…if you’d rather, you can easily begin with “The Window Model” if you don’t understand what the eph a window model is, or you can begin at the beginning of all this nonsense (weekly uploads of a 250,000-word manuscript written back in 2017, just now being published online here and elsewhere), or if you’re the fun&spontaneous type, feel free to begin right here and go wherever the wind blows…*peace*
The young older woman sits, a bit dazed in the fog of infatuation as she watches the man walk down the sidewalk, until she can no longer see him. She feels giddy and knows that the hour will pass at an excruciatingly slow pace. Tick, tick, click, tick, the second hand of her watch, usually inaudible, beats intensely, boisterously; it’s deafening. She inhales deeply in an attempt to drown out the sound of time crawling. That guy, she thinks to herself, lost in the hope of … of what? Love? Her brows furrow at the thought. Love?, the idea of such a thing mulls at the front of her thoughts. Have I ever been in love before? The calamity. A vomitous ache rolls uncomfortably deep within her. Love? She had never even contemplated the prospect, and she probably never recognized the idea as being possible. Love? What is it even? Her mind meanders through a list of possibilities: Reductionist sensation, spiritual connection, soulful completion, logical agreement, irrational feeling, tolerant partnership, inescapable desire, woeful necessity, pragmatic existentialism, absurd dependence. Her mind wanders. An unfamiliar sensation stretches across her back, clouds form, the mind wavers. Rain precipitates a memory or a dream or a dream remembered.
Red. Flashes. A face of a man lights up before her, repeatedly. The world slows and zooms away from the man’s face. The man to whom the face belongs, stands in the distance. Enriched and ready to explode, the clouds darken. Within a mild windstorm he seems to be yelling at or for her. Blue. She does not know this person and scans the area directly around her to see if he is speaking to someone else. There is no one else. Unable to hear him but curious, she decides to gesture for him to approach. Looking cautious, he slowly walks toward her. Close enough now to be able to hear each other, she still hears nothing. Actually, she cannot hear anything at all. Silence. She attempts to speak back at him. Silence. He looks as though he is still screaming. The silence fills with even more silence. He looks familiar, albeit reticent. She looks calm, albeit cold. All around them harsh rains fall. Two dry circles, untouched by the falling rain, encircle each of them. This time, she yells. The silence expands. She tries to explain something to him. He shrugs and gestures an “I can’t hear you,” mime. She throws up her hands and turns her back to him. He remains standing, firm.
After a pause of unknowable length, he begins to turn to walk away. Before he takes his first step, he peers back over his shoulder. She has turned to face him again. He half turns. She begins to gesture with her hands. He turns fully now to face her directly. She leans a bit to her right and forms what looks to be a circle or a sphere with her hands; she points at him. Then she leans a bit to her left and forms what looks to be the same circle or sphere again; she points to herself. Arms stretched wide, her hands look as if they are each holding the circle/sphere she just previously mimed. Slowly now, she begins to move each one toward the other until they meet in front of her face to form a sphere with the tips of each finger on one hand touching its respective pair on the other. She nods at him to see if he understands. He shakes his head. Ignoring this, she continues to press her hands together until they are in a full clasp. Then she quickly explodes her hand apart as her arms reach high over her head slowly lowering down and around in a large circle. She points to her watch, and then shoots her right hand out and away from herself. The man looks thoroughly confused. He makes a “What?” gesture. She sighs.
Slowly, she approaches him as if sneaking up on him. He takes a small step backward. She gestures a plea for him to stay put. He situates himself accordingly. Again, she slowly begins to approach him. Suddenly, as if he had not noticed before, he shrinks a bit and looks shocked at the translucent red bubble in which he stands. He points at her. She stops, nods and gestures to him in regards to her own blue bubble. Palms down, she gently raises and lowers her hands at about waist height to communicate, “Calm down.” He turns over his shoulder to take in the situation. She laughs a little. With another gesture, she begins to approach him yet again. He looks frightened. Then, as the outer edges of their respective bubbles overlap, the overlapping section opens like a window into a sunny, blue-skied scene. Before he can lurch back from his surprise, she jumps forward into his bubble, and grabs his hand before he can lurch away. Green.
She feels pressure on her shoulder. “Hey.” “Hey,” a familiar voice rings out. She blinks and sees an open book in her hands. She looks out the window and then up toward the voice. “Oh, hey,” she responds, recognizing the manager of the cafe. The manager sets down a large to-go cup of some hot beverage and an orange envelope, “You’re all set. Thanks for the work today.” She exhales a short audible breath, “Yea, sure. It’s no problem.” “Cool,” the manager begins, but then she cuts her off. “Has that guy been back?” she asks. “What guy?” the manager inquires. “The guy that was sitting here with me,” she persists. “Oh, that guy. No. I saw him leave, though,” the manager explains. “Oh. Okay. Thanks,” she acknowledges. “Sure thing. I’ll see you in a month or so,” the manager states in farewell. “Yea,” she dismisses as she packs up the few items strewn on the table. A gentle tap on the glass. She looks out the window and smiles. The guy stands outside, looking giddy. She waves and gestures that she is coming out. As she grabs her bag and beverage to leave the cafe her face grimaces. Unsure, there is something she fails to understand. She was sure that this guy was the man in her dream/memory/remembered dream, but she did not recognize the man in the dream/memory/remembered dream, and this guy was not that man either. Hmmm, she quickly thinks to herself as she reaches the front doors of the cafe.
Stepping out into the warm glow of an evening sun, the guy approaches her and goes in for a hug. Still a bit shaken from the dream/memory/remembered dream, she stands stiff. He quickly releases her and steps back a bit. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes; “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just did that.” She chuckles and shrugs, “It’s fine. I was just a little lost in thought or something.” He looks immensely relieved, “Oh. No, I really am sorry.” “I promise it’s fine,” she states; “Do you want to try again? I’m ready now.” They both laugh in excitement. “Yes. Yes, I definitely want to try again,” he enthusiastically responds. She steps into his warm body as he wraps her up in a surprisingly comfortable embrace. She closes her eyes for a moment. They linger, nuzzled for all to witness. As her eyes open, she sees the face and form of the man from her dream standing across the street. She gasps. “Okay, sorry,” the guy withdraws as if confessing; “I’m just so excited to hang out with you.” “No, it’s not you,” she quickly admits as she looks beyond him to see if she can still see the man across the street. The man across the street gently waves. The guy turns to look at whatever it is she sees and then looks back at her, “What’s the matter?” She returns her gaze back to the guy and shrugs, “Oh, nothing. I thought I saw someone.” He looks back over his shoulder, “Oh.” She too takes another peek; the man is gone. She recognizes the sensation stretching across her back. “Well,” the guy begins in genuine excitement, “Are you ready for the best afternoon … or I guess … evening of your life?” “Yes!” she exclaims, “Yes, let’s get the hell out of here. Like now!” And the guy confuses her enthusiasm a bit, but nevertheless, she is enthusiastic. “Uh, do you want to hold hands?” he childishly asks. She smiles at him and grabs his hand, “Yes.” He looks as if he could melt. “Where are we going?” she asks. “Oh don’t you worry about that,” the guy boasts; “I’ve got it all under control.” Desperately, she ignores and pushes the sighting of the man from her mind. Hopeful despite knowing better, she responds, “Excellent!”
…until the next one.