ON A CELL PHONE, THE ADDED FEATURES (PLATFORMS, SHORT STORIES, YEAR AHEAD, ETC.) CAN BE ACCESSED FROM THE TOP LEFT HAND CORNER (STACKED LINES). ALSO, THE ‘TRANSLATE’ & WORLD CLOCK WILL APPEAR AT THE BOTTOM.
在手機上，添加的功能（平臺，短篇小說，提前一年等） 可以從左上角訪問（堆疊線）。
*** All times / dates: Please remember that all time references (e.g., “dawn”) are PDT – Pacific DAYLIGHT Time zone. You can refer to the World Clock in the sidebar for more listings or Google ‘time zone converter’.
Email: suningem@gmail.com
Tim’s YouTube links: Unveiling Astrology
Unveiling Astrology Part 2)
START NOTHING (ALL TIMES ARE PACIFIC DAYLIGHT): 5:38 pm Mon. to 1:33 am Tues., 1:22 am to 5:28 am Thurs., and 0:30 am to 6:06 am Sat.
PREAMBLE:
Well, another story, Flying, will be below the AFTERAMBLE.
WEEKLY FORECAST:
ARIES: March 21-April 19
You remain in a whirlwind of paper, errands and communications, Aries. These, for the next 6 plus years, will be tied to, and promote, your social and “light romance” situation. You’ll invest a lot of hope in this or that email, call, visit… and in various financial schemes. Money flows your way until the end of June: resist the spending urge. Your home and family remain fortunate and cheerful until June 30. Before that date, finding a better rental or selling/buying a home is very favoured. Until late July, delegate rather than perform tasks yourself. There might be an early morning disruption Sunday, but the rest of the day goes very well, despite your weariness. Good communications w/family. Monday is much the same, with a touch of love or beauty. Your energy and charisma come roaring back Tuesday/Wednesday. Tuesday is fine, and holds a large potential bonus or luck and family and real estate matters. However, late this night problems arise. They really are just problems of your dissatisfaction. Thursday dawn to Saturday dawn emphasizes money, buying/selling, possessive sex, and/or rote learning. Thursday is filled with obstacles until mid afternoon PDT, but this evening and Friday offer success. Saturday dawn begins a weekend of travel and communications and paperwork – a fortunate, productive weekend!
TAURUS: April 20-May 20
The general focus lies on money, earned income, buying/selling, rote learning and casual sex, Taurus. This is a fairly mellow time. But realize that your money making focus is changing, and will maintain this new focus until 2033. During this time, your money will be more directly tied to your ambitions, your career and your social standing. Many of you will make more money. Another effect of this change is that the last seven years of heightened nervousness now abates, and you returned to your mellow old self. June holds much paperwork, and some travel. You are more assertive this month — and likely more successful in love. Wishes come true Sun./Mon., as your popularity climbs, and you are greeted with flirtations, perhaps with real love. You’ll be smiling! Retreat Tuesday to dawn Thursday (PDT) — rest, contemplate, and plan your future. Best Tuesday, but this is a poor interval, with some disheartening obstacles. Stick with what you envision around noon Tuesday — even after this week is over. Your energy and charisma surge upward Thursday to Saturday dawn. Get out, see and be seen, start or push projects. (If starting, realize slowdowns and confusions enter June 29 onward.) Thursday is dicey, but Friday flows well. Saturday starts a weekend that highlights this month’s nature: money, buy/sell, etc. — good results.
GEMINI: May 21-June 20
You’re on top, Gemini. Your energy, attractiveness, and ability to persuade or at an annual peak. Don’t waste this time! Give your favourite projects a push, but if starting a new one, be aware that June 29 to July 23 will bring delays, confusion and indecision. Your money luck is still high, but be careful of spending too much. Avoid sketchy places and violent individuals all month. Communications about money are gracious and productive. Be ambitious Sunday/Monday – great results, so aim for the top or the top person. Wishes can come true Tuesday to Thursday dawn (PDT). You will feel popular, social, and more humorous than affectionate. Tuesday morning/early afternoon offers a lovely prize, perhaps a money, bonus or an item on sale. But the rest of this interval holds problems – friends and money disagree. Retreat to have a rest, to contemplate and plan, to seek advice and liaise with management and government, Thursday dawn to Saturday dawn. Thursday is a bit dicey morning and afternoon, but after this everything sails along smoothly, even profitably. Saturday starts a weekend of significance and success – you will gain an admirer or two!
CANCER: June 21-July 22
Lie low, Cancer. Your energy and charisma are low, so rest, recharge your emotional, physical and mental batteries (until June 21, when all will change.) You remain lucky, and could receive – or perceive – employment opportunities. Despite your tiredness, you’re attractive to others, especially socially, domestically, and in communications. If you’re a single female, you may have your eye on a particular male all June. If you treat this lightly, it might work out into something significant. Until 2033, you will tend to develop confidential friendships with quirky, lighthearted individuals. Sunday/Monday is intellectually stimulating, and could bring major good fortune in higher education, law, media, far travel and gentle love. Friendships arise – and so does your popularity – Tuesday to Thursday dawn. Optimism and flirtations raise your spirits. However, only Tuesday and only till early afternoon PDT (late afternoon EDT, evening Europe) — after this, obstacles arise. Somehow, friends dampen your money prospects. Retreat from the hustle and bustle Thursday to Saturday dawn. Rest, contemplate and plan. Some stubbornness, Thursday afternoon, then smooth sailing. Saturday starts a weekend of rest and recuperation – re-read the first two sentences above.
LEO: July 23-Aug. 22
June is your “what if?” month, Leo. It’s time to wish upon a star. (This is just a saying. The Bible says do not worship the planets.) Your popularity is at a peak, flirtations abound, optimism rises — and, in one sense, it’s time for you to entertain the world. For example, Leo actors are almost guaranteed a positive, enthusiastic audience. There is a new, hopeful and beneficial influence on your social life now to 2033. It will sparkle with “newness” and surprise. If you’re single, someone met in a group can turn into a friendly romance, which can then turn into marriage or cohabitation. It’s all because your marriage planet will spend this next seven years in your friendship and happiness sign of Gemini. This placement also indicates big public favour for the next seven years. However, bosses and higher-ups are less amused right now — they will be impatient, even temperamental through June. The government favours you now, so you might be able to plead for a tax return or a homeowners grant or whatever. Sunday/Monday are quite fortunate in finances, investments, intimacy, and sex, research, medical and lifestyle, action actions. Tuesday to sunrise Thursday brings intellectual awareness, profound thoughts, media, far travel, higher learning, law, and gentle love — and all of it is favoured until about noon Tuesday (PDT) and then definitely disfavoured from that point on. Retreat, rest, contemplate and plan Thursday/Friday. Thursday holds a rather stubborn, subtle alienation or refusal, but this evening onward is fine. For Saturday (and the weekend) re-read the first six lines above.
VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22
The main accent lies on ambition, worldly status, career and prestige relations, Virgo. (Prestige relations can include facing a courtroom judge, too!) You can gain luck in real estate through friends. One of the best things you can do in June (and July) is socialize. Strictly avoid lawsuits all month. Same time, being “other-oriented” is better than being independent, in act or thought. Sun./Mon. emphasize this, as exiting and beneficial relationships pop up everywhere — so do opportunities. Think far beyond, outside yourself. Secrets and mysteries, investigation and valuable information, large finances, sexual temptations, medical and lifestyle actions arise Tuesday to Thursday dawn (PDT). Tuesday morning/afternoon are smooth and opportunistic, but Tuesday eve and Wednesday are better spent surveying a situation rather than committing to it. Your mind wakes up, and life philosophy, media, far travel, law, higher learning and gentle love flow your way Thursday/Friday. Careful Thursday afternoon when alienation or a career problem might come; after this, all is fine. Saturday starts a weekend of potential advancement in career, status or ambitions. Charge ahead!
LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22
International news, higher education, law, media and publishing, far travel, and gentle love fill the weeks ahead, Libra. Your planet of creativity and romance has just entered this area and will stay until 2033. This almost guarantees that love can turn to wedding, and/or that you will be intellectually, creative, and that your creative results might be shown to a wide audience. This June is mellow, thoughtful. Your career and reputation remain very fortunate until June’s end. Also to the end of June, sexual intimacy/temptation will be very strong. A partner or associate might push you to invest in something. Tackle chores Sunday/Monday — you’ll get a lot done, and could even impress someone who is thinking about promoting you. Relationships, opportunities and opposition, public appearances, and relocation themes fill Tuesday/Wednesday — Tuesday might present you with a great opportunity career wise, but this night and Wednesday assault you with problems. Life’s deeper side emerges Thursday/Friday. Medical, lifestyle, financial, and sexual decisions/commitments — and the need to research before you act — these themes are difficult until mid afternoon Thursday (PDT) then workable, mildly fortunate later and Fri. Saturday starts a weekend of inspiration, gentle love, travel — reread first sentence above.
SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21
You’re the sign of sex, birth, death, investigation, big finances, secrets, and “changes,” Scorpio. Now you’re in a month that addresses all these — in yourself. (A change has entered this arena, to last to 2033. It will aid when you treat real estate as an investment.) Relationships will be fiery in June, esp. with co-workers and partners. You will be wise and fortunate overall, all June, esp. in intellectual, legal, educational, travel and media zones. Sun./Mon. Are beautifully romantic — charge in if single; if married, kids and creative activities blossom. Tackle chores Tues./Wed. — easy most of Tuesday, then difficult, obstructive this night and Wed. Relationships and opportunities arrive Thurs./Fri. — difficult to about 2 pm PDT Thursday, then easy, mildly successful. For Saturday, re-read the first two sentences above. It’s safe to make a commitment or other “change.”
SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21
The accent lies on relationships, competition, opposition, opportunities, fresh horizons and relocation themes, Sage. You either bond with someone, or fight/abandon them. Nothing halfway. A new note has entered your relationship sector — your planet of travel, talk, paperwork and restlessness will be in your relationship zone until 2033. This planet (Uranus) is very cheerful, friendly, unpredictable, abrupt, idealistic, perhaps eccentric, and bristling with nervous energy — and so your bonds will be. June is your last “lucky month” to invest, or grab some sex. At work, you might feel romantic about a co-worker, or you can find work hard, intense. Again, all June. Be home and with family, at least in heart, Sun./Mon. — good stuff here, suggest things! Romance or a creative drive come Tues./Wed., but this interval is strewn with obstacles late Tuesday onward. (Good before early afternoon Tues., PDT) Tackle chores Thurs./Fri. Eat, dress sensibly. Bad until about 2 pm PDT Thursday, smooth and productive after, and Friday. Saturday starts a weekend of relationships — don’t reject good luck, it’s a weekend that could “turn” your life.
CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20
Hey, Cap. The accent’s on work, until June 20. Now to 2033, your work will change, involve more computing, electronics, electricity, and groups of people. Pamper your health, eat and dress sensibly. Opportunities have been around you for 11 months. Now you’ve entered the last month of this opportunistic period. If you haven’t yet made a bid for promotion or other lucrative things, do so now. (Best days to launch anything: June 7, 8, 12-14, 16, 17 (dicey), 21, 27.) But realize that a slowdown, confusing times will begin June 29. Sun./Mon. bring paperwork, trips, and communications — two fortunate days (filled with opportunities or “happy bonds” Monday). Be home, at least in your heart, Tues./Wed. Tuesday’s good until early afternoon, but this night and Wednesday bring little success. Thursday/Friday are romantic, creative, speculative, dramatic, and exciting. However, until late afternoon PDT Thursday, a subtle alienation or “ending” might occur. Friday’s good. Saturday starts a weekend of chores — but a successful one!
AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18
Ah, sweet romance! Aquarius, you possess a winning streak this month — and creative urges, sports, games, and charming kids make your life a kind of happy cosmic dance. This sector has started to change, for it will become the focus of your life until 2033. If you’re single, true love is on the horizon (or here)! A Gemini, Leo, or Libran might be involved. You might already know that someone has been watching you — he/she might be shy. Your home life can be fractious until June 28 — be gentle, tolerant — don’t scare the kids! Lots of work (lucky work) but only this month —July will bring more steady, conventional work, and August will bring a breeze of freedom. Chase $, buy/sell, pay bills, hug a sometime lover, or learn by rote, Sun./Mon. All is fortunate! Not so Tues./Wed., though, when paperwork, calls/texts, errands and travel are okay, even beneficial, to about midday Tues. (PDT) but then meet obstacles this night and Wed. Head for home and family, real estate, security and mother nature, Thurs./Fri. Thursday contains a problem until late afternoon (PDT) — probably you “cause” it by insisting on something. (You’re probably justified.) But later, and Friday, all is smooth, productive. Saturday starts a weekend of pleasure, beauty, and romance — re-read the first two sentences above.
PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20
The general emphasis lies on your home, children, food and shelter, cooking, mother nature, garden, and security, Pisces. Your own parents figure in there, too. Your home sector has changed, and will, now to 2033, bring more air and light into the home, and more people/friends. Your romantic luck is high all June, esp. if you hang around prestigious places. Be careful with your words (and driving) until June 28 — you could insult or “push” someone without meaning to. Pisces, you’re psychic, but not always rational/intellectual. Now to 2043 you will be intellectually aware of, or explore the logic of, intuition and psychic sight. Your energy and effectiveness — and charisma — are high Sun./Mon. Rise up and do something important — good luck accompanies you! Chase money, buy/sell, pay bills, catalogue possessions (e.g., baseball cards) learn by reading, and/or squeeze a sometime lover Tues./Wed. — but timing is everything. Good luck until midday Tuesday, then obstacles slow you down. Thurs./Fri. Bring errands, paperwork, trips and communications. Difficult, or an obstacle, until mid-afternoon Thursday, but fine and productive from then on. Saturday starts a weekend of home, kids, etc. — re-read the first sentence above.
THE END.
AFTERAMBLE:
Even evil people need comfort – perhaps more than others.
***
I’ve just patented four inventions. (Rather a decorous word for them — they’re pretty humble.) I did this because a prior invention that I mentioned in this column about 2 years ago, was picked up and patented by one of my readers. I hope he has a bad retirement. I’ve since seen that invention — a tab on the side of a toilet seat, so it can be lifted w/o touching the germy seat — in the bathrooms of West Jet Airlines. I always thought patents cost 50 or 100 thousand, but I only paid under $ 8,000 for each of these. If I had the money and time and knowledge (and motivation), I’d start producing and selling those toilet tabs, with a bit of Crazy Glue to attach them.
***
I know it’s goofy to put my short stories in my astrology blog. Here’s a wee explanation of some of the stories, some already placed here, some yet to come:
I was sexually abused (more accurately, interfered with) at about 9 to 11 years old by my grandfather, with the passive (and quietly non-passive) co-operation of my mother.
This is why many of my stories involve interference in the sexual development of children, either directly as in “Claire One,” or indirectly hinted at, as in “The Recruit,”
Another theme, incest, weaves through stories like “The Nursing” or “The Fat Lover.”
But some are just stories. “Todd’s Story” is about boredom, ennui — what causes it and what it causes. “Flying,” the story this week (see below) follows a woman trapped in a marriage and her attempted escape. But it’s more complicated than that. She has social anxiety, rising at times to paranoia, is mistreated by her husband in socially and psychologically demeaning ways, and yet is vengeful and cruel herself. (Gee, sounds depressing.) “Hello Mister Stranger” is a very simple story about regret, attempts to recapture the past, and our ability to sink into our own fantasy — and the fear of love. The strange ending is ultimately about fate – and the punishment for those who attempt or manage to escape it.
My favourite story, at least for now, is the longest one, “The 1969 Story.” I suspect it is overwritten in some places, perhaps especially in the rescue from drowning scene. But it has the most optimistic and tender view of love of all the stories. It’s really a story about love, love that rises above all else. Five people die – three by murder – and yet the story is filled with dawning love.
Some of these stories I’ve already put in recent Afterambles, but some will come in future.
The long poem, if I do include it, is basically about the search for heaven through the violence of man, and the narcotic of love. Or was the narcotic violence? (For anyone who’s been in a fight or a big crash knows the calm that comes over you.)
The short poem is about reincarnation, I think.
By the way, you can buy the whole book of my stories on Amazon. It’s called “Stories From the Other Eye.” But if you’re in Canada, the “hardcover” price is outrageous, and Amazon has refused to change it, claiming it’s not my book. So for a book that costs $ 23 U.S., Amazon is charging $ 43 Canadian. ($ 23 U.S. = $ 31 Canadian, so Amazon is trying to rip you off for the $ 12 difference.) Here’s my solution: if you’re in Canada and buy the book, I’ll give you a $ 15 refund.(I make it back from the sale.) Just email me your receipt.
***
FLYING
A Story by Tim
The balcony stood over a small patio garden three stories below. Beyond the patio, behind a fence, stood a thick uncultivated wood. The nearest hand-spread leaves of a huge maple almost touched her balcony rail.
She returned to the living room. There sat Angie and Troy Fletcher, Phillip and Barb Song, and Doug and Olivia. Her husband Elliott was standing, relating something.
What do I want with any of these people? She thought. She retreated quietly to the kitchen, pretending to be busy. Nothing. Nothing. Or …nothing. The pale day surrounded her like a watery prison. She felt empty, like a pecan that floats, the shell intact, shiny and healthy outside; the inside bitter, empty. Just leave me alone, was her new mantra. She felt unpleasantly light; not dizzy, but as if unburdened. She could not absorb her surroundings, the gleam on the kitchen counter, the grey light seeping in the windows. As though they would not absorb her. The townhouse, the guests, seemed mildly alien.
All of you. She returned to the guests, smiled serenely across the room at her husband. He was handsome, a pretty face that she still found pleasant to look at — and she remained intrigued by his bright eyes, his unfilled promise of interesting disclosure. A pretty face. Like a good vase. Empty. Yet she kept hoping, in her better moments, that she could fill it with valuable things, beautiful flowers of deep sharing, valuable insights and treasured yearnings, plans for the future. Except today. And she knew in her exhausted heart, everyday.
A year ago – or so – she had trouble with time – she and Elliot had their defining fight. At least, it had been defining for her. He seemed barely to have noticed.
“You’ve taken them away. You’ve deliberately inserted yourself between me and my friends, and –“ she lost words, lost the sense of what followed.
“Marisa, you’re upset.”
“And there I was humbling myself for you,” she said bitterly. “I went, and I apologized, I apologized to them. I humiliated myself, to keep these friends, and they treated me like shit. I can’t stand it.”
“Sorry,” he shrugged, “I haven’t done anything.”
She couldn’t put her finger on it. She couldn’t name the exact time or place. It was all hints, fragments. For ten years after university, they had all – Angie, Troy, Phil/Barb, Olivia and a few others – been her friends. There were wine afternoons, and Greek restaurants, movies, and tennis. Every week, it was: Your place or mine? Then there was a decade of not. People scattered slowly into their own lives, and she into her first marriage. Then the divorce, and no friends, and then, single, she’d re-connected. A few had completely fallen off, but the core – these six here, now, had remained, and they’d welcomed her back in. Living room couches for long discussions, barbecues, restaurants, movies together. Then she met Elliot. There was a year of bliss, a romance so romantic that they married in a swirl of smiles and twinkling eyes.
Then, slowly and subtly, as she watched with a puzzled passivity, somehow her friends became Elliott’s friends. She didn’t know how he did it, and she was somewhat in awe. It was as if, like a magician with card tricks, he spread the deck, and suddenly they were loyal to Elliot, and cool to her. At first it was shocking, she didn’t believe her own suspicions — but when she filtered down to deeper probes of her emotions, she knew they were not her friends any more. He was charming and good-looking, and she, after all, was just an ordinary person, often without anything interesting to say.
Last year a friend, Susan, informed her that he had actively campaigned against her, that he went alone to visit “their” friends, to lament, in the most sympathetic way, about her faults, accusing her – but without apparent accusation – of being cold, of trying to keep their “mutual” assets under her strict control (he had come to the marriage penniless) and, oh, a hundred small sins. He evidently had asked them to convince her to sell the townhouse — her townhouse. But even when she was told this, that he was talking behind her back, even when it was plain that he must have, when there was no other explanation for the sorrow that had enveloped her, she could not be certain he had.
That same year – the second or third year of their marriage – she tried to confront him about all his little tricks that isolated her. He could not understand why she was upset.
“It’s hard to explain, Elliot, but I liked these friends. Yet when we were lounging on their couch you’d whisper to me, ‘These people bore me. Let’s go. Let’s leave.’ Then you’d pretend – to them – that it was me who wanted to go early. Every time you sluffed them off, you claimed it was my fault. I didn’t protest because I thought you’d get over it. It even amused me, for some reason. I was content just to be with you, I was lazy and comfortable with you, and I’d watch your – your machinations, and I wouldn’t protest. But you KEPT UP WITH THEM.” She raised her voice in frustration – the frustration of knowing, sensing, that her words had no effect on him, were like feathers thrown against a suit of armour. “You’d take my credit card before we went out, then make a show of paying the restaurant bill, and the movie, and everything. You’d never let me pay. I looked cheap. But it was MY credit card. Or when it was Gina’s birthday, and I bought her a beautiful card, but before I could compose something to write in it, you signed it from both of us in your handwriting, as if it was all your doing, your thoughtfulness. And you didn’t do it just once, you did it – .“ She couldn’t remember exactly what he’d done, when, how many times; she stopped, in frustration.
“Oh,” he said, as if she was being insufferably petty, “That was nothing.”
“Nothing! You always say it was nothing! I didn’t even SEE it – or at least I ignored it. Little things! Little things always, for two, three years now! And now you’ve started insinuating to everyone that you pay for everything in our private life too, for everything, when it’s my money. I bought this place, Elliot.” (She had bought it – but considered it the apex of crassness, a loss of dignity, to assert that fact before her friends. She held the fact, the potential of revealing this fact, in reserve, as her last, desperate social bombshell, if she needed it. Like a nuke, it would contaminate victor and victim, because it would be the ultimate betrayal, the ultimate accusation, throwing their marriage to the winds.)
She felt guilty about rubbing every single one of her accusations in Elliot’s face, so she added, “Oh, it’s all a bunch of little things!” It was half an apology for having even brought up the subject, half an excuse.
“I think you have a problem with your imagination, Marisa.”
“Don’t say that, you asshole.”
He looked a little uncomfortable, so she plunged on. “Then I had that blow-up, because Angie was hanging on you like a puppy dog – they were ALL hanging on you like puppies, and I – you were all over there, having fun, laughing, and I was here, in the next room, unhappy, and that’s why I had that outburst.” It sound silly, irrational, and she felt ashamed even to recount it.
“What outburst? There wasn’t any outburst.”
She did not want to face the shame of recounting it.
It wasn’t that long ago, weeks. She had rebelled: she had walked away from the dining room where Elliot, Troy and Angie and herself were gathered for a dinner, candles and baguettes and triple cream brie and all… She’d suddenly, without any provocation at all, stood, scowled, and left the room. At the time, she didn’t even know why she’d acted like that. It happened quickly, without any forethought.
After five or ten minutes, they had called her with a puzzled tone, to come, the wine was getting stale or whatever. She called in reply, in a big voice, “YOU’RE ELLIOT’S FRIENDS, NOT MINE.” The words assumed extra height and shame in her memory. The friends left without eating. Afterwards, stunned by her own vehemence, she drove to Troy and Angie’s house, alone, to apologize. But the cool reasonableness with which they met her apologies showed her how far away they had already drifted. She had listened with shock and outward humility as Angie said they would accept her apology ”if you can behave yourself in future.” So you’re blaming me! she’d thought, but was unable to bring herself to actually say it.
“What outburst?” he said.
“When I called them your friends, not mine,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Oh, that,” Elliot said. “I doubt they even remember. They don’t care.”
At that moment she had something like an epiphany. She stared at him and at his words “don’t care” and from that point on she did not like him lying on her, which he did once a week or so. His emptiness, his uncaring, lying on her and using her.
Perhaps she couldn’t explain deeply and intricately enough, or perhaps Elliot’s unconcern was somehow bad, selfish, even deliberate. She knew in her heart it was deliberate, but she couldn’t demonstrate or prove it — partially, her heart wouldn’t abandon his possible innocence. Maybe he just didn’t understand?
She felt reassured, and defeated. Why am I protesting? What’s wrong, really? He’s here, we eat together, he uses me for orgasm.
Behave myself in future! The phrase still boiled in her mind, as now she left the kitchen and looked coolly around at Angie and Phil, and Barbara and Olivia and Doug, Troy and – Elliot. She stepped from the living room and returned to the kitchen, went blithely to the sink to pretend she was doing something.
Suddenly, quietly and calmly, smiling, she fled, back through the dining and living rooms, and downstairs, still pretending she was doing something.
“Where are you going, Honey?” Elliot had followed her downstairs; she had hovered too long, indecisively, on the lower landing.
“Just out.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Elliot, I need to lie down. Or fresh air.” She waited, seeing if he would accept the excuse.
“Okay, lie down,” he said.
She lay in rebellion, anger between her brows and breathing loudly through her nose. A hummingbird came to the bedroom window. It calmed her. She rose, to return to the get-together. With every step up those stairs, the endless days stretched before and behind her. But she stopped before her hair would appear through the white railing. She stood for several moments, heard but didn’t distinguish their chatter. A chair scraped – like a warning bell, it sent her swiftly downstairs, fleeing silently.
In the bedroom, her heart pounded. She’d ducked, she’d begun to run.
But there was nowhere to go. She’d gone before — 1,000 miles in the SUV. Then she’d run, not out of money, but out of reasons, out of determination. She couldn’t ultimately abandon the townhouse, since she owned it and it was all she owned. And nothing supported or encouraged her. The farms laid out like carpets, the agonizingly slow crawl of her car, though she kept the speedometer high, the long miles of trees and trees and trees, the world before her an infinity of despair. None of it, the farms or fields or forests, would embrace her. She had returned home, defeated. Where else was there to go?
From the coolness of the bed she stared at Elliot’s birds. Elliot loved birds. He had two cages on one stainless steel stand in the small solarium, like two big silver flowers atop a stem. She approached the cages, stepping into the lightness of their sun room.. In one, the yellow canary looked alertly at her, and flitted to and fro. The blue parakeet in the other cage – Parkie – plump and quiet, did not move. But he eyed her also.
She opened Parkie’s door, nudged him to hop on her finger, then drew him out, placing a curved hand around his warm, beating body. With one finger, she smoothed his neck feathers. Then she wrapped her finger around his neck and pulled his head off.
The little body jerked and trembled for a moment. She didn’t see any blood at first, then it began to swell up through his headless shoulders, a small red pool. She stepped quickly back through the bedroom to the ensuite, opened the toilet, and dropped Parkie and his head in, and flushed. The body wasn’t going down. She reached in hurriedly, before the toilet flooded, took the ridiculously light little body in one hand, grabbed its wings in another, and wrenched them off; it took a tremendous tug and jerk. Slowly, quieter now, she dropped the wingless body in and flushed again. It whirled and dove down. The wings went next. A few pale blue breast feathers, light and curled, stuck to the side of the bowl. She reached her hand in and plucked them up — they stuck to her fingers. Looking for a place to put the feathers, she realized red blood had flowed over a few of her fingers. She tasted it, hesitantly, with the tip of her tongue. It was hot, sweet and salty; her nose filled with the dry stink of a bird. Suddenly bloodthirsty, she bit her salty hand, as if it were Elliot’s flesh.
She sucked her fingers clean, then rinsed them off….she imagined herself lying on her back on the bed, holding the blue bird’s body in both hands, sucking the blood from it, from every deep vein and tunnel…
In a panic, as if something chased her, she ran upstairs.
“ I don’t know what happened. I took him out a moment – Parkie – and he flew out the bathroom window and – never came back!”
As she blurted this out, in a rush of blushing excitement, in a loud and surprised voice, in the midst of what seemed to her like a frenetic moment (though everyone remained unmoved and silent) — even as she hovered on the edge of panic and triumph, something else existed – deep within her, like a seed, the memory of moments ago, when she had stood sated and satisfied, blood on her tongue.
She had never lied like this before, so purposefully and blatantly. But now that it had begun it was frightening and exciting, and she was determined to pull it off, and the certainty that she would, exhilarated her. She watched the look on Elliot’s face and hid her joyous interest, and then she turned to the others, looking directly into their eyes. How easy it was to reveal nothing of herself!
“What?” she said, “What are you staring at me for?” They all were staring, and they now all averted their eyes, except Angie. Angie frowned at her.
“I think there’s blood on your blouse,” Angie said.
“Oh my God, I cut myself. I was opening – a jar of face cream. A brand new jar. Can you believe that? A fifty dollar jar! It had a burr, it cut my finger – see?” she waved her hand, then grabbed it, hid it with her other, as if to stop it from bleeding further.
”Oh migawd! What did you think?” she cried, laughing.
“Oh my god,” she said again, and turned and walked quickly away and down the stairs, clack, clack, clack, feeling their eyes on the back of her head, her own eyes starting to brim with tears.
She left. But first she entered the solarium, picked up the yellow canary, pulled its head off, tore its wings off and flushed it down, just like the other bird. “Fix that, asshole,” she thought.
She took the Audi. The moon raced down the highway with her, deep into Oregon. The farmers’ fields were white yet dark and beyond them was a black line of trees. At some point she pulled over and ran from the car. She threw the keys onto the ground. The dark trees were closer to the road here, only a small field away. She stumbled across the stubbled rows and into the black trees and stopped and yelled and screamed with rage, frustration and regret. A sharp broken branch pierced her side.
She sat at the bottom of a tree. She couldn’t remember where she came in. The dark trees stood like black sentinels, subtly comforting yet silent. She took a step; her foot sank suddenly deeper into a hollow in the forest floor. It was just a jolt, but taught her to watch her step. Her ribs sang with pain. She sat down again — squatted down on a thigh-thick, python-like root — “Where is the happiness?” she cried to the peek-a-boo ceiling of stars in the clear black night. “What have I done? What’s your problem with me? Am I supposed to do more? Then show me! If so, show me! And until you do, fuck you! Until you answer, I’m just gonna look after my own shit. That’s fair, right?” The dark sky, the trees, were silent. She tried to sleep, but was too cold. Finally, she took a deep breath and realized she had to find her way out.
Standing up, for the first time in years, she felt hope. She raised her face to the treetops and shouted again: “Where is the happiness?”
Oh, I’ve been such a fool, she thought — to be trapped like that! To let myself be!
As she climbed up on the highest roots to take a look around, she found she was lost. She’d stumbled far enough into the wood that she couldn’t see the field she’d crossed, and didn’t remember the direction she’d taken into the woods. .
Rooting in the soil beneath her, she found a rock with a sharp side, then marked the tree she had sat beneath by clumsily pounding and stripping the bark. Her plan was to set off in one direction, marking trees as she went. She would go so far in one direction then, if she didn’t reach the field, turn, return to her base tree, and set out again, four times, circling the compass. If she still could not find the farmer’s field, she’d double the distance, and even do eight compass points if needed, to find the boundary of the wood..
“Okay, mark as I go,” she muttered to herself.