CHAPTER THREE

Outside a local bank, something weird goes down...

... "We need more boxes!"

"Seriously?" Dylan wasn't impressed; another dumpster-dive behind the large white-goods store looming in his immediate future.

"The books."

"Can't you lose some? Why do you need so many anyway? You've read them all."

"We're not having this conversation again."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "You want to go now."

"Yeah?"

"Give me five."

We are moving to a larger house, near the top of Oliver's Hill in McCrae. The house is split-level on a downward slope, the main entrance at street-level, then a staircase leading to the lower area where three bedrooms and a second 'family room' as well as another bathroom complete 'our' part of the living arrangements. Since I was now caring for both parents, the split-level layout meant they would have their own space upstairs and me and the boys some semblance of separate-living, below.

We'd looked at a few larger houses down by the water but they were several streets away,not across the road as we'd been used to. They felt too much like the suburbia we'd abandoned years ago.

When I saw this house or rather the view from both levels, I was captivated. Sure, it meant driving to the beach, but waking to the entire bay and beyond, past the heads to the ocean, every morning... the floor to ceiling windows on both levels affording incredible sunsets? I was sold. Plus the block was huge, and no fencing meant a wide expanse of natural vegetation plus the various vegetable beds and fruit trees you could wander over to and pick what you needed. A sense of 'neighborliness', a sharing community.

We are shifting this weekend... The weather has turned as it often does in the Southern States. A 44 degree blistering listless afternoon could drop to 18 degrees following a bitter southerly change - in minutes. Massive storm clouds would roll in across the bay, the thunder and lightning accompanying them a spectacle we equally feared and admired; the boys and I sitting at the water's edge - like watching fireworks - only moving when the lightning began striking very close to shore.

A week has passed since I've seen him; a busy week, the approaching move taking up most of my time. We've hardly ventured out, except for necessities, the rest of the time spent packing amid much grumbling from the boys.

"Ready now mum!" Dylan called out. He was sweaty after spending the last half hour on the 16' trampoline out back. It had taken an entire day to assemble it last year and the boys were insisting on bringing it along, despite the new house being on a steep slope with no level surface to re-erect it on.

Like a couple of budding engineers, they'd thought up ways to make it work; the latest being digging some of the posts in and leveling it out that way. Much as I admired their creativity I couldn't wait to laugh when they set it up again and realized on the first bounce they were hitting dirt!

I know, I know. I should warn them. They'll end up glaring at me and call it another 'life-lesson'...

... After four days working up North - two days really, the other two divided between surfing and large amounts of alcohol - I've returned to a different Peninsula. The Southerly has arrived with a vengeance. The beaches lining the bay are empty except for mornings and afternoons, when the local dog-owners (me included) take their mutts out for their play-dates on the shore.

Dogs of all sizes and breeds run amok, forming and re-forming groups, chasing each other endlessly; charging into the waves, or pack-like, following any given leader into the scrub along the foreshore. The few daring out-of-towners stand out here too, quickly seizing and cradling their pampered pooches, sheer terror on their faces when a 'frenzied' pack advances their way.

I haven't seen her. Between finally being able to surf and finishing work on the 'Adele', I've been busy as hell. Today I am receiving a new boat, and with school starting soon, the wife has left a list of things my daughter needs. Susan booked an afternoon at the Hot Springs with some girlfriends so I'm stuck with running Mandy around to buy whatever is on the long list...

..."Bank first, Dylan. Saves us doubling back."

"Whatever."

"It's the last time, I promise!"

"You try diving head first in that monster and then trying to find the smaller boxes when the refrigerator and the stove ones crash over your head and try to eat you. Not funny mum! We could have just gone to the box place and bought some like normal people!"

"These are free! They're happy for us to take them!"

"Of course they are. They pay less on the re-cycling fees, duh!"

I had reached the angled parking in the middle of the divided road. A narrow single lane used for deliveries and the odd taxi pick-up/drop-off split the parking area from the long strip of shops opposite the foreshore.

"There's someone leaving right in front of the bank mum!"

"I see them." Parking was a b***h during the holiday months, what with the area doubling in population.

I handed him my card. "You go babe. Take two hundred out."

I swung the car into the spot. Engine off, I noticed the small queue in front of the ATM. Crap. At least a ten minute wait. Looking to the right, I spotted him! Speaking on a mobile phone, doing the pacing thing one does when waiting for someone. He turned!

"You're here? You haven't gone?"

"You! I wondered if we'd meet again!"

... "Yes Bob, this afternoon. Gotta go now."

"The odds of meeting here huh?"

"Who are you waiting for? Stop talking on the bloody phone!"

"I'm hanging up now Bob. Bye."

I put the phone away. I had maybe a minute or so before Mandy came out of the bank. Maybe less. How long had I been speaking with Bob? Hell... Could I chance it? I noticed her older boy standing behind an elderly couple at the ATM.

"Oh your son's in the queue!"

"Yes he is. Who are you waiting for?"

... He kept looking from me to the bank entrance, his head swiveling nervously back and forth several times. Was his wife inside? He felt married to me right? This was not good. Whatever this was had to stop...

"Better not be your wife, you cheat!"

"No, don't look at me like that! I can explain! Just-"

... I glanced back at the entry doors. A couple emerged. Decision time.

... Dylan shuffled to the ATM the exact time a teenage girl came out of the bank. I saw her say something to him as they side-stepped to avoid bumping into each other. He smiled and said something back to her.

"Hey Dylan."

"Hi Mandy."

"Your daughter and my son know each other!"

"This is getting weird."

"So you are married!"

"Not like you think!"

... She turned away from me. Damn. I listened to the rest of their conversation, sneaking glances her way in case she looked back.

..."Picking up school stuff. It's a drag."

"We're finally moving. I'm helping mum with packing. That's a drag!"

Mandy laughed. "See ya in school!"

"Sure."

"We have to stop this! It's wrong!"

"I can't!"

"I'm going to ask my son about you, you know that right?"

"Mandy will tell me everything, you do realize?"

"It's too weird."

"You're moving? Where?"

"Goodbye."

"Wait..."

... "Who was that girl Dylan?"

"Mandy? She was in my class last year. Not sure if we'll be sharing a class this year though."

"She's pretty..."

"She's got a boyfriend. You know, Josh?"

"That right? Uh... you know her dad?"

"I know he builds boats or something? They live out back, ocean-side. Her mum drives her to school but a few times I've seen him pick her up."

"Right."

"Hey, he was at the pier last week. I saw Bacon, their dog?"

"You know Bacon?"

"Seen him a few times at school. Weird right, how his colors are backwards?"

"I didn't notice." Oh boy.

"Can we do the boxes thing now? It's gonna rain soon."

... "Dylan's grown taller over the summer dad."

"Who, the boy you were just talking to?"

"Yeah, you know him. We were in the same class last year?"

"No hon, sorry."

"Maybe it's mum that's spoken to him then. I know he knows one of you."

"Not me - hey, I heard him say they're moving?"

"Yeah, they were looking before school finished."

"You know where they're going?"

"Nuh. He doesn't say much. We have... uh... different friends?"

"You mean you have a boyfriend."

"Oh my God you know?"

"Your mother will ground you forever if she finds out!"

"Don't tell her! Please!"

"You... uh... you met Dylan's dad?"

"Oh they're divorced or something. He never sees him." She gave me a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Just wondering. He seems like a good kid."

"I have a boyfriend as you just told me you know! Stop meddling!"

"I wasn't meddling."

"And don't tell mum."

"You owe me one."

... Well that was that. Whatever this little fantasy has been, it is over. Done. I have no further part to play in the threesome he's created. Keep busy. Keep busy. School is starting soon, no more long days at the pier, no more...

Why does life do that? Throw something weird at you and then you have to clean up the mess. Now I'm stuck with trying to un-remember something that hasn't actually taken place. Is this even possible?

And what if we meet up again? What the hell am I supposed to do? How do you not do again what you haven't done in the first place?

... She's been scared off. Understandable. I'm married. She's not. Who in their right mind would take up with the likes of me? What am I even thinking here? I meet someone twice and-

Hell.

Reviews

[Hyacinth]

By what I have read so far, this is an amazing piece. I love how you progress the story. Please update soon!

[Elise Anton]

Doing it. Got side-tracked because someone called my children 'free-range'(meaning I raised them like free-range chickens) a couple of days ago and I've been mulling on that lol.

[Stefano Segnan]

Well, evolution of the protagonists and their relationship is happening, so I'm awaiting next chapter. Out of curiosity, how many more chapters did you plan on writing? (And no, I am not asking this because it is boring to read)

[Elise Anton]

I think there's only a few more. You've taken an interest in this which is not your usual style... What is it? (Oh and I'm writing something new which might interest you btw!) Are you trying to figure out how one could possibly end this?

[Stefano Segnan]

Not my usual style? There are only three things that are not my style: absolute free verse, stream of consciousness and pertaining to genre, I am not overly fond of erotic literature. For the rest I'm a shameless bookworm.
How will it end? Does it matter? Since I had something similar for two and a half years (I think I already mentioned that I wrote a poem about it?), experience thought me that "how" it ends does not really matter.
Just send me a read request when you want me to read something

[Elise Anton]

Done, give me a day. My bad as I've only ever discussed certain pieces with you, No I didn't forget, I was just wondering if you were wondering whether this ending will be different. I don't know much about the tecnical side of poetry, I just write as it comes, so would mine fall under this absolute free verse? I've never really tried rhyme but I see it a lot on here and I did attempt a couple of pieces but let's face it, they were forced.

[Stefano Segnan]

I cannot say if the poems you write are absolute free verse. I only read one, and that one was free verse. Rhyme isn't everything, it just one rhythmic form. I like to use it, but it's not my favorite rhythmic form. I do not even use meter, the king of musicality. But you have many other forms, like anadiplosis, repetition, alliteration (this is my favorite), punctuation also plays a great role, assonance, consonance, tautograms and many others. Then you have blank verse, which retains meter but there's no rhyme (Milton's Paradise Lost is such a piece). They all can create a particular flow that creates musicality.
Free verse for me is prose written vertically, nothing more.

[Elise Anton]

I will have to look the terms up. You make a valid point about prose written vertically, .serah. does this immaculately and in my memoir the writing in italic were poems. That's when it hit me that I can turn any of mine into prose, and I've used quite a few in there. Thanks for the heads-up, much appreciated.

[Stefano Segnan]

If I remember correctly, .serah. writes prose-poetry, that's an entirely different thing with different rules. There you achieve rhythm mostly with style not with poetic forms. I recommend to you that you try reading a poem by Khalil Gibran's work titled The Prophet (one of my favourite books of all times, and my guide book for everyday life) concerning prose poetry and poetic styles (and especially his ideas). That is if you have time

[Elise Anton]

I have it! One of my faves too! I just never looked at the words 'technically'. only enjoyed their beauty and their messages. God, I've been reading that book for over 20 years now! I never tire it as every time I go back I fiind something new.

[Stefano Segnan]

Indeed! I think I bought more than 30 copies for presents. The messages are remarkable and with each passing year, the same words mean something different to you but are always meaningful! As I said, one of my life-guide books.
That book is written in the most skillful prose poetry. Since you read it, you can feel it's different than poetry, but it's equally poetic; it's different than prose, but equally verbose.

[Elise Anton]

I have to get it out of the garage, since we moved and I haven't 'arranged' the books again. I will read it again through 'style' eyes. How lucky you are to have 30 people who would read and appreciate those words. I thought about my immediate circle and I wouldn't be able to 'gift' it to a single one of them. Sad.

[Stefano Segnan]

To speak the truth, I am certain that only maybe 5-6 are capable of appreciating his works. But I always hope that the book will fall into the hands of those that need it, so I can at least increase the chance.

[Elise Anton]

Good on you. Even if five or six, they then may pass it on to a few more... Learn from it themselves... I think I mention the book in my memoir at some point! God, I just remembered my Lit teacher reccomended it when I was sixteen! Along with Nietzsche and D.H Lawrence and Ayn Rand! That's the stuff I was reading at that age. She gave me Lady Chatterley's Lover as an end of year book prize. Imagine that today!