shots in the dark (greg&diandra)

 

Only, he had known her name was Diandra. 

He watched her now as he sat across from her 

“Do they really serve coffee here?” Diandra Pim looked doubtful as she observed the length of the very bar-like counter where a friendly group were loudly talking while doing shots of something.

“You doubt my claim they have great coffee?”

His expression as he said this made her nervous as his eyes, although shadowed in the dim lighting, bore into her.

She glanced away and then back at him,

“Im just an American, what do I know? you English say you’re having tea but it turns out that actually means you’re having a major meal, what is that? I don’t get it—it’s like —eating lunch—or is it supper—what is supper anyway—is there also lunch? or no, that’s dinner, isn’t it so then what —like elevenzies?—I guess, anyway…. yeah, so, why not be drinking coffee out of shot glasses?—a nice americano with a peel of lemon, add an umbrella for some style,” and as she said this there was a loud hoot from the crowd at the bar as somebody chugged something down 

“You still do that,” Greg said watching her

“What?”

But somebody showed up to take their order 

But she forgot to repeat the question after he walked away 

She was tapping her fingers on the table top when he reached across the table to stop her by covering her hand. Her eyes were alarmed when she looked up at him. Her eyes. They were just as he remembered them. How quickly they became wild like a trapped deer. Which is why he said,

“I lied to you.” His hand was still there. 

“What?” she wasn’t sure she heard that right and …. he was still looking at her in that intense way. The same way he always had like ….the very first time she saw him in the school hallway. It made her shudder. Now too…. How could she forget ….that memory; boy-man that he was.

“I knew you would be back for Jo’s wedding,” he said and now there was an intentional glint of mischief in his eyes 

Sometimes there are people you know that if you never saw them for fifty years you know you’d pick up right where you left as soon as you were in each other’s presence.

Diandra at this moment was subject to such a phenomena. And she forgot herself. In that moment she did not feel worried or nervous because ….it was as if their last conversation by the swings was only last week. And it was their separate peace because nobody ….could know….but it was Greg who had, even then, made the move

Diandra had a moment to realize now why out of nowhere Jo’s invite came. They had lost touch ages ago. And Diandra had moved so many times since Jo knew her that there was a real bewilderment over why Jo took the trouble to find her. They had not really been that close; just two student teachers who started at the same school. Sometimes they went out drinking after a day student teaching at the school or Jo would set up a double date but—no, they were never that close. She wound up staying with the school and became a teacher there while Diandra never looked back, changing fields, she became a social worker back in the states, focusing on troubled teens. But switched fields again and became a publishing editor believing it was a way in to becoming a published author, but so overworked, there was never any time to write. 

“So it was you,” she said looking back up at him 

He just watched her with a slight smile 

“You told her to invite me—yes, now it makes sense —you know, I mean—I couldn’t imagine she’d ….”

But now Diandra drew her brows together, as a thought occurred to her

“Did you tell her?”

At first Greg only looked at her. Then slowly he smiled again,

“no….” 

it won’t be written or spoken about in the news media because nobody wants to acknowledge the looming, dreading feeling on the horizon no matter what is the outcome of the US election. I cannot pretend to not be aware of the tinder stick ready to burst into flames. civil war—2;did I suggest that? but it feels likely.there will be dispute and the polarities are so flammable.it is hard to imagine what safe plans there are to make as we see other countries crumble I think we are not immune to this.my mood has been, by this, less able dream because I fear for the nightmare….it has been hard to know what to write; avoiding the approaching horizon of this and as well, I guess, my own icky horizon as the years catch up

go there into that dark canyon, go there with all that is you within that feels and breathes and jump full force within its fires 

do you feel it burn at your most valuable heartbreaks ~ and sets alight the flame that casts your soul alive 

burn one’s soul alive. that solely soul that is the Celf full of cells of celves to…..just burn into the sky; a comet; a retina stain 

echoes

voices

historical memories

blown down an archeological time capsule forgotten long after by man.kind

I resolve to be better at acceptance 

I forget to remember.

isnt that interesting?

what was that?

stories high

I used to laugh at my mother; on Sundays her favorite sport was taking her mother of pearl antique opera glasses and go to the window. She’d step between the drape and look across at the apartments across from our Amsterdam flat. She knew what everyone was up to, it was really shamelessly shocking of her. But she told me, anyway, about the man and his lover and how they drank coffee naked together. Then there was the woman who dragged out the entire contents of her flat onto the balcony. And all day she would beat out rugs over the railing. 

If you look out from her opera glassses there were more than a hundred or so stories there. 

from the Future Saga of SanSingaulf

 

…. it is late day when the announcement comes that he has arrived. 

The west wing parlor faces out and within everything is of a black and very veined marble. Sansingaulf, wearing his deep cobalt blue robes. He sits upon the black throne as he awaits the announced arrival; his long silver beard reflects off the triple moons’ light that seeps from the arch of the doorway to the balcony, that, right now lays open emitting a cool evening breeze. 

“Byãrn….” Sansingaulf looks upon him as he approaches 

“What do you want this time?” Byãrn is openly annoyed 

“You know it’s time to play your part ….”

Quietly the other rages and walks towards the balcony.

He stands from there and shouts,

“Your precious ‘Terra’? or one of the others?— and, tell me!—why me—your bastard son?”

After a dreaded and ominous silence Sansingaulf rises and says,

“I think we both know why ….don't you recognize her?”