Chapter -One-

I ran another stop sign.  It was raining and the air was on full, still I couldn’t feel anything.  The only light I could see was coming from ahead, leading me, and a low neon glow of my stereo that I realized only now I was singing along to.  I was stuck driving on a short, single, loop--as the forest repeated itself--identical, every few seconds.  Passing that same posted sign to remind me that I was speeding, the dark forests seemed to be coming at me from everywhere, the “Rest Stop 1 Mile” sign that  I’ve past now again without having seen a rest area.  It was dark.  I was tempted to pull on to the shoulder to sleep off whatever affects I was countering.  I looked down at a manila envelope in the passenger seat.  I reached for it.  I know that I should have been disoriented, but…

Sitting on my couch I was channel surfing.  I picked up a glass of water from the end table next to me and took a sip, I brought it closer again to my lips, I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.  I finished the water and looked around, still parched, at the fireplace and old family photos on the ledge, book ends with no books, a vase of fake flowers that were there before we moved into the house, an old wood coffee table with the broken right leg that leaned slightly to the left, and out at our front lawn and the car pulling into the drive.  I stood and headed for the kitchen, pushing the swinging door…

Then I whispered into the ear of the girl sitting next to me, we had just met, at the coffeehouse down the street from our dorms.  Mutual friends thought we should know each other and had premeditated our encounter.  I ran the heel of my foot along the wooden floor, ignoring the conversation and thinking, instead, how comfortable this chair was.  I whispered into her ear hoping she would want to leave.  She did.  

…The soft hum of the engine and repetitive forest scenery dissolved any affects I should be suffering. The envelope was now in my lap.  I had opened it curious of how or why it was there.  There was a single, blank, white index card, I turned it over and found a paragraph, typed--with a word in bold.  It read:

Now consider for a moment that reality is created and inspired by our memories.  And, any given moment is actually an image designed from previous experiences and essentially a creation of our sub-conscious; we are left responsible for creating and living our lives simultaneously.  These thoughts and memories will work together to develop and create our surroundings as we see or saw fit.

I read the card several times before I remembered that I was driving! I looked up…

Sitting on a worn egg white cement bench in a park, a small creek flowing nearby, the shadow of a bird flying by above; I followed it towards a pond and fountain, decorated with limestone rock and fake grass.  Near the pond was a pavilion.  It was the town center that had been renovated a few years back to help promote a plan to expand tourism.  I walked over to it, and under, looking for the carving my girlfriend and I made near the top of a pillar. “To never forget” ~ Sarah & James; someone had painted over it, but luckily we cut deep enough that I could, when running my fingers over it, still feel the engraving.  Behind me I heard the sounds of Main Street getting busier in the evening.  They began to block it off, and soon local restaurants and retailers would set up booths and tables as an excuse to mingle and sell s**t before the end of the day.  In a few minutes live music would begin playing in the parking lot of the local insurance company.  I waited in line for a brain muffin, they were the best in the South…  

Staring at a massive airplane, it the largest I have ever seen, I turned to see her walk through the door and disappear into the hall.  She was headed to Europe, Paris; I felt a tear fall down my cheek, the first of many.  I never thought I’d feel this again.  The same feeling, the same experience--a second time, as we both told one another that this wouldn’t be the end, it was just a new beginning.  It hurt more this time, because I knew better.

I stared at the index card.  Repeating the words out loud--reading them faster, then slower, then adjusting my speed mid-sentence and pausing and adjusting again. It was obvious that I was somehow manipulating my reality, but how?  And why?  It seemed almost as if I was revisiting memories as I have decided to remember them, not necessarily how they had actually happened. 

Author's Note

I'm attempting to write a sci-fi(ish) thing here using a relatively different style of writing than I am familiar with. Hmm.