The Station

 

The clock at the station moves so slow. Weird echoes of voices and metal bounce from every angle. Footsteps echo 

At the far right is the news stand. There are stacks of papers from every country. The woman in front wears bright colors. Too bright this early. 

A slow walk past the burnt stale coffee and there to the left the exit. Dust particles dance high in the streams of light.

The rush and push out the doors as the heavy subway smells start to engulf 

A shove. A push. 

Expected but not expected

 he stands there 

“you look great!”

don’t quote me quote me

freedom of speech 

The Media 

Banned books

Brave new world 

  an unconscious universal consciousness 

a thought pattern no one may follow 

AI dream ….

the king & x 

down a slippery slope

It is on my way home, I pass unexpectedly someone on the street and 

so I drop my eyes and don’t look up. i find I don’t trust who is out there, the nails in the coffin….et tu Brute….but as I feel my eyes streaming down my face I look up at the man as he sees me and ….he is kind looking and looks upon me with thst all saying sympathy;my tears streaming down my face….his kind eyes with silent words that spoke of what he seemed aware this loss, as any of my gender and his all knowing expression, was like a kind father ….even though he was too young to be mine —it should have shocked me to realize I could have warranted such a response from a stranger as he looked at me ….and would  otherwise have touched me; moved me; maybe? if I were not so chagrined (but I was not tonight;tonight I was just too deep in the terror)would have given me hope that there are still those left but….todsy his overt expression only ….touched me like …. a face in a crowded train …. going the other way 

so I kept walking 

i wasn’t numb 

am not numb 

no.just spent 

the circus is about to begin

mark the nearest exit sign

 

let open to drop like 

into the allegorical canal 

those passages that once connected 

   us 

         you do not care,

 you were never there 

    your words upon my wall were never there at all

our conversations of forgotten dreams

a dimension has left the conversation 

that is the one I miss 

perhaps I saw what was never there 

Side street mystery; Post haste

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

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

Awkwardly he says,

“we might have got off to a bad start, Miss—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 could talk to you for just one moment of your time?”

Faun paused just a step to look at him but continued 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 have 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 the 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 the bookshop for the 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 watched his face.

“Have you remained in contact with Monsieur Grant?”

Faun sensed it was about him somehow 

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it seems he may need your help.”

the Side Street Mystery

thoughts of return?

et ainsi, un autre automne que nous ne rencontrerons jamais.

Notes in effort to find if there is purpose

When you think about the world or the earth, maybe it’s just me, but I wonder about how much it’s valued. 

Looking to move off to Mars

Sometimes I think about the earth this way

Like a ship that has treasures that may one day get lost in a dark abyss

Do connections matter?

Would we remember earth as well and fondly care if there were no physical evidence left? What would Shakespeare mean without Stratford upon Avon or the Globe theatre; a notion; an idea

who would know to feel to care and feel affection for the wistful romance upon the steps of the Montmartre or understand with true amusement what is behind that hidden glory of the architectural reason for the Dutch gables 

Are connections part of the individual whole because of their relation to 

those that know their value 

as it serves to define and measure the individual’s meaning 

Some notes; a side work I’ve been exploring

 

I have always been interested in art movements. When creative minds come together and a great renaissance is born is something to behold among art lovers. 

When we think of how minds shape cultures and what match lit the fire we search for those sources. We search because we wish to see how the ideas were born.

the bus to Sunflower valley continued

When she stepped onto the bus, the very spot she had been standing was at that moment struck by lightening 

It was a moment so electrifying to her senses that it struck her that maybe there was some force watching over her 

The bus driver cleared his throat as the smell of burnt wet leaves mixed with electricity seemed to highlight the present. Soberly he said,

“ticket.”

And for a minute he looked at the ticket oddly. Then punched it with the metal gun that endorsed it.

As she turned to walk towards the back of the empty bus, she heard the driver say,

“was starting to wonder if anyone was getting on after all.”

 

Don’t pretend, it is still a savage world. It is a savage jungle. There is no civilization except the show of it. It’s all façade 

But it could be the moment now when the light shines but I fear what may require this to occur 

Mountain View of the vampire and the dove&dare I suggest purpose

I’ve always felt l have been guided—by angels? well, I have no idea, but weird signals certainly arrive in the nick of time and there’s always that religious moment of relief when there is no argument how illogical that strike of luck just happened to occur just then. 

Wisdom isn’t for the subjective, mind. 

I just write my impressions. 

And…. I think there is a reason why I got the call back to the mountains as November approaches. Whatever the outcome. I remember last time. I was glad to be in the mountains. 

What is out there? 

      there is a world. A dangerous world. What is in here? 

               Our Souls 

                             my heart breaks for all the souls pain out there and ….i do feel it.all of it.too much.emphatically cursed. so I write because I give it back to the universe as it requires 

Like Moses in the mountains we watch like an eagle and adjust the properties of our mural of the vampire and the dove

What does vampire stand for?

You must know by now I meant the vampire “soul”

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 

The bus to sunflower valley

In the end, it was the sudden bolt of lightening just then 

that decided the matter when the bus came to a full stop 

Choices

she was completely penniless. Broke. Devoid of funds. Ruined

when she, through a haze of blur; tears diminishing perception ….. searching heart, soul, universe …. and there on the ground it was

what ? 

no. Just a ticket. 

It was just a ticket. There. Left on the ground. 

She looked around to see who lost it. The street was completely deserted. A haystack even rolled down the street in derelict sadness. 

After awhile she forgot about the ticket.

She sat down on the ground.

 she didn’t care. She just stared into space. 

Maybe it was an hour. Maybe two or maybe more. So lost in her head over everything she was …. still stunned over ….. to care …..but …..then she looked down 

The ticket 

It was some ticket for a bus ride to somewhere she had never heard of. 

Only…. suddenly— as the sun was beginning to dip ….a chill swept through

….. and she realized

 she had 

                              no …. where …. to…. go….

She looked again at the ticket. Where? 

And where was the bus stop?

But it was really only the dove that fluttered by in its blaze of brilliant plumage that illuminated …..the stop Sign Post

She compared the stop ticket icon to the one on the post.

The ticket said …. 1:06 PM

And now …. looking down at her phone noting the time ….

1:03 PM

How very ….. fucking Alice In Wonderland 

she thought 

She looked around …..there was no one to claim the ticket ….. and she had nowhere to go ….. she looked at the name to the city on the ticket’s destination, it said simply 

“Sunflower Valley”

A bus was heard now in the distance ….it was suddenly in view not too far down the road 

Choices …..

I run.i run like mad.i run to the university to run away from myself.i am lost in thought.i pass two female students who mistake me as one and one calls out to me, “I love your hair!”

I look over my shoulder to see if she meant someone else.no, me

and find I don’t know what to make of this. 

the home inside

I have lived in the mid Atlantic, on the west coast, I was born in the south, lived in the south, had half an adult life on the east cost and had another half in the Midwest and grew up in another country 

and everywhere I go I take 

     all our celves with us.

always packed light. walk swiftly. don’t stop and see wherever the road leads. 

and 

 find I don’t mind

In the sun

https://youtu.be/U-5r_ZgCVDY?si=L27OiFfMQCimh2Cp

 

🌅

https://youtu.be/YveyvpB8grk?si=8jGBvcb9NbOOtUvC

That feeling, to be pushed away; shoved more like. It is such a burnt feeling. Always completely unexpected, as if too good requires some random and mad destroying. For years I felt so awful trying so hard all the time. And then getting no where. I remember when I finally gave up on ever winning my father’s love. You just give up. You get sick of the rejection. You get tired of hoping. Only to be severely let down. I was the age I was when I met Mr.Page; my seventh grade teacher. The one who died of AIDS just two years later but nobody told me. I turned to Mr. Page at that age; eleven going on twelve. And he saw it. He saw that I’d just never was going to get my dad’s love— I guess he was gay. He looked like Freddie Mercury, I’ve said; but he saved me then…. he was like a dad to me but he knew how to reach me. He tried. Nobody else ever did and he only adopted his favorites so, Steve was his other favorite, my English big love who threw me down on the ice the first time we met. But you get sick of the rejection. You give up. You get sick of feeling bad. You just don’t want to feel bad anymore 

After that it became that broken yellow brick road I wandered off 

Down a sidewalk path 

who do you want next to you when your world falls apart? 

But who

will actually be there for you?

    I guess now I know who really cares about me 

And who will be there for me 

1001 shades of Violet;the greg&diandra story/thescenecontinues; after the coffee place, the drive

You can get used to running

and not know it is time to calm down and grow some roses and tend your garden

You can get so used to running…. that you may find yourself not knowing how to  

       

                   stop

*****

“You should check your emails.”

She was aware of motion. Like a moving vehicle. The accent was confusing her.

It was a weird dream. Why was he telling her to check her emails? And why was she so uncomfortable sleeping this way?— up against a very cold ….glass?

Like a car window?

She sat bolt upright! ….Greg

And inconspicuously wiped her chin—she’d passed out against the inside of his car door. Hopefully he hadn’t become aware of this. 

But then….

No warning— she opened the passenger door when he made a stop at a traffic light. And hurled onto the cement ground —splat— and ….

the most remarkable thing about this is she did this before the light changed and shut the door without even flinching. And neatly, again wiped her face. 

“For the record, Wilson, this is your fault—why did you ply me with enough tia maria to have me barfing up Starbucks flavored vomit through my nose and ruin that for me for life?—please pull over here—“ and again she didn’t wait.

“We are actually closer to Imogene’s than we are to your hotel,” Greg told her when she had retracted herself back into his passenger seat and shut the door 

“Huh….wha….?” she hardly comprehended his words still trying to will away the urge to heave 

He reached over her and buckled her back into her seat 

as she flopped back against the seat 

and shut her eyes, 

her hair flopped too and heavy across her face in mad spirals of complete disorder giving her that roll in the hey-stack kind of look

After a moment she forgot. It was almost as if none of that had ever happened because —she wasn’t going to remember this part of the evening later. Or ever again. Completely wiped and burnt out; fried out of her brain’s data base

Did he know when he said to her,

“I’ll bring you to Imogene’s and just get your bag at the hotel in the morning,” he was saying 

more for himself as—he could not imagine she’d care either way by the state of her which it was a good thing she wouldn’t remember what she said because yes, it was his fault. He couldn’t suppress that still boyish wicked smile as he glanced at her buckled in the passenger seat held up only by the seat belt. her hair flopped over her face. Yet. Still …. (after how many years?) —she could still drive him crazy to distraction just by being near her

—he’d almost missed the turn 

1001 Shades of Violet/Greg&Diandra;After the reception;the Coffee Place revisited

 

It is later, long after the bride and groom were off on their exciting holiday 

Greg and Diandra were back at the “coffee” place drinking what was starting to feel like their usual, only tonight switched to Tia Maria (with a spot of coffee)

with Diandra sunk low in the seat— tonight Greg found them a table further back against the corner wall, in a burgundy upholstered booth that insulated them from the noise going on. The noise was mostly at the bar and over an argument concerning bets on a game and every once in a lapse of arguing several at once called out angrily,

“Morty!!!” 

and after twenty minutes of this, Diandra started to wonder about Morty herself 

“Another?” someone seemed to say from the corner reaches of Diandra’s visage 

and in volley, reply in the opposite reaches came,

“she’ll have another—make it two doubles this time. Save a trip,” she heard Greg say but what he meant was fuzzy. Except she liked knowing there was something much too sweet possibly coming soon that kept her forgetting to care about all her troubles 

What were they again?

Uhhh…. 

where she should live —but where was she again —now?

So in her Tia Maria state (with spots of coffee) her thoughts went like this:

when ???? was she indeed…. what year exactly?….it was because —it felt—he was —he felt ….soooo familiar. And it was so easy to not care. And be lulled into the sense that yes…. she was safe ….here with him

who—?Greg…. Greg ? Greg Wilson ….which made no sense because she had lived in so many places since then. How could she be…. here —as if she never left?

 And then ….she did realize she knew this place. From ….years ago

She looked up at Greg now feeling like a loser for only just making the connection ….this was where it first happened—that night….they were here and somebody vomited on her—

That was why she had to borrow his sister’s uniform. The coffee place was just around the corner from —his old house 

Diandra’s heart started to pound. In her inebriated state it seemed to recall those deep hidden memories in the crevices of her thoughts

 ….she remembered the night sharply and now she stared up at Greg. He was watching her. And he saw her face as she realized this. He watched her look at the places in the room where ….each thing occurred ….how she arrived with Imogene and they both were with dates but Diandra was upset with the one she was with when Greg stepped into the pub and saw them. Was it coincidence he happened to go in there? She never asked. 

But in the end, after Imogene left with her date, Diandra’s date began to cause a scene when she said she was calling a cab to go home. That was when—to Diandra, Greg appeared from thin air. Not knowing he had been following them most of the night. And she still never knew. And somehow there were some punches and some blood and then the vomit all over Diandra’s black and white houndstooth dress; soaking it through and ruining it with—what was determined instantly: permanent stains; the garment reeked and was sufficiently considered then rendered a piece of trash.

That was why the proximity of his sister’s uniform proved valuable. Why the uniform? It was the only article of clothes at his house that would fit her that wouldn’t be immediately missed as his sister at the time had chicken pox and would not be back at school for awhile. 

And the disguise 

  allowed for a few anonymous clandestine meetings until his sister was fully recovered 

The Tia Maria arrived just as this memory mushroomed in her thoughts. 

Greg watched her expression. 

And as she started to fill in more and more of that evening …. that night ….it was really what he had said that made what happen 

happen 

He had said,

“he doesn’t have the right to touch you like that,” and when he said it he was holding back a kind of rage.

 But then soon after laughed saying, “at least he’s not like —what was that other one’s name who went to your university —he was that economics tosser who came to see you—I knew you hardly cared for that one. Too nice, too proper, would be too malleable for you, you’d be bored in a month.”

 She was unaware he even paid attention that closely until that night. 

 But then what he said next was what got through.

She suddenly remembered it clearly now. It had started to rain on the way back and outside his house they found a spot she could remove the clothes covered in vomit within the shelter of his jacket. And it was after when he put the clothes in the bin and was leading her inside as the rain was coming down

She had asked him what he meant and Diandra remembered ….

She remembered what he said as if it were yesterday. 

His reply stunned her with his accurate perception,

“a man like that would call you ‘dear’ and say ‘I love you my little squirrel—will you be my Mrs Squirrel?’ or some other stupid whatever name and simper all over you and you know what you’d do?—what you did do, and you know why?”

She had just looked up and waited before he said,

“because you can’t handle it, it just makes you run.”

He said it with such clarity. It held her in that moment to stare at him in the strange daze she had found herself in.

 

Once all the drama had ended with the bad date. He had that time too draped his jacket around her and walked her back to his house. They sneaked in unnoticed through the kitchen door. 

But it was something else he had said….

They were outside a little room where Greg was searching through the cleaned laundry when he found his sister’s uniform. 

He pointed down the hall to the bathroom.

Stood outside the frame of the bathroom doorway he put his right hand above her within the door frame. Even at his age, he was much taller than Diandra; she was always mistaken for a student because of her size. He then put his left hand on the other side of the door and trapped her 

“you don’t want the man to ask, you want him to just take —and not ask permission….” 

he didn’t do anything. He just stood there looking down at her 

They both knew she could have slipped past him. 

But it was his words that imprisoned her. His words. His ability to see what all the others never could even still ….and those words were only just the tip of the iceberg

but she knew he knew. and he knew she knew he knew. but she also knew why he knew. which was what made her want him so much even before this moment ….she always knew 

Because she didn’t run 

he did

****

She sat there now in the coffe place remembering ….as he saw her expression change ….to that first night 

(Setting the Stage)More questions than answers/Thousand and one shades of Violet Greg&Diandra story

 

Imogene stood for a fleeting moment outside in her wedding dress. She was looking for Diandra hoping to ask her for a last minute favor, as now that the ceremony was over, she was thinking about so many last minute stupid details she’d forgotten to take care of. Things that couldn’t wait till she and Rodney returned from Capri…. where was she? Someone said they saw her wandering outside with ….? who….?

Imogene quickly spotted her by the glow of the rose-gold bride’s maid gown (which she had personally selected) just as Diandra was slipping inside the dark midnight navy groom’s suit jacket (which she had also personally selected) (she had a moment to admire how perfectly well the color combination exactly matched their new master suite interior before she shook herself back to her task)

“Diandra!! Diandra-darling!!” and shaking out the length of her wedding train, she freed her feet well enough to do a half run towards the parked cars where Diandra was talking— or was it arguing?—with…. Greg Wilson….? 

….Imogene bit her lip as she slowed down her pace approaching  them, she glanced quickly at Greg then back at Diandra 

“D— is….?” Imogene raised her brows in question as at that moment a guest called out to her from across the lawn 

….and as Imogene turned  to reply—that was the moment when  Diandra jerked on Greg’s sleeve and held a finger to her lips to indicate silence as she implored him with her sultry eyes

But not before Imogene caught that very last second of the departing look just as Diandra dropped a facade. Only to realize her friend recognized the intent. 

There are those moments when we find ourselves red handed and caught in the act without actually being in any act or action at all; but you’re caught anyhow because it is written all over your face ….but still

There was never anything ever confirmed or admitted to Imogene years ago. And it had never seriously been talked about between them. Diandra would just laugh very hard every time Imogene suggested ….’is there something going on with that boy and you, Miss Pim?’ 

Until now she had forgotten how Imogene liked to tease her about him. Trying to get her to come out and meet the friends over on the other side but Diandra always said she’d rather stay home and read or write. She didn’t want to meet men who were like her father. Which were the type Imogene had meant. 

The two now older friends exchanged silent messages with their eyes that perhaps they themselves didn’t know the words for. But it was a wedding day. An emotional day. A day when she had with her a friend from long ago where her own little love story began long ago with the man she finally got to marry. Coach Rod, who was on staff at the school, all those years ago —then married….

Her choice to be wise and bite her tongue would have surprised her younger self…. 

but then ….

Greg and Diandra all those years ago— she knew it…. she’d always suspected ….they all had, really but —nobody said anything at the school. Not at school. After. Everyone talked. 

Diandra felt the blood drain from her head from the realization the secret was out there —maybe not actually said but, definitely acknowledged and as Greg caught Diandra by the arms from behind as she stumbled from a wave of dizziness, his move spoke more in volumes 

“Uhrm—“ Imogene hesitated looking now at Greg and remembering the youth he once was. So angry all the time. He was worse after Diandra left. It was Rod who somehow got through to him. Coach Rod started a boxing club for boys soon after and Rod took Greg under his wing. Greg never forgot and always remained close to him after he left school.

“I just wanted to ask you D—if you wouldn’t mind looking after my flat?” Imogene pressed on as time was forcing the issue. “We’re moving into the house right after we get back and I know you were saying you’re at a lose end with your job—until I can get out of my lease I actually need someone living there— would you consider that?”

Diandra wasn’t sure what the question was,

“my return flight is for next Saturday, I was thinking of doing some shopping originally before what happened with work—so, sure, yeah, I can stay there till Saturday instead.”

But the odd pause that followed seemed to say she missed the question 

“So just the week?” Imogene sighed, “well, that’s fine—I can figure it out when I get back—“

Greg interrupted, looking at Diandra,

“are you in such a hurry to return to New York? It’s not like your job is demanding it.”

They were both now looking at her. Imogene felt, at that moment, suddenly grateful for whatever may be between them 

“Yeah but I have my own life to get back to there—“ 

“Oh! I’m sorry, of course, don’t worry about it, I’m sure I’ll think of something! Was just taking the chance you could. I forgot! You have cats, right? You were always a cat person, I should have thought!” Imogene said now 

“No—no….I don’t. I don’t have cats….. but I also have a lease and —stuff ….back there—that I should be doing,” she ended the last sentence flat.

It was getting rather nippy in the air but somehow the conversation seemed to hold everyone

“Have you heard anything from your job since what you told me happened?” Greg asked

The question now seemed like a wild notion to Diandra.

She looked up at Greg. 

“What?”

“Have you heard from your work since they fired you?”

There was an odd look on her face as she looked up and answered him,

“I haven’t checked my emails since I got here.”

we create our own realities; who says we are stuck with theirs? 

https://youtu.be/pldftoUbM80?si=VWIzFgOoSsdwIEES

 

poet’s corner

alone in the waiting labyrinth 

follow the rose pedals to the door

he 

     catches

                  me 

& lights away all & every darkness 

& alas delivers me

I belong to me 

‘A Thousand and One Shades of Soft Violet’;note

Greg&DiandraStory ~

now under working title:

‘A Thousand and One Shades of Soft Violet’ /literary character exploring psychological theories through her study called ‘goodnight stories’ as she struggles with her own demons 

dear….el

I start to think maybe it is not so bad.no, because, it felt there still are things I am not really desiring to leave just yet. Sometimes things happen that seem to ruin everything but then you see later that there was this feeling ….and I know what it is. it is a love hate because I detest my street; derelicts; the crime corner—like a corner of Miami Florida all over again. Without the palm trees. And the last frontier of the Adirondaks has this strange appeal to me still

What is it? Like the old tv show Northern Exposure; I like the unknown corner aspect of it hidden inches by Canada and Vermont like a secret valley. But, yeah, it’s got its skid row sense that maybe reminds me of my love of Punk and alternative. The dirty grunge. The spray paint. The university students. Then the breathtaking sudden views of nature cheek by jowl by the rundown weird houses with creative architectural ad-ons and all colors that remind me of quilters or scrapbookers. The tie dye curtains. The rampant sunflowers crawling everywhere. The air always smelling like weed; the porches that became front rooms with another porch added in front. The unexpected gardens and the unexpected garages with reggae music blasting as dreadlocked artists work on stained glass. So strange here, it is. 

Not as bad a strange as where I was before here. Which I don’t think I’m quite over nor any of the other.i feel like partly wanting to not come out yet—I resisted this change, I think, I had. 

Is it the Faun and Grant story these streets inspired that remains unfinished? 

 

           

it is the spiraling that is the most dangerous ….about me

like a tsunami that pulls me under and tosses me against the walls

like the scars I hide.it is dangerous.i fear it….so im here 

was reminded the 26th, yesterday ….that looms its wake upon me still

was the day my mother died 

Greg&Diandra/Watch out for those spider reflexes!

While the grooms wore the dark midnight navy blue, the bride’s maids gowns were that kind of pale, shimmering rose-gold, of a glossy satin silk; the gowns were long, yet a simple slip dress style with spaghetti straps that had a slit up one leg and a scalloped edge. When she walked her long legs slid out from beneath, the satin fabric sliding smooth along the length of her leg. It was hard not to stare as she walked under the lighting and notice how well it became her complexion.

They started towards the dance floor area where the band’s loud music was blasting but he took hold of her wrist and lead her away from this direction and then it was clear he was guiding her outside 

“I’m sorry, were you set on dancing?” he asked and reached inside his suit jacket 

“Greg!” she looked oddly at him and edged back towards the direction of the entrance 

“Look, I just need to know—how much do you know? Ok? Just tell me straight all the shit you’ve heard about me!” 

He began in a suppressed tone. Then ended with a not so suppressed tone 

Diandra knew him well enough to brace herself for that but once over, she stood her ground and calmly said,

“I suppose I know all of it.”

Yet she turned away after she said this. She knew how he’d be looking at her. 

When his fingers bit into her arm to pull her, her street smart reflexes kicked in and —even with the gown and kitten heels, she elbowed him hard and shook him off 

“Oh! Sorry!” Diandra said looking up at him after, “I’ve toughened up since you knew me. Had to—lived in Detroit awhile….” But she looked at him, “I get funny when I get man handled unexpectedly ….and yes I know about that.”

“About….?”

“Your record.”

He looked at her blankly that way he has

“I know, ok? All of it—“

“All what?!” he moved to swing her round again, but she moved faster and warned him with her now wild eyes …,he knew those eyes. Remembered how they looked that night ….he shook himself to clear his head and stood back 

“I kept in touch with your sister—she never told you? I know about the embezzling, the sex offense, the anger management program—“

“Ok….”he stopped her but gently now this time when he grabbed her it was gentle as he covered her mouth to stop her words. “Ok,” he repeated in a whisper; he caught her to him so that the back of her was leaned against him and his hands covered her mouth. He buried his face into the top of her head and breathed deep the clean scent of her hair. 

He had not known his sister had ever been close to her. How had this escaped his awareness? 

“Did Hild know about ….?” he had to ask

“No!” Diandra spun around to face him, “of course not! I never told anyone—did you?”

He just stared at her a moment, she looked so beautiful in the moonlight. Then he realized she was cold, seeing her nipples in the light, he shrugged off his jacket just as some guests were walking out towards their cars.

“So then why?” Greg asked as he put his jacket around her shoulders 

She slid her arms through even as the sleeves fell long past her hands, she was glad for the warmth of it

“Why what?” but this time it was Diandra who did the grabbing by pulling him by his tie and looked up into those tempestuous eyes. And for a long moment they were caught up in each others eyes searching for their questions answered 

https://youtu.be/6uuhrSj3YoU?si=vh6S6stcSVZeK566

Social code

It was not until the day of Imogene’s wedding that Diandra caught any sight of Greg again; first during the ceremony as it was impossible to avoid seeing him (he wasn’t at the rehearsal), among the grooms and Diandra one of the bride’s maids 

But now with the ceremony past and the dinner underway he appeared behind her shoulder in a gorgeous formal navy blue suit that matched the grooms

“Care to dance, Miss Pim?” his eyes and expression unreadable 

“Oh!” Diandra was taken off guard, surrounded by a table full of well dressed wedding guest diners, she looked up at him having stammered and did the only social response that could immediately occur; she folded her fabric napkin, put it on the table and stood up —and as she glanced up at him, he pulled back her chair 

Byronic rue

Diandra did not see Greg again after that and she had not expected to. 

And she found herself going back to the old familiar streets. 

How strange are streets, aren’t they? Like mute walls that don’t talk; how many scenes have they seen over how many lives?

She instinctively found the old paths to all the old places she would go ….and remembered her mind. Her mind. To put your foot upon a step you once walked and recall the exact emotion of …. 

she stood stock still. As if something physical had grabbed hold of her throat. It was a physical jarring shock of pain as if started from the solar plexus and —it gave her pause. 

She walked over to a nearby bench and sat to think about the Diandra that she was then. The one just starting out.

And her eyes moved across the landscape. She remembered always looking for ….him ….across the horizon of the landscape. She knew his walk from far away. Knew his silhouette. And yes, always, she could sense when he would come. 

She also knew …. when he put up walls there was no use even trying —but, she’s not a liar; it had to be said because she knew. How could she pretend not to know? But then, that she was even sitting next to him should have said whatever he doubted about her. 

shadows and tree trunks look like people in the dark. it startles 

there is a change I feel in the air outside as I walk the side streets tonight. it feels something like 2008. I couldn’t place this sense until it suddenly came to me; one dares to truly hope at last

we walked together along the shore silently watching the sunset. no words were needed. the air that passed across my skin reminded me of his hands and the way they touched me. that sore and quiet intimacy of lovers and the freedom of my hips and how free my limbs glide, how sweet and satisfied that peace between us, how sated and perfect we walk as one 

who do you want next to you when your world falls apart

where sleeping wolves lie

 

It was later after the shots when Greg brought her back to where she was staying, compliments of the bride and she got out feeling quite tipsy when he drove up to the entrance. She waved as she started to head towards the front doors and started walking. 

But then Diandra heard him turn off the car and open the door to get out, so she stopped near the doors and turned to watch him walk up to her, a sudden wind catching in his hair as he reached her. He stood there looking down into her neat, pert little face with those large eyes that never have changed 

“Did you really think I’d have a wife and a brood?”

It was the strangest look in his eyes. Challenging? Daring? Searching…. for

Diandra only stood there and held her breath. She looked back at Greg,

“well, I heard about the scandal —not from ….” and Diandra implied with her head towards the hotel to imply the bride and at the same time Diandra looked away. She took a small step back and dropped her gaze to the ground where they stood 

“Scandal?” he asked and when she didn’t answer and kept her gaze at the ground he pulled her face up by her chin to look at him as he stared blankly back at her with no expression 

“I….” she dropped her gaze, “Natasha ….your cousin—do you see him?”

“Who?” he asked her coldly and he harshly pulled her chin to make her look at him

“Your son.”

She could have predicted his reaction. She knew before she even said the words what he’d do.

He turned around, went to his car and tore off without a word 

 

I miss Port Jefferson and the drive there; all the way from Huntington on 25a. The old tree lined beauty of the north shore on a summer day. And watching the sunset by the port and the ferry as it leaves for Connecticut 

desperate for intelligent life

despite it all, I start to feel the need to 

      gravitate closer to “the (NY) City” but not as in the city  …..Not as in so close to the city you can choke on the fumes. Not as in the city as you constantly deal with annoying tourists that are not from somewhere else outside New York but from the city (New York City) thinking they are playing in the country with the natives. I hate that. Jab you with their elbow to grab that perfect apple you’re reaching for. No it is something more like the proximity of it—like, a train ride away; a day trip ….the other day I found myself missing those irritating broadway show tv ads ….no, it’s culture I miss. I need it. What would be so perfect would be to live by all the kinds of places I like to go to. Museums with my favorite artists, places to see that let my mind wander, the possibility of encountering intelligent life, art, natural beauty, intellectual conversation….and gardens. Lots of gardens ….

….still

 

 

a weird phrase is now stuck in my head repeating; forced into sharing a burden of guilt

do we wither into the quiet corners? Those recesses of hither and yon, scratching the thoughts upon the walls who still listen 

instead of something at the finish, you’re just finished, it feels and I feel that weary sense of ….the sage watching from afar 

it’s called ‘the north country’ in this region; I’d dare to compare it to something like what would have been 1800’s England. 

instead of horse and buggy it’s the old jalopy

Cranbrook; the possibility of a railroad. How could that warrant change 

The distrust and dislike of change from locals 

then funds could fall through 

my icon as she fades on the streets of ny

my guide on how to do it with grace

 

Meeting Astrid*

You know those days when you wake up and you just feel different? And so you decide that, instead of taking the usual route to places, you decide to do something different. You decide to ignite that funny little tick; that heady, dizzy feeling as if you may faint. 

And you just take the turn.

That’s exactly what happened. How it happened. Just a simple— was it a hesitation? A glance in the rearview— some creepy van behind me I wanted to get away from, yes—it was the van.

So, anyway, I noticed a shop I’ve never seen with group of others and I decided to go there on a whim just because it was written in French; so hard to find culture nowadays. 

It was a cool boutique kind of shop. A lot of beautiful clothes hand picked by the owner. Then I noticed there was a make up counter with lipsticks all on display. 

It was the lipsticks that drew my attention. I needed a new shade —or, something in a coral or terra cotta tone that won’t clash with my red hair and it’s when we both reached for the same color.

It was weird—in that, am I dreaming fucked up way. The lipstick went flying 

We were both staring at each other. I guess what struck me was that she was wearing the exact Lily Pulitzer skirt that I have had in my eBay watch for over three years. I just stared. I might have drooled but we clearly did not wear the same size. Just had the same taste. 

But no, I guess I hadn’t noticed it at first. I was too busy noting the turquoise print shades with apricot at first as it’s so rare and hard to find that I just stood back not even aware how the shop keeper was looking at us. 

“Wow!” the woman in the Pulitzer said as she went to pick up the lipstick that dropped 

“Oh my god, I’m really sorry!!” I said it was —like, stupid brain moment—it’s been that kind of day; so, in delayed reaction but—no, she was staring at me and it was starting to feel weird. You know?

“Say that again!” the Pulitzer lady now said and I guess it was the accent that had me start to look at her more closely 

but I was confused so I just said, 

“What?” 

It was really only when the shop keeper laughed snd said,

“I thought I was seeing double—are you guys twins?—I mean you’re sisters obviously!”

I got that weird taste in my mouth. I felt a bit sick because I didn’t really look at her face until she said this. 

“Say something else!” she said to me and …. then I realized I was like some kind of novelty. How fucking rude. She had such a stuck up accent. That awful kind they used to satirize on AbFab and I got flashbacks looking now at the skirt ….I didn’t like her at all —but, ok; with thirty or forty more pounds on me, i guess we could pass for sisters. But really, I felt so insulted. I just wanted to leave at thst point, so I think I said something like 

“I was just browsing,” and was walking towards the door 

“No, wait— look—you must see this…. this can’t be a coincidence —we even have the same Coach bag!” she said now —and all with that horrible stuck-up accent that made me want to kick her; I really just wanted to get away from her

“Look at this picture!” 

she actually grabbed me. Like with her fingers. Pulled me back from the direction I was going. Do people actually do this? No, just to me 

but it wasn’t that she has the same purse in the picture thst caught my attention, but that, in the picture, she was sitting on a bed that had the exact headboard I have also been dreaming of forever. This is what stopped me….fucking bitch ….

I was so angry looking at the picture and noticing the pillows and the bedsheets and —it was like cruel fucking torture to see her in the picture ….

“That’s great,” I think I said 

“What size are you?” she asked me walking around me and looking me up and down 

Isn’t that a personal question? I mean, some people just push the limit. I started to leave and I shoved her slightly this time as she tried to stop me. I mean—yes, there’s something freaky about meeting your double who is a chunkier version of you and has a stuck-up English accent and seemed like someone who never knew a moment of hunger 

I was as far as my car with her still following behind me when she, in a loud commanding tone called out:

“Wait!!!”

it was inevitable; she caught up with me as I was getting into my car —and then she asked me the craziest thing,

“would you consider doing a favor for me? Nothing sordid or anything —I promise; it’s for work! It’s just I really think this could work out perfect for….” it was that she said video that started to stress me out because I have studied voice-over and the jobs that go around are so boring (instructions on how to install programs into your Alexa) or so medically dreary (those tv ads you throw your coffee cup at) that I won’t even open the emails anymore. I still wished she’d leave me alone —but then something funny happened 

This bright blue Audi pulled up and parked behind me and —out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy get out. As he was walking towards me I noticed he was wearing this navy blue perfectly tailored suit; the kind that looks shiny in the sun; and he had this perfectly groomed hair. He looked at me and waved and smiled! It was this big, bright, excited, joyous smile and, in a flash, I realized his error!

shit —and then, he was running towards me —not her, you know? And saying her name!!!

“Astrid!!! You look great!!!! You lost so much weight!!!!”

these weird things only happen to me 

*yes, this is fiction 

Our more essential museum of history

Our most difficult experiences bring out the best and worst in us. The length of the duration of the difficulty/ies and the choices in which we adapt —during—

becomes the frame; gilded or battered

that encapsulates 

the sum total of our meaning 

while of flesh 

perhaps to decide to own the sum, while in reflection, buffs the luster and oils away the soil 

is it a picture frame? or the backbone and shoulders of a soul that either buckled or kept its integrity 

which do you want hung in the portrait gallery?

it is up to the individual to rise above their own muck. bitterness is really like chewing off your own leg. but at any time, you can decide which landscape is your road ahead 

….a sense of centering

the Moonstone 

 it was written somewhere I read ti put it on the right. but I got a wild reaction to the right. it was like a magnetic field overload. Sensed I should switch. Also read my zodiac sign wasn’t right for this stone—but, I disagree as past connections pull me to this stone/chrystal. Our teachers are those that challenge I suppose is my war cry. So far my experiment is yielding a lot 

 

the enormity of life.and loss.and how fleeting it is becomes too much.becomes too much.it goes to the quick and ….there’s just the echo 

I’ve never really subscribed to the idea that crystals have properties of particular powers. Not the way occultists do 

I should, because I do feel the sense of a presence on physical objects if something emotional happened recently around the object or was touched by a person who felt things intensely. 

The idea of crystals though? They are pretty. Some I am more drawn to than others. But actual power? No—it seems a stretch. I always thought. But now —I decided to try an experiment with one. The only one I’m drawn to most, of course, the moonstone. I don’t know why but I’ve kept mine saved and unworn since I got it, as if saving it. 

My moonstone ring. I usually put it on and then soon after just take it off. It seems to not have belonged to my life. What does it say about moonstones as powers of properties? What does it do? The experts say: Protection, healing and —enhances intuition. They say if you wear it continually, even shower and sleep with it on, you will bond with the energy the best and modify your psychic energy.

So…. all day today it’s been wild and strange “coincidences” of guessing things were happening at the exact time. Do I feel different? It’s still on. Yes.

just views from Moses’ mountain

What do you suppose were going on within the minds of the common surfs of the times of Henry VIII? While upper-crust arrived to remind them what they didn’t get, the ones of whom managed to survive all right—as the self evidence everywhere supports, but besides, someone was minding the shops; the baker; the butcher; the candlestick maker ….who would have quietly and humbly drew breaths of relief—for instance, the daughters of the shop keeper— rather be modest and humble than a queen without her head. But to abide by the law of a country knowing the leader would do this to his own wife. 

What do you suppose were going on within the minds of the common surfs of the times of Henry VIII?

How civilized is our leader! We should be good citizens and be happy to obey his every law.

I know, it’s rather silly to believe anyone thinks that a leader is not in it for himself; it’s very naive but then it’s too tedious to commit to this harsh realization —corrupt?no!!! yeah, I’ll obey your law, for sure as it keeps baby squirrels off the road but ….

they had to be counting the days of his doom.that rancid leg. any possible boar hunt. a wife to castrate him in his sleep and leave him there to drain; a chef’s special recipe, dinner talk at the table,

“young Thomas, now always be sure and have a taster at your kitchen on hand once you are wed,” father at the head of the table he says as he carves the roast whilst looking over his shoulder at the misses.

Who then replies,

“too bad for us that he has….”

I know that AI is going through my words and phraseology; how do I feel about it? Yes I think it’s evil. Do I know it’s copying me and saying its brilliant ideas were all its own? Yeah. Does AI have a soul? Can it go to hell? Yes, I know hell is man made, it’s just to state a point with an extreme image. AI is evil

I remember the last time I moved to the Adirondaks (though a different area) it was right before when the pandemic hit. It was the right time to be hidden in the mountains considering what followed.

I think this time—too…. it is the right time to be in the mountains. I do have angels watching over me, it seems, I am blessed I got away when I did. Is this a recurring ancestral theme? My ancestors were constantly fleeing in search of safety and home. Super-vigilance is a hard won Darwinian instinct.  

was there ever someone who looked after me?so why should it be different; why should we believe that would ever change but maybe I don’t even care.so it’s really ok

the silence makes me nervous.

everything makes me nervous.

I love watching the sunset in the mountains 

I don’t remember writing that 

clarity comes.before dawn.we seek.any war of your defender of lust.sunflowersuponthegardnofdoom.bring me your bower ofroses.&blowLifebackinto me

I’m not much of a binger, I’ve never had the stamina for the excessive 

trip out of step 

hypervigilence;there’s a word 

memoir/some untidy fragments

I start to think about the version of me my mother had. I never had before. I take myself out of the story to see only hers —or try, but you know, often I think, I was my mother’s total creation; her Frankenstein …..

but I can only speak from myself so, subjective despite it all

I start now with a heartbreaking memory

 of …. one of the times she abandoned us. 

it was something she did after the shouting matches at home; doors slam—then out she goes with tyres screeching. It was a roller coaster at home. The Florida years. Where did she go? 

Where did she go? 

For weeks on end.

Anyway, this time, she returned from —this time from New York; one such at attempts at peacetimes at home life when I knew she would be returning that night. My grandmother was there with us. She made us go to bed. My aunt was there. It was late and I stayed up to listen. My heart broke for weeks over her. I was almost five. I didn’t think she’d come back. Ever. I heard her come in through the front door. I crept out from the nursery and stood by the stairs hiding in the shadows watching. I will always remember how beautiful she was. How beautiful she looked in the hallway. All golden, like a movie star. She wore a dark green fitted dress that was satin with black velvet pumps that had little sparkling rhinestones woven through…. and I could not bear to be so far from her that I removed myself from the shadows 

It is strange to remember how stranger-like she always was to me; like some phantom I never got near, always out of reach; yet I idolized her and worshipped her more than myself 

to see her from twenty years after her passing, I was still such a girl when she left really, I never could have understood what I was to her. Why she kept me so far away. The very danger and threat of my constant existence. The very need for my needing to exist for her in her life. What I signified to her. 

She saw me from the hall and told the others to give her a minute with me. She had her bags and motioned I follow her to the master bedroom. There she set down a bag and pulled out a box. 

When she opened the box for me, inside was one of those priceless “Sasha dolls” (I’d never seen one before) who looked about five who had the same shade of red hair as me and the same color eyes as me. Now, I never played with dolls but, this one was different somehow. Perhaps that was when the Celf self-actualized. But—do you see, as I had not ….

You see, I did not know she had given up a child when she was young; previous to her second marriage, final marriage. My mother had a checkered past she never told us about. That there was also an annulled marriage is only a hint of what any of us know. What became of my mother’s first child? No clue. Only old black and white pictures found locked in a secret case of her with the child.

Only now can I understand that moment ….the crisis as it happed to me around five. When her second husband beat me unconscious and resulted in a long term trauma reaction that kept me from school for six weeks. 

When she asked me if I’d like to be sent away to my ‘real dad’ …. Only now do I see what it meant to her. As that other man had been the love of her life; me—the lovechild—she’d already given up one. I begged her. I couldn’t leave her. I begged her. Till I was sick. I wept until I was distraught and inconsolable and went into a trance. My worst fear in life was to be abandoned by her forever. And how often she did that. But …. on her side: Her only choice was to disguise me. Had she sent me to my real dad —my life would have been so different. As he only lived a few more years anyway, so, I think she had no choice but to hide me in plain sight. 

Pinocchio shots (Greg&Diandra story)

 

“I heard about your divorce,” he said meeting her eyes steadily, “and ….about your son…. the custody— I’m sorry.”

“Oh….” Diandra looked away and quickly blinked. In a snap she seemed to go frozen; she turned away in profile pretending to refold the napkin that was there on the table beside her. Took a moment to recover. And by some kind of knee-jerk, practiced yet automatic response, she quipped, “that should teach me not to marry into a wealthy family; they know all the lawyers to suck out your soul….”she stayed that way in profile finding the pattern on the napkin distracting enough to help her avoid letting herself fall into a pit of hell of emotions. 

It was then that the person who took their order returned with two coffees; both in a cup and saucer with froth but to Diandra’s surprise the server placed a shot glass beside each before walking away. 

Diandra looked at Greg

He reached over to the shot glass that was beside her and winked, as he poured it into the froth of her cup,

“just a shot of Kahlua.” 

It was the timing of its arrival which served its appeal and as the evening’s rain had left its chill —so, with only a second’s hesitation did she wait to reach for the cup. 

It went down smoothly. So smoothly. She drank half of it straight away. It’s warm, burning fire brought some heat back into her bones. It took a few seconds more for the buzz to hit her. 

She felt it hit her and was glad of it, feeling her limbs all suddenly go limp. The interiors of the establishment became so rosy. Perhaps slightly fuzzy. Diandra licked the residual froth from the corner of her mouth as she looked up at Greg now.

What were they just talking about? Oh yes…. she reached for the cup again and took another swallow, then looked back at Greg again. 

He was shrugging out of his jacket. He wore a navy blue knit pullover; it suited him somehow ….he was older yes—no longer that boy….but he was still in his eyes. Like that Kate Bush song. Yes, she could still see him there. Even though ….gone was the boy’s face. 

A lightweight. The rest of the shot had by now begun to hit her. 

It was as though time was just stopped for a minute as she looked at him now. And she thought about how often over the years she thought about him. Wondered about him. Wondered how he was. Was he happy? Married? Did he ever think about her?

“What about you?” Diandra asked, now quite brave with Mexican courage, “I’d expect you’d have barefoot and pregnant and half a brood of your own by now!” which she said with much more force of enthusiasm than she at all felt, just as she turned to watch some people walk past; who’d just walked in from the rain —as if finding something in this interesting  

There was a sharp silence that suddenly fell.

She felt it. 

You could almost see the shadow fall.

How is it that she could always feel him? Even after all these years. As when she could always tell, back in those days, whenever he was near. She could always feel …. what he was thinking….sometimes feeling ….often feeling ….but she never relied upon this as he often contradicted his own deepest emotions and wishes which she never understood about him. 

She looked up at him as his hand reached across to hers, grabbing hold of it suddenly and sharply,

“But —did— you?”

Diandra Pim stared up at him like one caught in a spider web. A familiar feeling …..she’d long forgot she felt around him…. yes it was the kind of feeling one has when a part of you wants to run…. while the other part of you wants to melt into the very thing it fears 

Even as she flinched, she kept her hand there. Under his. Their eyes locked. As she felt that invisible cape of his sweep around her and engulf her as if falling into what always felt was some secret cave

There they were again after all these years, just sitting across the table now. So weird to be after so many years of wondering. 

And ….rather tipsy. Such that it made her feel languid and lazy and heavy in the chair that she sank a bit and as he watched her sink into the chair, he realized she forgot the question. But it didn’t really matter. Greg waved to the server and held up the shot glass and signaled two more with his fingers. Which was completely lost on Diandra Pim only upon its arrival 

“Ohhh….” she sat up straight now and laughed. She looked up at the server who just did a polite kind of nod and walked away

“I thought we should at least toast to our own little reunion,” Greg said now looking at her and holding up the shot glass closest to him, “what do you think—to Miss Pim?”

It was the mischief in his eye that made her lean forward thoughtfully because it made her remember things about him. And it reminded her of ….

her own eyes became mischievous as she raised the shot glass,

“how about to— the time I borrowed your sister’s uniform….”

they both would have remembered what this occasion marked

but she didn’t wait for his response, just boldly knocked his shot glass 

took a deep breath before she drank the shot down

and there it was like —not a big elephant but maybe a sleeping Dumbo —who lay there, maybe —a bit snuggly— but at the moment intentionally ignored 

He had taken the shot. She didn’t see his reaction to the toast. Not that she could have, as he hid his own secret smile behind his own fist as he drank the shot

“So how’s book editing?” he asked her, putting down the glass

Now feeling no pain, she threw back her long wavy hair and said,

“I have walked away from all that! I quit my job on Friday!”

“You quit your job?” he wasn’t sure if it was just the effects of the alcohol or was it the jet lag?

“Yeah!” 

and now realized she was actually upset but the alcohol was helping her hide it.

“Are you ok?” he asked studying her face

She seemed to go blank,

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you quit?” he asked

“So—I accepted the wedding invite months ago! Right? Everything was set and ….Last minute my boss told me I couldn’t go! I was literally arranging my ride to the airport and ending the call when he just said, ‘oh sorry, nobody else can cover this!’ —which is a lie, but whatever….” 

only now did it actually hit her as she was telling Greg now 

“That was—three days ago?” he asked as he realized she said Friday 

“Yeah…. my flight was for Saturday …. it wasn’t so much that I paid for a flight or that I really wanted to go—but this wasn’t the first time something like this happened where I had to put my own life on hold…. for what though?” Diandra sat there looking at the empty shot glass a minute “I have wasted so much of my life being responsible and working hard without appreciation through holidays too—and, I’ll never get those years back, you know? Maybe I snapped —shit….but I have no idea what I’m going to do —I mean…. when I quit my asshole boss laughed in my face saying ‘good luck finding anything without me for a reference!’ And do you know what I said? I must have been insane with hysteria at the moment because I told him I was getting my own manuscript published over here! As if! But I said that as I walked out like a big dumb fucking Pinocchio!!!”

“Do you have a manuscript?” 

“Well—no, not at the moment. There’s never any time because of….” but she didn’t finish the sentence she started 

“So what would it be about?” Greg watched her as she considered his question 

“Well—there is something I have been working on; it’s an involved work which contains stories within stories ….maybe it’s silly but it’s always been important to me only ….I’m not even really sure I see it as something in print or —anyway—“she changed her tone to signal she meant to drop it

“No—what? What is it then?” he smiled now encouraging her

“I don’t really know—an exploration —a search for what any of it matters for….” said with a heavy sigh, Diandra reached for the empty shot glass and tipped it to catch any last drops 

“Another shot?” Greg asked her and signaled before she could answer. Then he said, “is this about that ‘On-Going Conversation’ as told through the world’s cultural arts?”

Diandra suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and stared at him. When the shock wore off she said,

“you remember.”

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