a departure from Electra; Chapter 3/destination unknown

 Chapter 3/destination unknown

They left the bookstore and then were hit with the heat of the day. For a moment he stops and puts down his briefcase, then he stood there looking at her a moment before extending his hand to shake,

“I’m Simon,” he said

“Simon…?” she smiled and for half a beat hesitated before taking his hand to shake 

“I don’t have Covid,” he says to fill in the awkwardness 

She took his hand,

“Adair….”

“Is it?” he asked

But at first she does not get that it’s meant as a joke until she sees the humor in his eyes

“Oh ….! No! —I don’t either….have Covid,” she laughed

He then half turned toward the parking lot then back at her,

“my rental is parked over there—I—I can take you over there as I think it’s safer than walking….” he was referring to the five lane road in between which she had, earlier that morning, dashed across but that was before the rush hours of traffic that had since commenced and by now was teamed with suv’s, tractor trailers and semis all going top speed 

She hesitated and looked from the road filled with traffic and then back at him. She seemed nervous now as if wondering why she was considering letting a stranger she just met offer to bring her to the place where hours before she had been left at by the towing company. But then, it occurred to her that the recent events of her life, much like what had come to be her own every day “normal”, was forcing her to take risks involving total strangers. In truth, there were not a lot of non-strangers in her life to depend on anymore for her ….and had not been for longer than she cared to think about. 

Calculated risks….? she thought now as she studied him, her eyes focusing on the briefcase he picked up and the hand that gripped the briefcase handle. She thought of that R.E.M. song that went ‘when you greet a stranger…..look at her hands….’ and looked at his hands noticing his fingers, and noticing that the fingers were well shaped and the nails were clean and —then with a smile and a hesitant shrug, she followed him to the rental car. 

When they reached the garage, Simon drove around to where the mechanics were working.

He was about to say something but she got out and quickly headed towards the building but Simon noticed a man walking directly towards her.

But what they stopped to talk beside left Simon standing there slightly agape. What surprised Simon was they were not stood by any every day normal kind of motor vehicle but were standing directly beside an old blue stripe Fleetwood RV motorhome.

It took a moment for this impression to settle into his comprehension as he had to get past the general size and the shock. And during that time he watched as the two spoke. The man who seemed to be the owner of the garage was more rotund than tall, with sparse hair on his head, but made up for with other exposed parts; of face, arms, and shoulders, left bare by the wife beater tank shirt he wore and the work trousers that only slightly covered other external more hairy parts.

As Simon neared the two he began to get the gist of the conversation having to do with a breakdown of the work that had thus been accomplished and an attempt to milk the situation by claiming the work might need more fine tuning.

When Simon reached Adair’s side she looked at Simon. 

“Uh….” was all she said by way of explanation 

“So this is your ‘ride’?” Simon seemed to have that English knack for the understatement 

Adair blushed and glanced at the balding man then back at Simon. 

“I’d say I might be ‘overcompensating’ but I’m not a guy,” Adair said as though in light conversation about where  they might eat lunch —all with a straight face and without batting an eye.

That seemed to be the moment when everything changed between them. Because he laughed. But it was how he laughed and how quick on the uptake 

Inside the office things became more unclear as Adair settled the bill with a phone call to a solicitor and then it was ten minutes later when they were out the door and her with the keys.

“So….” Simon looked at her with an odd but intrigued smile wondering if they should just say ‘goodbye’ and part ways.

Adair looked back at him wondering much the same. 

At the same moment they both spoke 

He started to say,

“do you need help with directions or—“

“Thank you for—oh!” she said

Then she said, in reply to what he started to say,

“you must be busy—and all—or—I mean—with…. your—your—uh—life….”

Which in reply, as he seemed too intrigued yet to walk away, he said in reply to that,

“not at all….”

“Oh! So—so….?” only now did she let herself properly look at him fully, taking in his face and eyes—they seemed to be green….the way he held his head looking at her and ….that he was that perfect height and leanness of which she was always most attracted to. And in that moment the strangeness between them instantly evaporated.

He half turned in the direction of the rental car parked a few feet from the RV then back at her,

“actually….I might need a lift as —I’m due to drop that off as I’m in my way to my next destination….”

“Your next destination?” she asked looking up at him curiously, “where are you going?”

a departure from Electra

 

Chapter 1 /depature

It was clear she had no idea what she was doing. And it was also clear she had no idea where she was going. Pretty much, everything she owned was in these two suitcases and the stack of Amazon boxes that reached her hip.

You know those mornings you wake up from fifteen minutes of sleep? Your eyes feel like glass cutting into your eye balls. At once wired and exhausted. 

It was all so sudden. The lawyer showed up and said it was time to vacate and there was no time to organize a plan. It was a week of arranging guests for the funeral and the service and then packing up belongings to send to Goodwill. How sad to handle the objects that once meant something to this old man she only got to know the last six months of his life. He had not really mentioned where he would have wanted these material things of his to go, and some of the priceless objects were from all over the world but his more personal belongings of clothing, pots and pans, the worn out furniture … 

So like a zombie living off the charge of caffeine she had attacked the overwhelming task of organizing things to be ready for pick up for whomever might be taking it. Needless to say it was a surprise to hear the lawyer tell her to stick around once the private reading of the will to the family was over. She sat outside the old mansion on top of the Amazon boxes and stared stupefied at the dusty ground outside by the cue of cars parked out front. 

Chapter 2/leaving a town called Electra

By appearances, it was hard to guess her age, and even if you tried, you’d be wrong. Not even once you started talking to her could you guess because of her laugh and her choices in conversation. In this moment she was dressed in casual cut off denim shorts which she wore with a salmon colored tshirt with short sleeves. She wore black Keen hiker sandals. Her hair was an unusual iridescent shade somewhere between brick and saffron that glowed in the artificial lighting of the two story Barnes and Noble bookstore. She had a copy of the Dharma Bums under her arm while she stood in the travel section squinting through her somewhat nerdy framed glasses trying to read the map she had slightly open so as not to have to refold it again. 

She had no idea what she was looking at. Not even sure if the part she was looking at was anywhere near where she was. Upset, clearly, as she was unconscious that the hair she had pulled behind her ear to better see was twisted around the bar of her glasses and sticking up in a rather comical manner. Not that she seemed to care.

And so unconscious she was being watched until for whatever reason, a movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye and caused her to look up. 

That was when she first noticed him. 

He was standing adjacent in another part of the travel section with a book open. And was not hiding the fact he was looking at her. 

For just a moment she forgot about being lost. And forgot about the fact that she had to trust the mechanic she was towed to and left at early that morning. That was just across the street from a bookstore, conveniently as —she’d been there now six hours. The book store staff kept giving her suspicious looks every time they walked by her, which did not help her feeling of unease about her whole situation. 

Who was this guy staring at her? And why was he? 

He was actually not creepy which was what had her a bit curious. Did he think he knew her and was trying to place her face? 

He was kind of oddly dressed. Too neat. He wore a crisp grayish blue tshirt and khakis with somewhat odd looking running shoes she had never seen on anyone. Yet he was actually cute, maybe too young for her, though, thirties? A kind of scruffy but not quite-a-beard outlined his face and the same brownish shade as his well groomed hair beneath a kind of fedora and —was that a brief case?

She had not meant to appear interested in him but he had made her curious to have kept her gaze on him long enough to, perhaps, give that impression. Which, to her horror, being rather painfully shy, she soon realized when he started to walk over, picking up his brief case.

“You dropped this,” he said bending down and handed her the folded printout from the mechanic which must have fallen out of her back pocket 

“Oh….” she said staring at him, realizing he was English; the accent. Which explained his odd appearance. And, again, for another slightly too long moment, she stared at him because of his eyes. There was something unusual about them which caught her and kept her awkwardly staring at them.

He indicated the map she was looking at with a kind of head gesture,

“road traveling?”

“Uh….” she looked down at the map, “do you happen know the name of this town?”

“It’s Electra,” he said and smiled  and looked more curiously at with a kind of chuckle asked her, “are you lost?”

“Yes. Actually.”

He reached for her map,

“no, you’re on the wrong part—where are you intending to go?”

Shaking her head she looked up at him.

Only now did he realize her eyes looked tired and bloodshot.

“Baltimore?” he suggested

Adamantly, she shook her head,

“definitely not!”

“Then, DC?”

Again, she shook her head. But at that moment her phone rang.

Realizing it was the mechanic she looked at him holding up one finger,

“it’s the mechanic,” so as not to seem rude as she answered.

As he watched her, she listened to the voice of the mechanic,

“you fixed the what? …..” and listened again, “what is that? ….ok….so…. Uh huh…. um…. so then—I can drive it?” And uncomfortable now, she looked back up at him as he stood there watching her, her face turning the same shade as her hair, “….I’m not sure what that means,” she was saying.

“Here,” the man standing there with the English accent now said, cutting in, “let me take this—“

“Huh?” but she let him

For a moment she watches and listens as he talks to the mechanic discussing motor parts she never heard of. He now says,

“and how much? No— I don’t think so….” covering the speaking part he looked at her, “is this the place across the street?”

“Yeah,” she says

“Let’s go,” he says

Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

Break the Mold Media; Electra’s dictionary reincarnates

At your screen it says:

Start: “click here”

Drawing of hands tapping text into a phone and some of the words can be seen

A voice over says as she taps into a phone screen:

Do past and present lives overlap?

I would not have thought so had it not been for dreams I have had which shown of things that turned out to be found at archeological sites 

But some dreans are not dreams

Some dreams can take over your life

—//-

Sound of hands type as a fade into an animation drawing of a computer screen with a man’s hands typing at a key board.

The drawing of the desk is a messy surface covered with details of the person whose desk it is faded behind and too blurry here to see

What is dimly visible in the shadowy room is a half empty cigarette box, matchbook left open, crumpled post-it papers, several soda-pop bottles with most of it drank, a coffee cup with a molding substance crud-ding it, and a half eaten pizza slice

at the top of the screen, the company logo that reads: Break the Mold Media

—just out of view of the drawing’s image— A desk phone suddenly loudly rings 

 

there is such a need to never come out, and that is what is so different; as I write here now and think about things which came in succession these last several years

when I refer to the genre of fantasy fiction I think of writers like Tolkien and the great old fables. as I consider this it is that, I suppose ….the journeys of the soul that I do often grapple with to make sense of

you see, as I don’t want to come out, I won’t come out

so how do I proceed anymore ….this path feels like it has overgrown weeds and broken stones, I don’t know 

it just seems foolish to bother and try when I know better than to bother, I don’t want to come out anymore 

 

using poetic language is one form to hide within codes but I can also see how it may be possible to use the genre of fantasy fiction to do this too

 

the surgical prod into the infection …. begins here

what I came out of six months ago—did my head in and in such ways that perhaps was my most damaging of all experiences 

partly for the length of time I endured it and much because the person(s) was/were a part of my past and used this/these things cruelly and sadistically ….what I could not clearly see was it was because of their jealousy and so used their will to exact revenge when they might have instead chosen to rise above and be ….better humans 

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers”—*

despite my combat instincts I ….I realize am often hampered out of my strange consideration to be polite 

my downfall 

that seems the weakness I have often let destroy me

call it karmic politeness

I fear if I turn down a kindness generously offered …. will smack me later in the ass

*quoted, of course, from Tennessee Williams’ play, “A Streetcar Named Desire” as said by Blanche DuBois

the crippled survivor

 

it is something innate which has been so long a part of me to not ever look back once a situation is behind me. perhaps it is connected to combat mode; a survival technique ….to always be ready ….for reflecting upon a trauma or a glimpse of lost joy would put in jeapaedy the means to survive 

so, I hesitate as I consider perhaps possibly reflecting upon …. you know…. what I shan’t say with literal words just as yet —because ….

I’d rather just refer to it in general terms ….first …. 

and I only consider this because I believe it may be something like assessing the strength of my ammunition …. checking for damage …. the weakest and broken parts 

as…. I start to see it is necessary in order to go somewhere better than….

where I’ve been

it may be the only way

to