A Talisman

One would suppose Daniel Kaspar singularly strange, after one quick glance inside his car. The particular articles in question are that of one pink scrap of paper, and a milkweed, stuck in an air vent and hanging down. Useless and trivial items to all others, yes, but certainly not to Kaspar.  However, are all objects not purposeless, until they are given purpose by humanity?

                When an object appears to serve no manifest purpose to most, the idea that it may indeed serve a purpose to one cannot be rejected. It requires only one’s power of association in order to empower what once was of no use. Enter the talisman, the item, charged by the memories of the bearer, which has the ability to allow a return to those memories, even if only for mere seconds.

                Perusing the note, the only words being “meow” repeating, Daniel Kaspar found the window in his mind to gaze from. No longer was he behind a component factory, with nothing but a cracked white wall to stare at through the windshield, late in the December night. Instead, he was located further West. In the place of the factory wall, was a forest, shedding its garments and preparing to retire for Winter. The car rested before a slight incline that led toward a hardly noticeable creek, the waters still.

                Next to Daniel, where the passenger seat had been empty, was now occupied.

                “This song is so pretty.”

                Lori Whittaker normally did not listen to very complex or layered music, but as always was able to appreciate the textures it occasioned her with. Only hearing her compliment it though, was enough for Daniel to forget that they didn’t align exactly in tastes. The seconds marched on, dancing to the sound of an acoustic guitar and a Mellotron.

                All of it was lost. The forest, the creek, the decaying leaves of late Autumn, and Lori; all of it vanished for several minutes. Daniel loathed the surroundings even further than he had previously. He awaited his return eagerly.

                The soft fuzz of the milkweed had long ago dried and turned feeble. Aware of the fact, he mingled his fingers with it, keeping his touch delicate. Fancying that instead of a weed, but Lori’s hair he ran his fingers through, that late Autumn night welcomed him back.

                A slight smile appeared across his face, seeing her quickly scrawl on the lined paper and leave it pinched between the visor and the ceiling of the car, from the corner of his eye. He knew immediately that others would look at it as nonsense, but countered that fact in knowing that it would contain meaning to himself, and to Lori. To Hell with others’ opinions, Daniel thought. This fantasia’s life was short, and disappeared at the remembered coarseness of the milkweed. No level of withering would drive him to discard it. Even when it was reduced to dust, he would keep it in its place jutting out of the air vent.

                Knowing the dead Winter would leave the already dreary surroundings of industry further dreary, Daniel let disgust persuade him to start the car, and leave.

                Deep into the dark of the country, Daniel drove on. The route he took was not random by any means. He took it purely for the familiarity. Piercing the darkness with only his car’s weak headlights, he could take comfort in the desolation of the country roads, knowing there would be little chance of any police officer smelling the liquor on his breath. Desperate to find an exit from the maze of the present, he fantasized that he was going to see her, as would have been natural that late Fall. It was easy, fancying that he was travelling through the lonesome plains to meet her, and did well to maintain this reverie.  Its time was limited, for it would be put to an end as soon as Daniel reached the end of his journey.

                A thirty-five minute drive passed in what felt to be half of that, each glance at the note or the milkweed putting another memory on screen in his mind’s theater. Scenes of staring through reinforced glass into a massive aquarium housing a plethora of exotic sea creatures; scenes of wandering together through the color of Milwaukee’s more artistic area;  scenes of Lori smiling over the dream catcher he had given her on her nineteenth birthday; scenes of her hand in his, all played among many others. Had she disposed of her copies of these films?

                Passing the town center, Daniel briefly questioned himself, afraid. Remembering that he drove concealed in night, the questioning ceased. A cloak of Winter’s night would shelter him, an eyesore, from the view of the world. Past the cinema, where he had simply laughed off a quick bombardment of popcorn from Lori during the thirty minutes of film they were occasioned. The organs housed within Daniel’s torso began to constrict themselves. Sweat from his palms made gripping the wheel a challenge. Nervousness and sadness allied and designed to render him completely broken. Defying himself, he drove on further.

                The city vanished from view, being reduced to a blurred conglomeration of light in the rearview mirror. Succeeding these prior surroundings was an oppressive forest, parting for the road. He started to regret the choice of music he had made; unearthly death-growls accompanied by crushing guitars and a melancholy melody from a driven organ. Why would he torture himself with such a beautiful soundtrack, now all the more woeful?

                One final right turn, and Daniel accelerated, not able to withstand a prolonged view of that house on a hill. Occasioned a glance of its absent light and the concrete stoop, he returned in his mind to that prior summer. That feeling whence his eyes caught view of her descending the steps of the stoop, after having not seen her for two years would, he feared, never be felt again. That would require her presence, and that he would be denied. His eyes burned, and he grit his teeth, accelerating the car even further.

                The wall of trees to the left and right became mere blurs. Where had he gone wrong?

                What, why, who, where, how; they were merely sequenced sounds systemized by humanity. Of course, they could help one theorize the cause, but it would only be a temporary distraction and nothing more. The corners of his mouth turned upward, altering the path of the tears.

                Initially shocked at feeling this new facial expression, it took but a few seconds of listening to the song that had begun to play for said shock to vanish. Lone, ascending piano notes touched his hardened heart with gentleness, a gentleness that replaced the wheel and dashboard before him with piano keys. Knowing he had only seconds to enjoy the viewing of this memory, he allowed himself to enjoy the silence that ruled over him and Lori, save for the melody she played on the piano they sat in front of.

                Daniel sat without words, waiting for her singing to resume with the piano melody. Though soft, it carried dynamic and emotion unheard of by the ears of many.  He swore that he could sit through a decades-long performance, so long as the occasional glint of her rings; so long as she continued to sing; so long as the melody moved on; so long as such simplicities continued to leave him spellbound. A driven guitar solo, melancholy, ended this showing of the mind’s theater. Defying the ever-mounting dangers against him, he accelerated the car to match his rising frustrations and sorrow.

                His eyes ached and burned, the pain nearly unbearable to see through the visual obstructions. The snow descended in madness, tears blurred all things, and his breath cast a haze that obscured all as it froze in the cold. He had long turned the car around to leave the area, but to go home, he could not be entirely certain.

While he held some value in certain areas of the supernatural, he wasn’t so partial to others. Yet a certain thought came to his liquor-clouded mind.

                If there actually were alternate universes, there must be one where we’re together. The thought gave strange and weak comfort, but only gave way to further forlornness. Daniel was terrified at the thought that a much more wonderful course of events was being lived by another Daniel, in some unreachable universe. Another Daniel and Lori may be spending this night together, as opposed to the Daniel here, drunk and speeding through a winter storm with no thought of his own safety. To annihilate these tormenting thoughts, he retreated to his original belief that alternative universes did not exist. Heaviness on his heart was relieved, but only slightly.

                Things had gone completely awry, and he had no power to undo it. All that there was, was the current scheme of things to live with forevermore. Daniel wondered how long he could remain this way, having nothing but the desolation of the countryside, and the tin of the flask to confide in. Taking the last sip that remained, he grimaced and cast aside the flask with harshness. It was a harshness directed at himself. Knowing full well of the danger, he cursed his own name, but still failed to care about his risky situation.

                The final minutes of the album in the car stereo were at hand. With a drunken sluggishness, he moved his head to look again at the air vent. It looked so frail and dry to him, and briefly reminded him that the memory too, may decay one day as the milkweed had. Fearing this, he sent himself into a whirlwind of madness. Almost as if the snow speeding past him could detect his sudden franticness, they transformed their mad dance into a discordant plummeting toward the windshield.

                One day, Daniel knew he would attempt to retrieve the memories of the beautiful past, but it would be an attempt in vain. One day, they would all fade from him. Choosing to let this belief consume his already altered state, he remembered the quarry that he would pass on the way to and from Lori’s house. It laid just down the road.

                There remained one more minute to the song. A haunting church organ joined the distorted guitars and thunderous drumming in a frightful and tense finale. He knew what must be done to prevent the past from drifting away from him any further. The car veered sharply to the left, and ahead of him laid the abyss of the stone quarry. Quickly reaching his hand toward the weed and running his fingers through it, the impending scene was escaped.

                The waves of Lake Michigan entered and exited the forgotten harbor with an unobtrusive effort. No seclusion was offered for the harbor, at least not by being concealed. It was the fact that it stood surrounded by a section of the coast that lies barren; a means of hiding, but hiding in desolation. Ships- wooden ones rotting; metal ones rusting- all of them were dead and gradually sinking into the graveyard of the great lake. Their time had come and gone, and they remained to serve no purpose.

                Frequent visits to this sight brought singular peace to Daniel’s mind. In a way, he also felt he was aiding the dead ships by simply showing that they were not docked at forgotten shores. Their remaining days of rot and oxidation would not be spent in loneliness. He never came accompanied, but on that day, he felt that introducing someone to this harbor was the perfect way to convey that he was welcoming them into his life.

                Watching the abandoned ships float, Daniel started to find that Lori had disappeared from his side. Turning, he saw that she stood looking, mildly interested, at a patch of weeds that swayed in the October wind. At the top of their stems, hung a cluster of fuzzy strands that she ran her fingers through. With each run, her smile only grew further. However, pulling the strands from the stem itself proved difficult for her, even with Daniel’s assistance. Giving up, he walked back to the dead harbor to continue watching the ships.

                Minutes later, they were departing. Before they both climbed into the car, Daniel laughed. He saw the entire stem, four feet tall, leaning against the side of the car, dirt-covered roots and all. Having brought it into the car with them, he drew a knife from the glove compartment and severed the fuzzy section of the milkweedweed from the stem. Satisfied, he looked for an appropriate spot to place it. Appearing to be the only place that would keep it stationary, he stuck it in the air vent before the passenger seat.

                It had been months since his summer visit to see Lori, and at the time wondered of the days, of the months, of the years that perhaps lied ahead of them. Smiling and never wanting to stop doing so, Daniel continued to drive further away, hoping that the day would last as long as could be managed.

 The light of the Sun vanished. The road pitched suddenly downward and let Daniel and the car fall into endless darkness. During this descent, his eyes remained watching the milkweed that hung from the vent.