Participles and Portents (85)

Confined Space

The trip to the airport was quiet. The sounds of the rushing wheels on the pavement broken only by the turning of pages from the backseat as Ian thumbed through his journal.  They returned the rental and made their way via shuttle to the airport, managing to stay together through the press of people.  It was so different, the urban presence almost overwhelming in comparison to the village.  The boys stayed close together the entire time, even as the browsed the small shops prior to boarding in order to pick up the little treasures they would need to take back to those who waited for them. 

On board the plane Lin was disappointed, though not surprised, to find that her seat was not with the others.  She was further back in the plane and on the left side of the aisle.  From her window seat she could see her family, Sean at the aisle, then Ian, then Fiona - they were all seated in the middle row of the plane.  She wished she had splurged for business class when she had first booked the flight.  She had tried to upgrade them all, but the seats were not available on this flight, and she did not want to delay their departure.  She needed to leave and thought the boys would want to as well.  Lin watched as the boys picked out an in-flight movie together and Fiona settled in with a blanket and pillow.  She had never been good at sleeping on planes and envied her mother's ability to do so.

She pulled out her notebook and thumbed through the entries since she had left for Ireland.  The early entries were contemplative and mostly about the scenery or the past.  She winced when she realized that she had virtally stopped writing after Aiofe had come into their lives.  She found one of her last entries and read it.  It was about him, about Roary.

Tossed on the Tide

Floating, no, rushing at high tide
Tumbling on the sand
Spilling and shifting
Then gathering her skirts and
Running back to sea

The salt spray in his hair
grit on his skin
it stayed with him on the shore
Him - barefoot and laughing with
the tumbling girl in the waves

She wasn’t sure he knew the source
of the taste of the water
But he did not drown in it
That was in his favor

And he was there
Towel in hand
at the next rising of the tide
to gather her up, froth and foam and weed
ply her with wine and laughter
And set her free when the tug came
back to the sea

Somehow what she remembered
As the waves whipped her hair
Was the towel in his hand
and the smile on his face.

She closed the book softly, almost with reverance.  What had she been thinking? She missed the man that ths was about.  Lin sat there, her head against the window frame and let the emptiness swell.  She closed her eyes and floated through the images she had of him.  She remembered meeting him in his shop that first time, the way he had caught her so unprepared to feel anything.  She let the images run through her mind.  It was as she replayed their last moments on the strand that her thoughts were interrupted by the attendant wanting to know if she would like something to drink.  She asked for tea and as she waited firmly set the memories from her mind.  It would not do her any good to dwell on a man that did not really exist.  He was not what he had seemed. 
 
She took the tea, setting it carefully on her tray.  How satirically appropriate that what was real in the trip would prove to be the most fantastic experiences.  That reality would be events no one would ever believe seemed somehow appropriate juxtaposed to the reality of Roary James.  All a part of the place she mused, or perhaps it just proved that fairy tales were never real, though apparently faery tales could be.  She turned on the in-flight entertainment screen and selected a movie.  It was a high-powered action adventure, something that moved fast and hard so that she could get caught in its explosions instead of her own.
 
Fiona could hear Sean and Ian next to her.  To be more precise, she could hear Sean talking to Ian, with lapses in between.  Surprisingly, it sounded much like a conversation overheard with someone on the phone.   Whatever it was, Sean and Ian seemed to be conversing in someway, and that gave her hope.  She pulled the blanket up a bit higher and tried to settle into sleep.  Eventually the rumble of the noise on the airplane became a calming drone and she drifted off. 
 
She was in her kitchen, the scent of rasberry cookies filling the air.  She stood at the window washing the dishes and looking out over her garden.  It was in full bloom.  She sighed, a deep sense of belonging filled her.  She finished the last cup and set it on the drying board.  She dried her hands and pulled the cookies from the oven.  She checked the clock and smiled.  The cookies were done, now all she had to do was dress before they arrived. 
 
She made her way to the bedroom, enjoying the feel of the carpet runner under her barefeet.  The changes she had made to the house were good.  She liked the fresh open feel of the hardwood floors and fresh white paint.  In her room, she turned to the closet.  This was the hardest part, opening the closet and finding only her things there.  But it was getting better as the years progressed.  She was finding parts of herself that were well worth knowing and there were times when she was truly happy.  She looked at the clock again.  She had time for a shower.  She gathered her things and went to her bath.  When the water was steamy she climbed in.  She used her lavendar soap and soon the room was filled with a thick heady lavendar scented steam.  She relaxed under the spray and scrubbed her hair. The beads of water pulsed into her muscles and relaxed her.  It felt wonderful.  She rinsed her hair and eased back into the spray, her eyes closed with the pleasure of the heat and the scent.  The brush of warmth at her neck, the slick feel of hands rubbing her waist and sliding up her back to knead at the small knots from daily living.  The brush of lips against her own.  She expelled a long held breath and opened her eyes.  The room was thick with steam and dark as if she had spent hours instead of minutes in the spray.  She turned off the water and stepped out to dry.  As she patted the towel on her legs and drew it up to her back she felt as if an extra set of hands was helping her.  Their warmth bled through the towel to her flesh in a sensual massage.  Still masked in the steam, Fiona found herself reaching for the door more by memory than by use of her senses.  Which was just as well, since her senses were bombarded by the sense of warmth and touch from the shower.  In her room, she made her way to the bed and sank down on it, pulses still racing.  She put her head in her hands and concentrated on breathing.  She felt the warm breath against her neck again and a hand pressed to one of her own.  The hand, large and familiar pulled her up and brought her round, then settled her on the bed.  She laid there, awake and spiked with electicity.  She felt the bed sway with added weight and an arm come around her pulling her close.  The breath at her nape was calming and so achingly familiar.  She pressed back into the heat and felt a heartbeat that was not her own.  As much as she knew he could not be here, she knew that for this space in time he was.  He was here and they would share this moment, however brieft together.  She let her breathing slow to match his, let her hand move to cup his where he held her.  She turned toward him and he pulled her to him.  Their hands were tighly clasped together, fingers wound so that where one hand ended the other began.  She fell asleep in that embrace, held perfectly. 
 
Fiona woke to the sound of the couple next to her changing places.  It took her awhile to figure out exactly where she was.  She turned in her chair, feeling oddly complete.  She reached into her pocket and rubbed her stone.  It was radiating heat.  She smiled softly and gripped the stone, enjoying its unusual heat.  
 
Lin grumbled, she had watched three movies and was still restless.  Her view of the boys had at least provided her with some hope when it came to Ian.  He seemed to be interacting pretty well with Sean.  She could not tell from her viewing angle, but it seemed as if they might even be talking occasionally.  Perhaps they might come out of the entire experience with the ability to think of it as an extraordinary vacation n time.  In fact, in time they might even be able to convince themselves that it had never really happened at all.  They might be able to resolve not to speak of it and in that way each of them could treat it as a moment of fantasy rather than real life experience.  It might prove difficult, but as there was no one they could talk to about it other than each other, it might actually be the easiest path.  Sometimes just forgetting is the healthiest thing a person can do.
 
The announcement that they were about to land brought her out of her reverie.  She hurried from her seat to use the on-board facilities, knowing that they had at least another twenty minutes of circling before they would actually land.  She slipped on her jacket before she buckled herself in and then checked around for any belongings that would need to be put back into her back.  She pulled her notebook from the pocket in front of her.  She rubbed the outside binding.  Then she remembered.  She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the scrunched up piece of paper. She read the last lines of her poem.
 
Unseen, unknown, yet not unscathed
Perhaps I am safe here in my hollow shell
But I feel this empty shell and it weighs heavy on me
My long dark veil.

The plane began to descend.  Lin pressed the page flat with her hand. and opened the notebook.  She flipped through the pages, looking for the section it was pulled from.  The plane lurched onto the tarmac and the poem slipped from her hands.  She stretched out to retrieve it from the floor, the seatbelt pressing uncomfortably into her with the added bulk of her jacket.  Sitting back up with the paper in her hand she noticed the handwriting on the page.  It was not her own.  It was Roary's, it was clearly his distintive script. She read the oddly broken yet somehow fluid script with a sense of moving both backward and forward in time simultaneously.


When There is Here


Here on this beautiful strange planet, habitable but cold,
is it distance or radiation that I feel - that softens my eyes,
this thinness of the atmosphere, high and fine - but blue?
And gold! It's tinged with gold at the edge, a bright blue bubble

This time of a rushing tide that should have come but once
and now returns as if it can't be held.
And back to the questions of distance and time,
and is it infinite or finite, and why?

And all the while it radiates and flows, across this gulf,
there to connect, radiate and flow.
Suddenly the goals evolve, the There is Here,
and standing on my crossed toes I can just see the beginning,

As it should have been.
Ah, the luxury of space and the longing of time,
and the promise of an expression to be shared

When had he written this?  What did it mean?  The people around her were moving.  She folded the paper and put it inside the notebook, stuffing the notebook into her pack.  It was time to get off the plane.  It was time to get on with her life and assure that her family would be unscathed, or as close as possible, now that they were home.