as King Leopold’s guardian; curious detail that but perhaps not significant 

Then of course there was the Canadian, not French, inspector Pierre Reaux’s laundry lists of rapacious demands along with his indignant accusations of being purposely kept in the dark over details connected to the crimes by his arch rival —on the American side of the border New York detective Sullivan, whose police station just happened to be conveniently located right downtown, a brisk walk from the Side Street Book Shoppe; never mind what inspector Pierre Reaux may imagine but he is good at details that sometimes amounts to yielding actual useful evidence which is actually the only reason Sullivan ever put up with the arrogant inspector.

But instead of all that …..a small bite of sticky rice wrapped in kelp and a suggestion of wasabi and ginger to clear the mind and palette 

We are back in that little kitchen back in February with a rumpled Grant and was it—yes,

  Faun making tea ….

***********

“So the only reason they’re even letting me go—for now—is because they can’t find a motive,” Grant’s words could not have been more shocking 

“So—“ Faun still couldn’t wrap her head around it, “you’re saying two more relatives just suddenly died—back in England now?”

“Well, one was back last December and it seemed then as natural causes but —and now his nephew—so…. I was not named in the will so, it turns out that that’s what is connection with the others,” Grant had explained over his, by then, third cup of tea. Granted, it was good tea; fresh black tea leaves from a tin with oil of bergamot, the scent filling the warm kitchen. 

Faun was reaching for the kettle to refill the pot with fresh leaves as Grant was saying,

“so, I need to find out who’s behind this because they keep looking at me as though I’m hiding some motive.”

“They can’t really believe you would be behind murder?” Faun had been too stunned to know what else to say 

“Well, you do see, don’t you Faun—I am the only relative —or person associated with Arthur Bishop…. the Bishops; there’s Aunt Fiona too—but, I am the only association connected that is both here in America and also back home, and these murders are happening in both places.”

“While you’re there….” Faun said flatly and yet pensively as the obvious thought begged to say 

“Yes….”

“Then I guess I better help you solve this before the Side Street Book Shoppe becomes a ye old Curiosity Shop of neighborly malicious  gossip and ruins everyone’s joy.”

To be continued 

“I won’t come out, you must come in to see me”*

tango for tea

 

on the stripped to cement floor of the penthouse living room and my old quilt as the magic carpet beneath us, as if this is so natural to sit here with him. so natural that I can stretch myself to reach my toes to him ….after years 

no place now to even hide but the shadows of the room that keep us under the illusion of safety until I think— of the glare of the morning

he suddenly says

“I have discovered something about you I never knew,” he tells me now with that impossible lilt from his native land that dusts everything with magic 

“What?” I ask and start to feel the color rise to my face 

He reaches across the floor beside me where lies my mobil. He taps it,

“when you got up before ….you really should put a passcode on your phone tsk tsk .”

I reach for my phone but look at him, I just keep my hand there

“I’ll keep that in mind —while you’re here.”

But he is just watching me,

“I always had the feeling. But—now it’s confirmed—so—that website—you’re not as —vanilla as you liked to pretend in —the past?”

“Did I ever pretend that?” I ask but no, I’m already standing up and grabbing my phone and wondering 

“You’re angry.”

He says that. 

I think I’m meant to ask:

“what are you playing at?”

But, instead, I look at him and slowly so as to seem quite bored with the game, walk in the direction towards the kitchen

do I know the answer to that? and the reply that is in the no reply

He follows me 

and as he does so I say, waving my hand in the direction of New York City,

“and while all that is at my feet….” and here I stop to peer out at the city street of the city that never sleeps, “it could be on the other side of the universe for all the good of its charms —when I can’t even afford a hot dog off the corner stand,” I say

But then I say,

“maybe I didn’t have the vocabulary to speak of more complex flavors like black sabbath raspberry ginger snaps so you only heard vanilla —but I don’t remember you complaining of me that time in the telephone booth, but I guess you forgot about that?”

side street baskerville a party for tea

 

But by the end of the day, Faun did not want to reflect upon the meeting with the two authorities which, mostly was tedious and all about the fact that Monsieur Pierre Reaux was not kept abreast of the ongoing details of the case. It was a wasted hour of listening to and watching him exclaim and strut over the documents and the paper trail of how Sullivan and she and third party had left him in the dust. 

It just buried Faun under more stupid nonsense. 

Sheila did not see Faun again until after closing time when she handed Faun the cash till,

“What did Inspector Clouseau have to say?—sheeze —you look like you’ve not see daylight in a year! Did you even eat anything all day?”

Faun took the till and quietly started counting the drawer down 

Sheila cleared her throat,

“hello?”

Faun looked up in mid count,

“thirty-seven….” her eyes focused on Sheila and for a second or two it seemed she seemed to go blank. Then she said, “I’m sorry …. yeah—Clouseau needs a clue—I don’t want to get into it, he’s an idiot —but, it’s just more stuff they need—paperwork—total waste of my time….sorry…. I can’t believe it’s so late—I never even saw the sun today….sorry I left you out there on the floor all day.”

“It was your day off, and I wasn’t alone, the girls took a shift today —so, the change might be off—“

Faun dropped the pennies back in the coin slot and looked at Sheila—six foot two black trans beauty wearing one of her usual imaginative ensembles, this one involving a red tartan kilt with a matching hat 

“Oh…. I didn’t realize ….” Faun again looked blank 

“Ill do the till— sweetie, why don’t you go home?”

After about a minute of considering and nervously rearranging the objects of the desk in front of her Faun sighed in defeat,

“yeah….” and stood up and reached without looking for her hand bag and coat but paused by the office door. She looked into the office and back at Sheila, “King Leopold?”

“Oh! We have him—I meant to tell you, can we drop him off tomorrow? Gary and he seemed to have hit it off—“

“So, who dropped him off? Who was the guy?”

“Guy,” Sheila said, “his name —that’s his name—“

“But—“ and yet as Faun wished to press for more info on this little mystery her phone alerted with the dismal tone of Pierre Reaux —asking her to fetch yet one more piece of paperwork —this one from Arthur’s office.

It was awhile before Faun finally arrived back at her place in the freezing cold, fumbling for her key hardly noticing any of her surroundings except for the cold and all the snow and so it was with a start that she looked up from removing her boots inside the entrance via her kitchen, by the door that she noticed ….Grant standing there looking at her —still inside the partition between her place and the other side that lead out to ….the other kitchen and —to salmon sofas

“What….” the words seemed not to come to Faun as she stared up at him 

He looked ….terrible ….it was clear he had been traveling but it was not just a look of travel weary, it was something deeper. 

He stared at her. His dark hair and face were groomed as usual but something was obviously wrong; he appeared slightly crumpled in his woolen pullover and gray trousers 

“Something’s —wrong….” Faun said it looking at him as she carefully approached him in her stocking feet 

Slowly his eyes met hers; red veined and tired but it made the green of one of them almost brilliant 

“Don’t ask me,” he said and just stared at her. His eyes took a deadly serious look. “Don’t ask,” he said again 

Faun took a step back and started to turn away,

“all ri—“ but he reached for her as she started to move away. Faun stumbled and let him steady her as she looked again up at him. She stared into his eyes and said again, “all right ….” as she took a deep breath, “would you like tea?”

a royal Reaux side street mystery

Faun arrived on foot before the sun and found her way to the cash office without having to flip any lights. She focused on the neat list in her head of all the tasks of the day…. but what about King Leopold? 

It had not crossed Faun’s mind once to believe the king could be anywhere but with Grant 

and since Grant was nowhere to be found, it seemed a moot topic until she found Sheila’s handwritten yellow post-it note laying stuck to—right on top of the shop’s electric bill: “almost forgot to tell you—Guy called saying he is dropping off King Leopold”

which threw a wrench in her plot to stay focused on her to-do list and not get distracted 

Nevermind the donation boxes of books cluttering up the path to the public bathrooms that needed to be inventoried and shelved or tossed, not a safety hazard but —by early mid- morning even this was to be evaded by a surprise policeman visit 

Sullivan and Pierre Reaux both arriving through the shop’s front doors and one glaring her down as Faun dealt with a line of people whose only literary interest was reading the price out of their expected lattes

Out of nowhere, Sheila arrived too, appearing from the stacks and saying,

“I’ll take care of the line, why don’t you take Mr and Mrs Smith over there?”

“You have great timing,” Faun looked up and without argument stepped away from the counter and headed out to the floor over to the ‘Smiths’

“Can I help you with something?” Faun glanced first at officer Sullivan and then at the French Canadian 

“Perhapz ve can ‘av a word in a more private eh—rroom, nes pas?”

Faun glanced at Sheila who waved with a wink and then looked over at Sullivan whose eyes looked serious 

“Great,” Faun said

An alley way called Dawn off the side street

She felt differently she realized, staring out over the street in front of her, watching the coats of snow melt under the pummel of the constant rain which replaced the days of snow storms 

She had felt differently for awhile.

The tone of life had cast a new altered scheme of shades ….and it was so gradual, this change …. it was not possible to pin point any exact moment of the shift 

but there was a shift …. 

Faun looked down at her chapped hands— now softened ….but they still slightly stung, if she noticed ….

why had she come here….? and why had Grant been able to distract her from ….distract her from what is reality. But the change began when it was still present 

   and the events —a few shocking deaths between other

events …. smeared what remained of the dreams 

What world did those dreams belong in?

Sheila had no other message from Grant— so, it seems ….he forgot her, and now having shut up this part of the house Faun turned away from the window. She kept her eyes away from the salmon colored couches and focused on the door through which would close out these recent memories ….

and once through that door….Shut….with a click….she leaned against it and stared ahead at the interior of her little kitchen ….her bald reality glared back as she wondered how it was possible that he had achieved this ability to distract her from reality —that reality ….

And now with everything back in order at the shop and the bills sorted out and replied to whatever it was that Pierre Reaux needed (copies of the mud print photos) now done 

Faun faced the empty place ignoring the mockery of cheap fixes that existed for dates and fake friends —how did he distract her from that? she slid down the door and sat on the floor ….not a flashy red carpet promise, it was just—the ease that existed when he was around; a calm in which to think and breathe— was it illusion ….?something she had conjured up and blindly had believed in—her fault—so….it should be easy to conjure again, right? for herself ….

Faun reminded herself that he would have to contact her eventually about the book shop 

wouldn’t he? 

It suddenly occurred to her why Grant was able to distract her from the brutalities of life 

No back street boy Side street mystery

It was Sheila that had kept the bookshop running when Faun was away and had volunteered to pick Faun up at the airport upon her return, whereupon using the opportunity to fill Faun in on all the latest gossip,

“Ohhh! Lenny and Lonnie broke up; newsflash,” was one of the first things that had come out of her mouth before Faun had fastened the seatbelt 

Even so….

“Wow, that’s a shocker, even for an outsider like me,” Faun was saying as Sheila pulled onto the road, the full mountain range, the now familiar backdrop, lending the moment a kind of nostalgic scene within Faun's poetic dreamy mind 

….watching those quaint and quiet familiar little road roll by with their sleepy mystery at this late hour after twelve midnight 

Faun thought about this now as she sat in the shop’s office…. weeks of figures to correct (Sheila wasn’t great with business numbers) and a head ache of deposits to go through with the bank (as money was not really Sheila’s forte either), but the shop was clean; it hadn’t burnt down; the customers were happy; the sales very good so…. 

how could Faun complain ? And it kept her busy from thinking too much about …. life 

Life …. as reminders of its ephemeral gift/lesson is only given on loan and seeing everyone again …. made her realize how time is going by— everyone looked so ….old

and she found herself often in a corner terrified with the clear reality of this…..

all holiday fun included on her overwhelming trip she had returned from but ….also …. the lack of any presence of Grant 

And as Sheila had driven Faun home from the airport, hardly taking a breath about everything Faun had missed about everyone in the neighborhood …. Faun waited 

she waited for any mention about Grant

They were all the way on the road they lived on and Faun had looked up, automatically ….to his window ….as Sheila drove past the entrance before pulling into the driveway, next to Faun’s yellow Volvo. She had noticed though ….his light was not on and the window was completely dark. 

Faun hesitated and took a moment as she reached to open the passenger side door, clearing her throat and looked over at Sheila as she also opened her door to get out

“Uh—any messages?” Faun hesitated to ask but then vaulted herself out of the seat, not wanting to appear desperate 

With her backpack and carryon, Faun had stood outside as she slammed it shut, noticing that Sheila looked at her blankly. Sheila followed her to the door

“Oh wait! That’s right!” Sheila said as Faun turned the door nib to go in—but Sheila cut in front of her, “his message! I’m supposed to check your place before I let you in when I drop you off—you meant English guy—I never remember his name, if I think of Depeche Mode, it comes to me; Grant—“

It was too cold to ask as Sheila ran in to turn lights on and check all the rooms. Faun had waited outside shivering 

When the coast was clear, Faun had to wait for her teeth to stop chattering to speak and when she finally could say something, she said,

“I don’t get the connection but—was that the only message he left?”

“You know,” Sheila had rolled her eyes, “British guy, British band—S and M —Grant ….lets play master and servant —and he looks the type,” was all she could then elaborate upon 

Cards on the table —left

She found it strange to return to the town after the holidays 

finding Christmas —cards on the table as she’d left them there before dashing off for the airport …. the reengaging was something she’d dreaded ….

like returning arriving after the party’s over

the lights all still up…. in town; winter with its whisper, frozen and all aglow; lit up huge silver bells flanking one door and glowing rather more gold in the early evening light. Where was the snow this year? you would think the mountains would be thick in white by now ….

Faun sat in her car for awhile lost.in.thought.lost

she stared at something but didn’t see as she thought about where she’d been …. she had feared returning to this quaint little town after…. after. . . . 

she closed her eyes and put her face into the car steering wheel. she concentrated on the sound of her own breathing. she reminded herself …. how to 

then sat straight up …. they have no idea …. here ….it is easy to jump through worlds once it’s become second nature…. she felt her put her arms through herself like a sweater and merge again more whole ….and Grant ….?

For awhile she just breathed as she thought about him 

she had spent the holidays with people she’d not seen for years—Faun’s checkered past? checked, yes the rest is anyone’s interpretation she often thought

     ….Grant 

they had left things so oddly