It's an engine of creation.
If it works, don’t fix it. If it’s broken, don’t fix it.
I was resigned to carrying a weapon and join the service. Hearing I was to be drafted anyway I did myself the favor, got real drunk in the classic off-to-war type of way and headed off. In training I learned I was to wear a white uniform with red diagrams on it. I didn’t understand if I was to be read as information or stand out as a target. Before I could ask WT, I was sent back — back to exact locations leaving notes to people known and not. The letters were pretty little things wrapped in rags explaining ominous timing, farewell, and intent. The receivers where to recognize and examine the kismet, or not.
“Well then, how DO you work? I mean, in general.”
“Generally,” Kim answered honestly, “I agree to whatever the client likes, and then I go and do what I want to,” she rolled her eyes and shrugged, “You know, in general.”
They both climbed up on the tailgate and looked into the cooler. Kim discarded her thigh high lace-up sandals and rubbed at the tattoo marks left by the leather straps.
Les handed her lunch, and she immediately ripped open the hoagie and began digging through the sandwich to discard what she would not eat.
“Ill take that,” he interrupted her arm in mid-air.
“Here, they make my teeth squeak.”
Ignoring a jeweled winking shine from a bit off in the distance, he tossed the pickle into his mouth and continued the idea he wanted to get across. “Like I was saying, that Buick/Opel ’76 is an ugly car, I mean 2 for 1 ugly. Ahead-of-it’s-time ugly.” His mood was all pink and baby blue, teetering on the fun Sagittarian/Gemini nightmare that he embodied.
Tiring of this extended conversation she sang out, “Got it!” extending the vowels. “Don’t you just love the way the desert is so VERY quiet.”
He smirked and communed with the sandwich, his jaw popping.
It is all happenstance without much insight. There were neither names nor address on the small bundles. I began to wonder if the idea, the fact, of synchronicity came into play. Does it have a pause button? What happens when he receiver is not looking or listening? On altered levels? What is an altered level? Are all levels altered to individuals? Are these, too, synchronized? I was feeling like I was back at a middle school, puffing and theorizing walking through walls. Interesting questions without practical experience. That’s the problem with this job, too much time to think. Better to dwell on those impossible koans instead of the thwart factor. Working fast in the dimensions and conditions they gave me, spraying a mouthwash of note constellations across a vast area. I Hurried to get finished, but also felt dread in getting back to home base.
Thinking of nothing in particular but hoping for a thought to catch hold, Les hummed Canon alla Ottava slowly, a short fugue he had known since he was 7 years old. His fingers absent-mindedly moved to hit cords on an invisible harpsichord.
Kim was reminded of her earlier chapters. Processing her life in five minutes the way our brains do because they can. It read like a Herman Hesse novel, edited with a multitude of breakfasts and trips to the bathroom. An interesting full life, one she could count on throwing a curve at the right time — but there was always the whiff of anxiety just before a shift. The doubting that something will fall into her lap, just before something falls in her lap.
A piece of trash looking strangely like a rag spat out of no-where on no-wind and gently settled on red metal, like a burned paper scrap from a far off fire.
“Why DO you like the desert?”
“Well,” she simplified, “It’s a large blank canvas or blank sheet of paper to me.”
He arranged another smirk imagining a pressure cooker. Picking up on this mental image she added,
“Okay, a hot canvas. Anything can happen. It’s a white screen that at any time anything will burst through and reveal itself. Something you didn’t notice before.”
“You’re are scarring me.” Les mocked, “Anita, white is for babies!’”
He loved her, but loved to tease her more, keeping her from spinning out completely. Her triple Scorpio nature always lurked.
Kim palmed her chin and splayed her fingers, “Ha! You came with your mouth open. It’s immaterial. But it’s usually something cool, nothing scary about it.”
Delivering fate is like connecting the dots. A shattering and replacing of stars. It became an aerial view of a city with manhole covers, bright circles of a primary colored twister carpet connected line-to-line. Of the million delusions maybe there’s only one copied over and over. This was all beyond my threshold of adventure. Mars in Cancer. But, who would be brave enough to say so? Not me.
Les fell patient waiting for the wide white screen to crack open with a missing piece. Patiently waiting for a possibility of Godot.
“Ever feel like your looking for gold in a copper mine?” he offered. They both looked out, their gaze following a meandering gully left by a recent flash flood.
A yellow balloon drifted past them high up in the atmosphere along an escape route from an amusement park 74 miles away.
After another long pause, Kim seceded the campaign.
“Okay, let s get going, I’m not finding what I came here for.”
Jumping down, she stretched sideways with her hands on her head. She followed him into the truck.
“And, on the way back please, don’t desecrate Motown.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t I show you my hall-pass?”
A piece of rag flew off the top of the cab as they U-turned and peeled away.