I had just noticed water dripping from the eave outside and there she was. There she was. Right there on that little spot above my ear. Right in that crook of a place for her stand. One arm wrapped around some convenient strands of hair and the other with her hand grasping tight to the top of my ear skin with her tight little nails. It's okay, Waterdiva knows me pretty well. Once I cried out a river and she helped me. At first I thought she was a fly or mosquito, (I try to keep that fact from her) but soon enough I caught on.

     It seemed like it was going to be a long and rainy day, one where it was kinda cool and grey. You realize after a while that the tiny little drops of water are going to continue to gently fall and not stop. Saturday morning and it was time for a change in scenery. The rooms kept downtown are kept for work, I placed everything there needed to live in a capsule. Every couch, every chair, every book, table, every liquor and taste. Every picture on the wall, every kitchen appliance, all accoutrements, rounded up in a box truck from about town and placed there in one day for my very convenience. One thing that is not there is another.

       So to sate the restless stir and meeting my Saturday, I advanced my weekly routine and shut my doors behind me and set out through wet streets to find another. And found her in the form of my sister who lives some miles out from town. Her house sits on a hillside and is large with levels, and corridors, and breezeways and places and you can go that you did not expect. On flat feet she stands tall and shines blonde bright with a lion's mane. A scorned trophy with the crack of the whip at the back of her voice. I however was warmly greeted with smiles when I entered which is exactly why I had come.

  Tracey is my sister's friend always at hand and most times displaying a need for acceptance. Her smile is perfect but I think the looks in her eyes last too long and they asked unwanted questions. To want to be known by one she adores is her only concern. I can't help what people adore. To adore what is not even there is senseless. She is a friend made true by adherence to these dispositions. Adoration should be displaced by a mutual true attraction. It seems she could never understand this, as most people do. As always, these considerations were placed aside and three friends started the Saturday we would have by lounging on couches, recapping a week's events for each of us and deciding in which direction we would travel for a warm breakfast on a rainy day. The kind of rainy day where it stays cool and gray all day.

     Everywhere I go I compare the place to a movie I've seen. I guess I'm like the cable guy. See what I mean? ..and sometimes I think that everything I'll ever do someone else has already imagined. We three walked into the little diner you'd visit in Stars Hollow. As long as there is some happy waitress cajoling her customers, maybe a sheriff that walks in and takes off his hat and everyone one is glad to see him... something like that is what I like in a diner. If there's not a cabin, or a house, or some woods or a strange dimension, a lot of scary movies usually have the kind of diner that I like. This diner that we walked into seemed perfectly nice for whatever could be imagined that would happen.

 I slid into the booth after I had considered my sister's chosen position. It's best if a person follows her lead in most situations. I will always choose to sit across from my sister, it's what prompts the best conversations. Tracey sat next to me which was fine because I wouldn't have to look at her. I always know what she is thinking anyway. I know Tracey will always like to sit on the outside but that's okay. Feeling sort of trapped and kept safe is something I like. I let her do the things she was good at. 

    I make sure I know what I want to be served before I walk in the door. Time is spent better to comment on the new surroundings we had just entered and noting what diversion we could make of it. It seemed there were more wait staff than what was needed and it became apparent that some of the young girls were new and being trained on this particularly rainy and grey morning. We had menus but I did not need to look at one. I simply say, "Eggs Benedict." Instantly Tracey’s eyes become my eyes. Her voice, my knowledge: "Yes they do have Eggs Benedict Carlie... eleven ninety-five." .. "Thank-You, I came to have just that. That's what I imagined I would have and there it is." Shaking her head,  my sister rolled her eyes up from her menu, pointed her brow and from atop her styled readers shot a wry smile and a scoff. "You think eggs benedict is printed on this menu because you imagined it as so?" .. "Yes.. why not?" .. "What if you had imagined that it was not on the menu and then lo, There it is?" .. "Why would I have done that.?" .. "I wish you would explain yourself sometimes." .."If I could figure out how to do that I'm sure I'd realize that I wouldn't want to tell you." ..I'm sure I read something like that somewhere before. Then three lovely young masked women appeared at the end of our table.

 …

     I think that if someone is going to write a story well they should do it as quickly as they can. Not a second to waste. ..because something may be lost forever. That’s what can make an honest story. This next part is very important and I don’t want to mess it up so I think I need to stall for a little time. I haven't even read that many books really. Just the ones I like.. I like that when I’m done with a book the author remains there in some corner of your mind. And you can ask him, “What would you do?” or “What would this even mean?”. When I feel the urge to turn my chair to the side and stare at the floor till the next clock’s chime I’ll get up and make a drink or a pipe.

…

   The two at her sides faded into her background and were forgotten. All accomplished with her eyes and what she had done with them. The covered part of her face made some new kind of nakedness that I wanted to see. My mind raced for a way to challenge her. She was introduced as Carrie, our server and as someone who would help.. And then was left alone with us. Tracey knows at all times toward what point in any room my eyes are looking and at this occasion she played the guard, placing her head between my eyes and anything I might want to look at that was standing at the end of our table.

  It is my display of a lack of self-control that let out a tiny audible little ‘um-mmph’ sound when I saw these eyes. Only loud enough for Tracey to hear. I think that’s the way I meant it. It’s funny about that little ‘ummph’ sound. An Mmmm.. with a little umph. It came from wanting something perceived as really good but really it is the exact same sound I would make when nursing the worst toothache.

  My sister went first with a mocking voice with airs: “I’ll imagine I’ll have the Eggs Benedict if you please.” This brought smirks and smiles from Tracey & I. We three will carry a theme and laugh with it all day and this one of imagining the future seemed fresh. Beautiful Eyes (Carrie) said: "Eggs Benedict? I’ll check." And she left. We three searched each other with wide eyes: ‘What..? No imagined Eggs Benedict? Is our Universe amiss already?’ My sister gained the biggest grin while my heart shrank a little. “There’s enough for two more orders exactly. Today is your day.” ..she returned with the good news. I liked how she said ‘Today is your day’ and it was her first day. I liked that she knew what to say on her first day. I liked that she didn’t say ‘Today is your lucky day’ because how would she know. She just said today is your day. I liked how my universe was spinning properly.

   I still had to challenge her Eyes and my chance was at this second: “Carrie, are the Eggs Benedict served poached or do you use an egg over-easy?” It was all I could think of. I wanted to see her eyes search for an answer somehow. But she knew what to say on her first day: “I’m sure they are poached, but I’ll come back.” And she left.

   “You gotta bee in your bonnet? Why are you playing with your hair?  You are incorrigible. Don’t tell me you're trying to flirt. You’re  not even dressed for Christ's Sake.” My sister could take anyone’s properly spinning universe and have it flying in all directions in seven seconds.  “Listen, If I want to scratch my ear and fix my hair or ask a question I’ll do it. You don’t know why I do the things I do” … “I know.. we’ve gone over that.” … “ ..and ‘incorrigible’ is a spent word; nobody wants to hear it. And besides I hate that word it reminds me of rotten porridge or something.” … “Oh Carlie your very mind amazes me; you’re right: rotten porridge cannot be turned back. You are incorrigible.” … “ I am gruel then? ..Sister please refer to me as someone who is perhaps ‘without regard’. It’s more fitting and completely acceptable to me.”

   ...When you are chumming in a place like Stars Hollow the words that fly must be quick & crisp clean and it has to seem that unless somebody stepped in and stopped them they would fly on forever...

 “Secondly I don’t try to flirt I just flirt. And I don't have to be dressed any way for it. It’s just me saying something  or doing something to get attention from someone appealing. It doesn't matter how I am dressed and it doesn’t matter how they are dressed.”  My sister crossed a glance over to Tracey and looked back to me. She let me continue. “Thirdly Dana, I don’t think Christ cares  to take the time to worry about how I am dressed one time or another, he already did his job.” … "Well if you are going to bring religion into it then we’ll change the subject.” … “Technically you did.” … “Did what? Technically I said 'Christ's Sake' name for vanity and that's not all that religious. And you’re so sure you know what he’s thinking?.”  … "I can only go by what he said.” .. "And You’ve heard what he’s said?” … "In so many words.”

  A lot of the time we will forget that Tracey can talk. She knows when it is time to do her job: “Hey why don’t we go out to eat tonight and Carlie can dress up.!” I may think it is over done to suggest the next place you’ll want to eat while you are still waiting to be fed in a current one but Tracey’s suggestion turned the current of our conversation down a gentler vein and I was able to tune her and my sisters ensuing discussion of choices out and notice the rivulets of water streaking down the panes of glass beside our booth. It was a rainy day outside. And it was still an all day kinda cool and grey. And I felt a little Waterdiva whisper in my ear: 'They’re going.. to ask.. you.. about it.. right.. now:

   “Carlie your choice, what do you want to eat tonight?” … “Food of the Gods” … “Whatever do you mean Charles?” … "I mean, Dana, I want pure white, steaming hot, flakey white fish!” … “You can say the oddest things; and you said white twice dear.. Then it’s settled Tracey, The Red Lobster it is..!” Then three lovely young masked women appeared at the end of our table, each with a cloudy, steam covered plate in hand.

end ONE.

    Andrea woke from sleep. It was dark. She looked to the clock at her side and it was blinking 3:00 am. 'Why would it be blinking..?' she thought. 'Did the power go out?' Andrea always knew what the moon did as it coursed through each night sky and looking at her bedroom's open window she quickly knew there was a bright full moon outside. She went to the window to look. Her apartment offered a view of the river and she looked and saw her familiar scene. Her shoreline, the bridges that crossed the river. The barrier island across the way with it's series of hotel buildings and condos. Lined up as dimly lit monuments. Each one holding the lives of so many people, so many happy lives; happier than hers she thought to herself.

     A detail was missing from this moonlit visage. Curious, very curious. She looked down to see the glint of the moon on the water and there was none. Impossible. Her eyes traced to the shoreline, to the park, the pier, the boatramp. All familiar, all part her apartment complex's offerings but where the water should be there was only black. She was instantly intrigued. Instantly she was at that shoreline facing the black. She felt a vacuum, and a pull, and she reacted by bracing her legs and weight against it. She looked around for something to grab and hang on to but there was nothing. She saw nothing but a tiny lit square up the shore, a small distance away. It was all she saw and now she made her way towards it.

    The ground was spongy and her feet sank a little into it at each step. The air became warmer. It felt thick with some hot rancid moisture. She approached the small moonlit square and realized that it was an object lying there. She felt a hardness in her throat as she reached for tiny the silver key hanging around her neck. The thing was about as big as a postcard, about an inch thick, pink and with a large capital 'D'stamped on it. Her Diary!

     Andrea gasped and reached for the book. She had to recover what was hers. ..but it moved, downward, down the slope to the black. Was it on a string? Her movement towards it made her slip a little. She tried to dig the edge of her shoes into the river bottom and stop her descent. That helped a little until she realized it was not a river's bottom she was standing on but something else. The hot air began to move. It slammed into her face and then reversed and was at her back. It repeated again and again, the ocsillations became accompanied by a hoarse, rasping rush of a noise. She slipped and reached for her book and reached and slipped again until realized the object of her attention had brought her as far as she needed to go. Before her was a raised stone slab. It wasn't a cut or hewn stone but did seemed shaped for a purpose. Terror gripped her inside and pulled hard as she finally gained an inkling of where she was. Forrest was there!

                       He was born in the House of Pain.
                       He was fitted with Collar and Chain.
                       He was told what to do by the Band.
                       He was dragged down at The End.
                       He was dragged down All Alone.
                       He was Dragged down by The Stone.

....

a story from..

.

Undone City

    The late afternoon  was  cold but the sun was  bright and Rose shined  pink like new life that would burst from her apple cheeks. Rosy cheeks where her smile was framed. It was ample and at this moment the smile I saw was being offered for quick glances, at whoever joined in a look. A nod of acknowledgement and a smile. An exchange of smiles with unacquainted people in the bright light of day. This practice may have you smiling at either monsters or angels but still; a wonderful thing. She was beautiful. She could be so she was. She had to be. The smile used to face her more mundane world was less arranged and presented. It was there. It clung to her face and she allowed it to remain because she never knew when she would need it. She knew she could never make it with out it. These smiles. These smiles that rarely tell the truth. They show everywhere. 

       Six of us were waiting on the platform. I should say nine because Rose was only the top of a mountain. Her white beret capped it all as her blonde hair flowed down into the folds of her scarved pea coat. She pushed a grey baby's carriage that held some attention for her as she constantly leaned forward to dote on the bundled life within. Grasping her free hand was a boy and held in the child's opposite hand was the end of a leash attached to which was a smallish and brownish dog. There was a brown paper sack, with a bread-loaf and items purchased. There was a white box tied shut with a string. All together they moved as a mass across the platform floor. All her troop kept close one to the other; bunching together with bundled and layered attire, each themselves being well padded against the season's coldest days. 

       Snow lay at the edges of things and at the late afternoon's long last shadows. There is a moment every day when, as light slowly begins to fail you realize dark is soon upon you and that need arises to decide if you are presently safe. It is a primal concern; real but washed out in modernity by the electric light. It's almost night. The last train that would arrive before dark was due any moment. The platform lights turned on just as the distant clatter of steel wheels was heard. There were six, were nine and then there were sixty-six or ninety-nine or a hundred all at once filling the station's platform as busy, quick people stepped off the arriving train from East Undone. I glimpsed the beautiful Rose, still on the platform, through the glass as my train lurched and swayed and began to pull away. The white beret capped mountain was joined by a tall tree that had grown there just by the time I had made it onto a train car and to my seat. A dark Fedora and a black flat attaché made him the perfect tree to live on her mountain. She said 'Forrest' when she called to him. My train escaped into the night and I thought, 'Who were the other four?' 'I never cared.' 'Did I miss something?'

     They disappeared one by one- the street lights, the storefronts, illuminated lots. That one small final light far off in the distance that represents some farmer's porch; they all disappeared into the what-not. I strained to see something through the glass. I knew I was looking into a rush but I could see nothing. Only my own vapor showed on a window that had been painted black. My fellow travelers being served and satisfied also began to disappear one by one. Some did linger in the dining car for cards, brandy, subsequent laughter and after the car had become sufficiently filled with a heavy atmosphere of cigar smoke and after an adequate consumption of coffee and sweet pie I also disappeared to my own compartment to see what dreams may come.

     There was violence and chaos beneath my feet but my precept was ordered. I knew what I was doing. Where I was going. All every the while every joint of my car's under-carriage was at work bending and swaying, slapping back against it's only reason; the steel rail which had been conveniently placed before it. Placed long and continuously and without fail. Above the rushing spray of sparks flying through a blackened firm, Above the screeching and squealing I was. I sat above an incessant deafening clattering shrill. I could  feel it through the floor boards. Above all this I rode to where I knew I was going to do what I knew.

     I dreamt of the blackened clattering firm, exercised as dreaded fearful futility. To travel through it was my course. To ride a wave of violence and be deposited on some safe shore. And then I dreamt of the beautiful Rose and her Mountain, exercised as a hopeful validation. To know her way was my course. To see a world from behind her eyes. To see her world from behind her eyes. To tell her was mine: "You are everything I can ever be."

- end One.

..One lonely cube sat fading to nothing at the bottom of my lowball. I looked up from the glass, caught her eyes and asked, "You know what's interesting?" She walked over and smiled. I remembered her hair was up only twenty seconds ago. She picked up the glass, her eyes and mine. "I'll bite. What is interesting?" .. "Chemistry; it flies across the room and happens all its own." "Nice.. I thought that was Cupid's Arrows.?" "Well... the chemistry is on the tip of course." Some reaction curled a smile, parted her lips and the pretty tip of her tongue glistened out to moisten her breath. So I said, "See what I mean?" and She replied: "I do".