Coming Into the New

I found this hanging around and decided to open it up for discussion since my other masterpiece still needs some work and a middle. Enjoy!

She recreated herself, found the time, borrowed the money, and slipped
away. The highway became solace. The fall passed away. Cities come and
go like mist in the morning. No one knows her here. Winter comes.
Frozen hearts can not melt without warmth. She cannot tell them. They
see nothing but her smile, her legs, the fact that she is a woman
alone.

They come to her. Words fall like roses at her feet. They woo her for
a moment, wanting to be entrapped by her, feel whatever passion has
set her adrift. She seems to want the same.

One man takes her arm, leads her to the dance floor. They dance close.
She laughs at him. He has her charmed. Success guaranteed. He pulls
her closer. They fall together toward the door.

They tumble upstairs to stand outside her door. He moves in. His
strong arms are wrapped around her waist. Suddenly, she lashes out.
She is crying. She is screaming. He can not understand. It is his
perception of this madwoman's beauty he questions as he backs away.

She is alone now. Sagging against the door, tears flow. Only her own
arms come up to wrap around her shoulders.  The moment passes. She
finds strength again. The keys jingle as she opens the door and slips
inside.

She stares sightlessly into the darkened room, breathing in the smells
of bodies mingling and stale smoke that cling to the wallpaper.
Crossing the floor swiftly, she flings open the window. Winter air
stirs the scents together with exhaust fumes and wood smoke. Cars pass
on the highway, taking people into the new.

Her eyes gaze out at this her new life. She has no bonds, no
obligations, nothing to hold her down. The same tears sting at her
eyes. The same ache fills her heart. She has the same desire to be
seen for who she is. So this is coming into the new, moving on to the
next stop on the highway hoping at last to find a place to be seen and
respected the way she always was.

The Visitor: Introductions

I fear this entry is a little dry, but it seems to be heading somewhere interesting, doesn't it? In case you are new to the game, this is a continuation of last weeks offering. As always, enjoy!

Tendrils of sunlight caress my eyelids, slowly pulling me out of the dark depths of my dreams. It warms my cheeks as my eyelids flutter open. Different warmth radiates through my left hand. As I lift my hand, it meets with resistance. I turn my head with great difficulty. A long night of sleeping upright in an armchair has taken its toll on my aged muscles. At last I tilt my head far enough that I can see what is holding down my hand. The creature from last night has curled his long legs and arms around my arm in order to rest his head on my hand.

“Let go of me.”

I lift my hand with more determination. Despite his weight, I manage to raise my hand up high enough to shake him free. His furry hands tickle my hand as they slide along my skin. He lands on the floor with a plop. He groggily shakes his head causing the hair on his jowls to stand out from his long nose. I see two of his eyelids slide away from his eyes so that he can peer at me through the third set which creates an opaque shield against the bright light of morning.

‘Is it time for waking?’ The voice bores into my head again.

“Yes. Stop doing that,” I growl.

‘If I stop doing this, I cannot communicate with you,’ he blinks his second layer of eyes at me.

“You have a mouth. You seem to know my language. Just speak.”

‘You don’t understand. I don’t know your language. You do.’ Those large eyes seem to peer into my soul as if to make me understand.

“But you are communicating your thoughts in English.”

‘No,’ his nose twitches as he speaks, ‘Your mind is translating. That is why you are so tired. You haven’t evolved enough to do that efficiently yet.’

I blink my eyes, buying time to process what he just conveyed to me, “So my own mind can translate what you are saying.”

‘It converts my thoughts to the closest equivalent in your speech, yes.’

“And we aren’t evolved enough to do this, but you still want to visit our planet. Why?”

‘We received some of your,’ the voice pauses to seek out the right words, ‘radio transmissions. It took us many years to begin to understand them. Even then, we did not understand completely. Later, we began to receive…pictures in motion. These confused us more. They depicted what you call love, fear, humor, and other…emotions. We do not understand them. We need you to help us understand.’

The words seem to weigh heavily on me as they drain my energy. I do not understand the question. He seems to be aware of this.

‘We just want to understand these emotions. We do not have an equivalent concept. Perhaps we lost it as our minds advanced. Will you help me?’

“I will see what I can do. I am not used to teaching concepts such as those. I used to teach chemistry at the university, but I could quantify, explain, and show data to my students. Emotions are very subjective.”

‘I was sent because I am an adept learner. My people and I will be most grateful.”

He leans in as he speaks to me. His nose almost touches mine as he peers into my eyes unblinking.

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” I hope my answer will make him draw back from my face as his breath has a strange aroma.

‘That is good,’ he leans back to look at my whole face, ‘Shall I call you professor?’

“I’m not a professor anymore. If we’re going to be spending time together, you should call me Wendell. I am more curious about what your name is.”

‘We do not have names as you do. You will have to give me a name if you want me to have one.’

“I’ll call you Ralph then,” I smile at my own joke since he makes me think of a bunch of parts that some wild animal might throw up.

He seems to contemplate this moniker for only a moment, ‘Then I shall be Ralph.’

The Visitor: First Meeting

This story began as a result of a writing prompt I received via e-mail. Enjoy and feel free to comment. I feel there is more to be said. How about you?

A single glance between two people can change your life. I always passed this belief off as foolishness. I have spent too many years studying and learning to fall for such pedantic drivel, yet each night before going to bed, I glance out the window. Somewhere outside my enclosed environment, more information waits to be discovered. What am I missing? What don’t I know that would bring me closer to enlightenment? What is out there that I am still not aware of? This evening was no different…at first. Then I looked out the window one last time, knowing that it wouldn’t be any different than the millions of times that I had looked out that window before.

I must now accept that I was wrong. A single glance between two creatures truly can change your life. On the other side of the pane of glass, large bright eyes reflect the light of the fireplace. I lean forward, hoping to see more clearly. A comically small head holds those large eyes. Thin tufts of fur sprout from its jowls and the top of its head. As it looks back at me, I see three distinct membranes slide over the shining orbs of its eyes like eyelids with varying degrees of opaqueness.

“What on earth?” The words slip unbidden from my lips.

‘Earth,’ a voice echoes through my head like thunder.

I put my hands up to shield my ears though I know it will not block the sounds coming from inside my head. The voice is not my own. It sounds tinny and un-modulated like robots in old movies. I take a step closer to the window.

“Did you…?” My muddled mind can’t form the rest of the question.

‘You,’ the voice echoes in my head.

This time it does not sound like a thunderclap. I can hear the voice clearly, but I find it hard to believe that is comes from anywhere but inside my head. The creature hasn’t moved except to tilt its head as if it is trying to understand my words.

“Do you understand what I am saying?”

‘ing?’

The eyelids blink, blink, blink again. Then they slowly begin opening, revealing the large dark eyes so hypnotically that I barely notice the squeal of the latch pushing against the wood. Still trapped in those eyes, I remain unaware as the window begins to rise. My mouth falls open as the eyes disappear behind the wooden frame of the window and a long snout uncurls into the room. Teardrop-shaped nostrils flare in and out as the window continues to rise until it slams against the top of the window frame.

“How did you do that?” I step back.

‘That,’ the voice echoes my final word again.

A mixture of fear and annoyance wars in my head as I pull my plush bathrobe closer around my own wrinkled form. The creature pulls itself over the windowsill with more grace than one would expect from such a short, stout body. It sits down on the windowsill, watching me carefully. As it stares at me, images begin to fill my mind. I see stars flying past me. Planets appear and disappear so swiftly that I am not sure if they are in our solar system or not. My head begins to spin from all of the information that flows into me. Moments later my head tilts again as the voice echoes through my skull again.

‘You will help me?’ The creature’s mouth moves as if saying the words, but no sound comes out.

“How are you doing that?”

‘You will help me?’ The voice pauses before filling the silence with another question. ‘Please?’

Sweat beads up on my forehead. My heartbeat feels uneven somehow. I slowly scuff my way backward to the overstuffed chair that sits by the fire, falling into it heavily.

“Help you? Who will help me?”

By this time, I am convinced that I have lost my mind. This bizarre creature can’t really be peering at me from his vantage point on my windowsill. It can’t. As I try to convince myself of the veracity of my own thoughts, the creature jumps down on long, spindly legs and lopes toward me. Too weary to move, I watch his approach anxiously. He slows down as he nears me, reaching out with large furry hands to take my left hand in his.

‘I’ll help you,’ the tinny voice almost sounds compassionate.

“How can you help me?”

‘You are old. You are afraid you will die before you have the answers you desire. I can promise you those answers if you will help me.’

Those large eyes mesmerize me again. I sink into them, slowly drowning in their dark depths. He blinks and I remain trapped. I still cannot speak.

‘Will you help me?’ The voice asks again.

“If you have the answers to my questions, why do you need my help?”

‘Because I cannot feel as you do.’

“I don’t understand.”

‘You should sleep. Hearing me as you do seems to take some toll on your strength. We will talk in the morning.’

The voice does not change into one more human yet it lulls me. I feel my eyes closing and my head falling heavily on my chest. I barely have time to wonder what the next day will bring before a dark, dreamless sleep overtakes me.

Groundhog's Glory

I decided I needed to add another bit of entertainment to this particular creative outlet, so I took a writing assignment from my inbox and here is what was born.


As the sun peeks out of the clouds, silence reigns over the hill despite the throngs of people. Men and women in heavy wool coats, scarves, and thick gloves raise those gloved hands to their lips. Small children stop squirming, wiping snotty noses with thick mittens, and complaining about the cold. Instead, they all look toward the center of the hill where three old men stand behind a podium. Instead of facing the crowd, these are looking intently at a small hole in the hilltop.

They seem oblivious to the chill in the air and the snow surrounding them. Someone got up early to clear the snow from this spot. It has been piled higher than the tallest man's head all around the circle. Why? Why are so many people staring at a solitary hole on this particular hill? The answer is quick to present itself as a nose tentatively pokes out of the hole, whiskers wiggling questioningly. The nose disappears again as the clouds cover the sun. All the watchers shiver as the warmth of the sun quickly dissipates, but no one turns to go.

The nose appears again, sniffing the air one more time before it is followed by a round body covered in mottled brown, gray and black fur. The crowd breathes out as one as, Gerard the Groundhog waddles further out of his home, heading toward the three men closest to him. Even from a distance, his long teeth gleam menacingly as he makes a low sound in his throat.

"I think he's hungry," the tallest, and also the thinnest, of the three men laughs nervously as he backs away.

The shortest of the men laughs at this as well, but not from fear. Instead of moving away, he crouches in front of the star of the show. He reaches out a hand and waits.

"Hey, Gerard. I see you're bringing us good news this year," his voice would sound the same if he were talking to a young child.

The groundhog tilts its head to one side as if processing the question. Then he steps forward again, advancing on the short man with another soft trilling sound. When he reaches his target, he gives little notice to the man's caress. Instead, he steps closer, tilts his head even further to the side and leans forward to bite the man on the leg. The man squeals in surprise as the animal latches on, digging long claws into the man's calf.

The rest of the assembled crowd screams in terror. Without a second thought, they turn away from the groundhog and head for their cars. The silence is completely broken as children begin sobbing in fear and parents counsel their older children and each other to hurry. In a matter of minutes, the people who took hours to assemble have gone. Even the three men who were in charge of the festivities have contributed the slamming of their own car doors to the sounds preceding the squeal of tires.

Soon the groundhog is left alone to survey his hill and look forward to an early spring. As he gazes out over the now peaceful park, a gunshot breaks the newborn silence. The groundhog narrows his eyes, but he does not go down. He looks toward the sound of the gunshot as if he is challenging the shooter to challenge his declaration of an early spring. No more shots ring out.

Zombies

In order to celebrate Halloween, I posted one of the viral statuses on facebook. It told my friends to respond with the item to their right as their weapon when attacked by zombies. This inspired me to write this little story for my own amusement. Please enjoy and comment!

I sigh aloud as I scoop more cookies onto the cookie sheet in front of me. I have been baking cookies all day, but with so many guests coming to the Eve of All Hallow's Eve party, I probably won't have enough to keep everyone satiated until the party ends at midnight. The air in the kitchen is heavy with the warmths cascading from the open oven and the heavenly mix of sugar and warm chocolate aromas that rise up from each sheet of cooling cookies. I have put the last batch in the oven when the doorbell begins to ring.

The living room fills up quickly with guests. I barely have time to transfer cookies to plates and potato chips to bowls before the last guest arrives with the zombie movie of the evening. Soon we are all enthralled by the images on the screen. During some gory scenes, I find myself reflexively looking away. It is this happy coincidence that makes me aware of a change in the air around me. Somehow the sweet scent of cookies is slowly being overpowered by some other odor.

I try to be subtle as I lean toward my friend Meriah who sits on my left. The smell isn't coming from her. In fact, she smells like cupcakes. I can't help but inhale again, more deeply. Meriah turns from the television to give me an odd look. I smile and try to look innocent as I lean away from her. After watching me suspiciously for a few more seconds, she returns her attention to the television.

I now lean to my right. Aunt Donna turns to look at me before I can take a good whiff of her. She silently offers me one of her cookies. I shake my head at her. She shrugs and nibbles on the proffered cookie as she looks back toward the television where the zombies have begun pulling the entrails out of one of their victims. She stops nibbling. I lean in for a quick sniff, reassuring myself that the smell is not her.

I am about to lean forward to inspect my next guest when I realize the odor seems to be seeping under the door. A thin mist has been slowly creeping across the floor as the movie progressed. I am the first to notice. I am also the first to notice the shadows ambling across the front porch. I make a quick survey of the room, expecting a few friends to be missing, but everyone is accounted for.

I stand up slowly, jumping over my friend Whitney who is comfortably sprawled across the floor. I realize that I have attracted more attention than I had hoped to during this maneuver, so I smile at my friends and wait for them to look back to the television before opening the door to peer outside. As soon as the door opens, a hoard of figures lurch toward me. Most of them have skin hanging loosely from emaciated flesh. I don't lean in for a better whiff. No doubt remains about the origin of the odor. Each of my uninvited guests has the sickening perfume of death seeping from their rotting pores.

I instinctively raise my hands to cover my face. This does nothing to dissipate the odor. It also does not cause the door to close. The zombies lurch toward the open door and the tempting array of appetizers that I call my friends. I half turn to see my friends arming themselves with whatever is handy. I step back from the door, trying to push it closed, but shock has caused me to stand still for far too long. The zombies have already begun pouring through it.

Meriah grabs the trash can next to the couch and throws it at the zombies. I duck in time to avoid being knocked out and retreat toward my friends. Many of them have already begun moving back toward the kitchen. I feel something warm splash my face as Donna tosses a full cup of steaming coffee toward the open door. It splashes against the face of an advancing zombie. The zombie gurgles a complaint and heads toward her, but Donna jumps onto the couch and over it before the zombie can shuffle close enough to get a good hold on her.

Meanwhile, Whitney has pulled open her purse and pulled out some Alpha Hydrox lotion. She squirts it wildly into the sightless eyes of the zombies as Momma Poling whacks the nearest zombie with a rolled up atlas. This one seems to be in an advanced state of decomposition so this results in the loss of an arm. Emboldened by her success, she wields this weapon proudly as she backs away from the advancing hoard.

Katie has been watching the zombies with a smile on her face for a few minutes. Perhaps, she is remembering a recent zombie walk or expecting some of our other friends to pop out from behind the other zombies to announce “Gotcha”. Whatever has kept her from being afraid is quickly dispelled when one of the zombies puts his hand on her.

“Ew. How did you get your hand so slimy?” She asks, pulling her hand away.

The zombie grunts as best he can with what is left of his vocal chords and reaches for her again. Her eyes widen with fear. She quickly grabs a coffee cup from the nearby table and slams it into the zombie's face. This causes one of his eyes to pop out of its socket. I feel my stomach lurch and see my revulsion mirrored in Katie's eyes as she steps away from the zombie.

Becky H is trying to fend off a particularly active zombie with a pillow when Becky S and her husband come to her rescue. Becky S still has the side mirror from her car in hand following an accident in the parking lot. She brings it down with as much force as she can on the zombie's head. The mirror disappears into its shattered skull. She shakes her hand as if to shake off any bits of zombie flesh that may have splashed onto her hand.  Devin attempts to assist his wife by producing a car air freshener shaped like a flip flop from his pocket. Her drops it on top of the downed zombie like a talisman of holding and grabs his wife's hand to pull her away to safety.

Becky H mumbles a thank you as she follows them toward the kitchen. Sandy reaches into her pocketbook in the hopes of finding something that may help us escape. She finds a picture of her son and pauses to look at it. I can see her pondering how this can be of help before she thinks better of it and follows the rest of us into the kitchen.

Everyone is gathered around my friend Jonathan. He is standing at the sink with an industrial size bottle of dish soap. With one last glance into the living room, I reassure myself that everyone  else has moved away from the zombie mob.

“Are you the last of the living?” Jonathan says dramatically.

I nod my head, unable to form words as the zombies draw closer and their stench clogs my nose.

“Good,” he says, stepping between me and the zombies and pushing me toward the back door.

“Go out that way. I didn't see any zombies out there,” he says as he begins to pour out the dish liquid onto the linoleum.

“Slick shoes!” I exclaim.

He barely takes time to nod before he directs my attention to the door again. I peer out the window in the door before throwing it open and leading my friends out into the back yard. We cluster together, looking around for any sign of more zombies. I notice that Holly still has the remote in her hand. She is nervously clicking the off button as everyone looks at me questioningly.

“What should we do?” Tami asks as her dog Scooby begins growling at the back door.

I look at the door, letting my breath out slowly as Jonathan comes out the door.

“I think that should keep them busy for a while,” he says with a smile.

“Yes, but what should we do?”

“Someone should go in and kill them,” Will says reasonably.

“Who? With what?” I frown at him.

“My wife could do it,” Will says.

“You're not sending me in there,” Michelle says, punching him softly on the arm.

“Don't worry. I know what to do,” Sara says quietly.

We all turn to look at her. She smiles and holds up a thin paperback book.

“I think I accidentally created them while I was reading this book. If I read this next chapter to them, it'll destroy them.”

“It's worth a try,” I say with a shrug.

Everyone else nods hopefully. Sara steps back into the kitchen. We can hear her reading slowly to the zombies for a while. Now and then, a grunt or moan interrupts her, but after five minutes, no more noises come out of the house. I look around to see if anyone else is willing to go scope out the situation for me. It doesn't take more than a glance to show me that the owner of the house is expected to risk her life by reentering the house. I stop on the threshold, taking a deep breath before peering inside.

Sara is down on her hands and knees on the floor with a bucket of water. The only sign of the zombies is a thin puddle of slime on top of the puddle of dish soap.

“What happened?” I almost don't hear my timid voice.

I am about to repeat my question, but Sara heard me.

“I came in and they were all sprawled out on the floor. They couldn't get up without sliding again, so they were moaning and a couple of them were attacking the others. I read the chapter to them and as I finished, they started to melt into this slime. I thought I should clean it up since it was my fault.”

“So they are gone?”

“Yes.”

“And the book?”

“I'll get rid of it, don't worry.”

I nod and go back out to tell the others.

On Top of the World?

Not my best work, but it was a Monday and I haven't felt too encouraged by commentary of late...

The sick brown snail inched his way to the top of the globe. Looking back, he saw the thin layer of slime slowly drying behind him. He smiled appreciatively at how it left a clear sign of his passage from Australia all the way up to the North Pole. He knew from what other snails had told him that he would not find Santa Snail there, but he would have the honor of declaring the words he most wished to say. The moment was upon him. He was almost there. One more slither forward and he would reach his goal.

“Top of the world! Top of the world!” He cried out joyously as his eyestalks waved back and forth.

He would have been as well served to cry this out in his head instead of at the top of his little snail voice. No one was around that could hear him. All the self-respecting snails and slugs were sleeping at this hour. Someone was watching him though. Had he taken even a moment to scan his surroundings with his overly excited eyes, he might have noticed his peril. A little boy had been watching the snail’s progress with a malicious grin for the past few minutes. Now he had decided would be the perfect time to test out the resilience of the little nuisance’s shell.

That’s why he flicked the little fellow from his perch right on top of the world. Of course, he wasn’t counting on his sister returning to her own room at the precise moment. He heard a movement behind him, blond curls falling into his eyes as he turned to face a little girl with equally blond curls who was glaring at him. Neither of the children actually saw the snail hit the ground as their eyes were locked in a silent battle, but the snail definitely felt it.

“Goodness! My shell!” he exclaimed as that very possession made a snapping sound against the hardwood floor.

“Sarah Jane, how nice to see you,” the little boy said, batting his eyes innocently at his little sister in the hopes that she hadn’t noticed what he had done.

“Jimmy, how could you? She’s my friend,” the little girl had noticed and was tapping her foot angrily as she glared up at her brother with her arms crossed and her lower lip poking out.

“You don’t even know it’s a girl,” the little boy said as he moves his foot closer to the snail.

“I have to agree with that first part, but I don’t like what you’re doing with your foot,” the snail said as he tried to right himself.

Of course, neither of the children heard him. They didn’t hear a peep. The girl responded anyway by pushing her brother away from the snail who released a tiny sigh of relief. As her brother looked down at her in surprise, Sarah Jane quickly scooped the snail up in her hand. She wrinkled her nose as she felt the sliminess of his leg as it touched her hand.

Jimmy laughed at this, “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your disgusting little friend then.”

He was already out the door before she could respond. She turned her attention back to the creature trapped in her hand. He tried to curl into his shell as much as possible as her hot breath blew across him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take you outside, so you can play in the garden. Jimmy never goes there.”

The snail only heard was a loud booming noise, so he didn’t know to thank her. Instead, he cowered inside her palm as she made her way down the stairs and out into the garden. He noticed the changes in his surroundings, being worried by the heat of the sun and comforted by the shade of the garden. When she set him down amongst the stone and mulch surrounding a rose bush, he waited a few moments before sliding tentatively toward the base of the bush. Sarah Jane was already distracted by a fuzzy, black cat who was lounging in the sun, so he had no need to worry. He had plenty of time to slither away and ponder whether it was really worth it to be on top of the world.

The Beginning and the End

This is a brand new piece. I alluded to it before when I mentioned that it wasn't quite perfect yet. I am still not sure it is perfect, but here it is.

I never quite understand the favors that my brother asks of me. He is completely capable of going to see his son’s teacher without my help, yet here I am. It sometimes occurs to me that he just asks these ridiculous things to see if I will play along. He shouldn’t need to test it. I usually do. That is why I am here now, looking at my old elementary school.

It hasn’t changed much despite the new wing they built a few years back. I look at the long brick building for a moment as I feel my pocket to make sure that I really placed my keys there. Reassured, I swing the door closed. It clicks closed as memories of my own childhood in these walls come back to me. I shake them away and take in my surroundings, reassuring myself that my brother hasn’t already pulled into the lot. I look back toward the road just as my brother’s familiar blue compact car pulls into view.

He turns on his blinker at the last possible second, pulling into the lot without slowing down much. He races the car toward me, slowing down at the last second to whip into the spot next to mine. I refuse to flinch even when the wake of his squealing brakes shoots up bits of gravel. I just fold my arms across my chest and watch him silently. He smiles as he steps out of the car, unfolding his long, slender frame carefully.

“Scared ya, didn’t I, sis?” The smile on his face couldn’t get any bigger.

“Not really. I am used to looking at that face.” I refuse to let my lips pull upward into a smile.

“Very funny,” he says as his smile fades a little.

“I know. I’m thinking of going on tour, but first I had to help you talk to a teacher. Still afraid of them?”

“No. I just thought this teacher would respond better to you.”

“Oh, is that all?” I smile at him affectionately as he starts walking away from me.

I gasp a little as I almost run to keep up. He got our father’s height while I got our mother’s less lofty stature and affection for chocolate cake and all things sweet. He turns around a couple of times to look at me but doesn’t even feign slowing down.

“Keep up, shortstuff.”

I just frown at him and pump my legs faster. Despite my efforts to catch up, he reaches the row of double doors before me and disappears into the gloomy interior. Expecting him to be waiting, I pick up the pace and throw open the door.

“Okay, I think…”

He is nowhere to be seen. I look down the length of the hallways stretching in either direction. He has disappeared. I turn from side to side, hoping to find some clue about which way he went. No psychic sense stirs within me. I turn left anyway.

As I begin walking down the hall, I hear a door opening behind me. I turn expecting to see my brother laughing at me for going the wrong way, but instead find myself facing a man with slightly curly, dark hair that hangs almost to his chin. His eyes seem to light up as they fall on me and a smile slowly crosses his face.

“Hello there,” his voice is soft and soothing.

“Hi,” I say tentatively.

“Not who you expected, I guess,” he says.

“No. Not really,” I admit.

He steps closer to me, “But I could probably help you out?”

He seems so eager that I can’t deny him, “Maybe? I am looking for my brother.”

“Oh, is he a teacher here, too?”

“No. He came to talk to a teacher about his son.”

“Oh, really? That could be me,” he smiles at me, “I’m Beau.”

He extends his hand to me. I put my hand in his and get the feeling that he already knows who I am. His hand doesn’t shake mine as much as it engulfs it. I feel my fingers disappearing into the warmth of his grasp.

“My name is Daisy.”

“Oh, really? Isn’t that interesting?”

“I guess,” I realize our hands are still clasped and slowly pull mine free.

“Your brother’s name is Luke?” He says, stepping closer and bumping his elbow gently against mine.

Suddenly, I realize what he finds so intriguing. I feel my eyes widen.

“You don’t happen to have cousins named Coy and Vance, do you?” I ask with a smile.

“I see you are up on your Dukes of Hazard trivia,” he says.

“I am. How about you?”

“If I didn’t have that meeting with your brother, I’d take you to the Boar’s Nest and we could talk it over,” he says, leaning closer to me.

A lock of his hair falls across his face. I realize that I can smell his shampoo. Unconsciously, I take a deeper breath. He leans back to look at my face as he flashes me a hopeful smile.

“Maybe I can have a raincheck?”

“Of course,” I can feel my cheeks taking on more color.

“It was nice meeting you,” he says as he turns to the door behind him and turns the handle.

As the door opens, the world seems to waver and shift. I feel my legs growing weak beneath me. I reach out for the wall. I stare at my hands in surprise. The fingers seem longer and more slender than they were a moment ago. The skin hangs loosely, wrinkled and spotted. Even the wall has changed from a bright yellow to beige speckled with flecks of gray and blue. I look to Beau for answers.

“What is happening?” I ask in a hoarse voice I barely recognize as my own.

“It’s okay, Daisy.”

His voice sounds as old as mine. I look up at him and see that his dark hair has turned gray. His eyes, however, remain the same. They are blue and beautiful and worried. He reaches out his arms to pull me close. At first, I try to pull away but as his arms wrap around me, they feel familiar. I feel reassured and protected with a single touch, so I allow him to keep holding me to him.

“It’s okay,” he says again.

He leans into me holding his lips close to my ear and whispering these same words over and over until I finally relax. I can feel the warmth of his body seeping into me. It makes me feel comforted and safe. I breathe his scent deep into my lungs. It is the same scent from that first meeting. I am not sure why this surprises me. It was only seconds ago that we met.

“Would you like to come inside?” He says this softly, breaking the flow of my confusion.

I nod my head, holding onto his arm as he pushes a few buttons above the door handle. We enter a small, cozy living room. I recognize the quilt draped across the loveseat as one of the first I ever made. I look at Beau questioningly. His response is a smile as he guides me to the loveseat. He gently kneels next to me and takes off my shoes before helping me lift my legs up onto the ottoman in front of it. Then he gently tucks the quilt around me. All of this is done in silence.

I am still amazed that I do not feel I should fight him. It still feels like this is meant to be. It is almost as if I remember so many nights like this. He steps back to look at me.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” I am surprised again by the rasp of my own voice.

“Good. Call out if you need me. I’ll be just in the other room,” he says, smiling down at me.

I smile back at him, but all I can do is nod. I can already feel my head sinking into the pillow he has gently tucked under my head. I listen calmly as he pads across the floor to the kitchen. That is when I realize that a phone has been quietly ringing. I hear his voice softly floating over me as my eyes close.

“Yes, Luke. I know… I think she is getting worse… Yeah, she barely remembers me… I can’t do that… I love her.”

This last sentence gets through to me. I hear my own voice responding to him though I barely realized I had meant to speak. My voice comes out loudly, meant to be heard.

“I love you, too.”

I am so surprised by the sound of my own voice that I jump a little. Something falls from the table next to the loveseat and crashes to the floor.

“I have to go, Luke. We’ll talk later.”

I hear the phone click into the cradle. Then Beau’s footsteps shuffle back toward me, faster than before. He sinks down on his knees next to me. I open my eyes. He is reaching toward me, but he stops as my eyelashes flutter. I reach out to take his hand and guide it to my face. I can feel his arm shaking.

“I don’t want to forget,” I say.

“I know, my love,” he says.

“But I am forgetting,” I say as my eyes begin to tingle.

“It’s okay. I’ll remember for both of us,” his voice comes softly through my confusion.

I can feel his lips touching mine. They move to my cheek, kissing away the tears. His arms are around me, cradling me close as the darkness comes and I sleep. I dream again of the day we met. It feels like it was moments ago, but even in my confusion, I know my mind has just deleted the years in between. So here I rest without the middle. I only have the beginning and the end. And through it all, I have this man who fate meant for me.