NaNoWriMo Story - Falling Behind Slightly
Word Count: 23,268
Goal: 26,000
Chapter 7
“You hungry?” she asks as we are fastening our seat belts in the car.
“I suppose I am, now that you mention it,” I reply. It is getting to be around noon, which means that it has been quite a few hours since I last ate. “What do you recommend? My memory of the area is a bit fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy seems like it would be an improvement,” she replies. “No, I don't think I'm ready to take you out in public. How about we go back to my place, and I'll make you lunch. You like tacos?”
Tacos. I know of tacos, and I recall that they are fairly easy to make. I also know that taco seasoning that you get in the supermarket contains MSG and other preservatives, but that the MSG is nothing to worry about because it does not actually cause the health problems that people think it does. Finally, I know that none of this has anything to do with the question at hand.
“Yes,” I finally reply. “Tacos would be great. You really don't have to feed me, you know.”
“It's true. I could just eat in front of you, but that seems rude, and if I just send you on your way, I'll never get to find out how your adventure turns out. So, I feeding you is the right answer for me,” she explains.
Here apartment is only a few blocks away from the church. She lives in an apartment upstairs in a converted Victorian era house. The apartment is neat and relatively spartan. A few tapestries and other tasteful decorations adorn some of the walls. A few generic pieces of art with dates and locations of art shows that no one who sees them have ever attended add to the décor.
Allison explains that she has a housemate named Suzanne, but that she is probably at work at the moment. “Most of the decorations are hers. I moved in here when I finished traveling, so I didn't have much to decorate the place with.”
We move into the kitchen, and she starts pulling out pans and bowls. “Any allergies?”
I grin. “Funny story about that,” I reply ironically.
She turns to me, looking embarrassed. “Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot.”
I approach her and place my hands gently on her arms. “It's okay. I can't exactly fault someone for forgetting something, now can I?”
She smile back at me. We stand for a moment, looking at each other, momentarily surprised by the unexpected intimate moment. I hear Father Doyle's voice in my head from this morning, “William, the whole world is laid out before you in a way that few others every experience. All you have to do is reach out and take what God has intended for you.”
Before I can think better of it, I lean in and kiss her. At first, she is startled, her response stiff and I worry that I have overstepped the bounds of proper decorum. Then, slowly, her arms wrap around my body, and I feel her kissing me back, her lips soft, warm, pleasant. It is immediately clear to me that my advance was not unwarranted, and it is further clear that here interest in my journey was more than mere curiosity in how my journey might turn out.
I wrap my arms around her, pressing her body close to mine, as we continue to kiss. I run entirely on instinct, doing what feels right, briefly aware that other than the basics, I can remember nothing about this thing that men and women do together. This gap in my knowledge could be important, but I am sure that it is not important right now, so I set the thought out of my mind.
We embrace for a long time, letting the world around us fall away. Not merely letting it fall away, but embracing with an intensity to push away all the worries of the world. All of my concerns about who I am and where I come from fade to insignificance. Whatever might worry her is also pushed to the side. We fill our entire awareness with nothing but each other. It is a kind of intimacy that can only exist in the simplicity of a relationship between strangers. Pure, simple, direct passion, nothing more, and nothing less, and it is everything that we both need at this moment.
After what seems like an eternity, but what may have been objectively mere moments, we pause. We pull apart slightly, our arms still around each other. I am looking into her gentle brown eyes, looking back at me. We are breathing heavily. I realize that I may have been forgetting to breath while I kissed her, but that is not what is quickening my breath.
Our eyes are still locked when she says, “So this was just a complicated pick up line.”
We both laugh, and I plant a quick, playful kiss on her lips. “Hey, you were the one who invited me here.”
She kisses me again. “I didn't say whose pick up line it was,” she intimates with a wink.
I give her a pretend glare. “Taking advantage of my disability. That is not politically correct,” I declare.
She takes a step back. “Are you complaining?”
“I didn't exactly say that. Just saying that the next guy you meet with no memory might be upset at being taken advantage of.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek before returning to the pots and pans. “I'll keep that in mind, next time,” she answers lightly.
She starts pulling out ingredients for the tacos. “So, I guess you'll want to get back to your quest after we finish eating?” she asks as she pulls some ground beef out of the refrigerator.
I wait for her to put the meat down on the counter before replying. Then, I take her hands in mine. “No, I can find out who I used to be tomorrow. Today, I don't care. Today, I will take Father Boyle's advice, and see the world with clear eyes.”
A broad smile comes across her face at this. “I hoped you might say something like that,” she replies. “The world with clear eyes it shall be, but first...” she squeezes my hands before turning back to the counter. “full stomachs!”
“A wise plan.”
We eat lunch an talk about food. As we talk, I am able to remember quite a few foods that I like. Sushi is good. Pad Thai is excellent. I recall that there is some Indian food that I like and some that I hate, but I never know which is which by name, so I avoid Indian restaurants because they become a bit like some kind of dinner raffle. Get the winning ticket, and get to eat. Lose, and go hungry with a bad taste in your mouth.
Allison tells me that she enjoys a great variety of foods. She had the opportunity to try a great variety of things while she was on the road, and she learned to eat anything put in front of her. 'Beggars can't be choosers' was sometimes an operative phrase.
We decide to start the afternoon with a hike. She says that she knows some great trails up in the Sunderland area, so it seems a good way to enjoy the world, and, incidentally, enjoy the company of someone who I am finding to be a most delightful woman.
We finish lunch, and I offer to help clean up, but she insists. “You are mentally impaired, after all. I wouldn't want to take advantage,” she says wryly.
I am amused, but if someone insists that I not do the dishes, who am I to argue?
After lunch, we head off to do some hiking. She assures me that the trails are not too difficult, as I have already had quite a bit of walking earlier this morning. This time, she promises that the walk will have better company and a more positive outcome.
Between the highway and Sunderland, there is a bridge that runs over the Connecticut River. As we pass over this bridge, I see what, at first, I think is a man standing at the railing and looking out at the river. Then, I look again, and realize that he is standing on the outside of the railing.
“Stop the car!” I declare.
“What is it?” Allison asks, as she pulls the car over. By the time she gets to a stop, we have gotten off the bridge, and she pulls over into the grass.
I turn to look back over my shoulder. “There is a man back there, on the bridge. I think he might be thinking of jumping.”
Before I can say anything else, she is getting out of the car, as am I. We rush along the sidewalk towards the man. We can see that the man is still there, hanging on to the railing. He is looking up the river, his face blank, but his mind likely racing with whatever thoughts weigh so heavy on him as to make him consider this option. He is wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt. He looks like me might normally keep his hair neat, but the wind over the bridge has left him looking very windswept.
“It's quite a view,” I say, stopping a few yards away from him.
He turns to look at me, clearly startled to hear my voice. “Don't come any closer,” he warns. “I will jump.”
I smile at him. “I have no doubt you will. You have already gone to all the trouble, to climb over the railing, but,” I extend my hands in invitation, “we have gone to all the trouble to walk over here, so you might as well talk to us first. I think that the river has been here for a while, although I cannot be sure, and is probably not going anywhere.”
He looks perplexed. “What do you mean you cannot be sure?”
“Well,” I explain as I take one careful step towards him, “I started today by waking up on a sidewalk. You know the Staples down in Hadley?” I ask.
“Yeah, I've been there,” he answers.
“Yup, that's where I woke up, with absolutely no memory of who I was or where I was,” I explained.
He throws me an unpleasant grimace. “I could go for forgetting who I was,” he declares. “At least forgetting about her.”
“So, why don't you?” I ask honestly.
“Why don't I what?” he replies defiantly.
“Forget about her, whoever she is. Sure, she wronged you, dumped you, cheated on you, burned your favorite sweater, whatever. I have no memory before a couple hours before sunrise this morning, and I have looked at the world with new eyes. Everything is new to me. Everything is fresh and exciting.”
“Not for me! Things are not fresh and exciting for me. They are done. It's all been done, and it's all over. There's nothing left,” he seems to be getting a bit upset.
I take a couple steps towards him. “I'll jump!” he threatens.
“Okay,” I reply, “I was just getting tired of having to yell over the traffic noise, so I thought I'd get a bit closer. You can jump, I won't stop you.” This is not what he expected to hear, and he is a bit stunned for a moment.
“But,” I continue, “As far as I can tell, with my admittedly limited experience, the world is a big place. You seem to think that you have done it all, and you have nothing to lose. That sounds like a pretty neat place to be.”
He is definitely baffled by where I am going with this. From the look on Allison's face, she is a combination of confused and horrified, but it does certainly look like this man will at least stick around long enough to figure out where my line of non-sense is taking him.
I take another step towards him. “You are ready to fling yourself into the icy waters below and call it quits. That strikes me as quite a waste. If you have nothing to lose, why not try something?”
“Try what?” he asks skeptically.
“Try anything! Catch a bus to Arizona and see the Grand Canyon. Become an airline pilot. Join the merchant marine. Whatever! It doesn't matter. If it doesn't work out, just come on back to the bridge and take a nice cold final swim.”
He looks at me, an expression similar to what I might expect if I had started speaking Ancient Greek. But... he has not yet flung himself off the bridge. This is likely a positive thing.
“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” he states.
“Sure. Maybe it is. After all, I am the guy with no memory, but I can't help but think that traveling the world might beat the experience of freezing and drowning in a river in the middle of farm country. If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?” I ask.
“Montana,” he replies instantly.
“Montana? Not my first choice, but seems nice enough.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. “Listen,” I say as I pull out some money, “Here's, um, 30...40...50 dollars. Not enough for a bus ticket, but a good start. Get on a bus, go to Montana. If you don't like it, I bet they've got a nice high bridge out there somewhere. Because, really,” I take a step closer to him, close enough to lower my voice conspiratorially. “Of all the places in the world, Sunderland seems like a pretty lame place to end it all.”
For a moment, he is very still and very silent. I wonder if I got his attention or I said the wrong thing and am about to watch him plunge into the river below. Suddenly, he laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a serious belly laugh. I mean, this is some epic laughter. He doubles over laughing, bellowing laughter.
Then, he stumbles in his mirth. His hand, losing its grip on the railing. I lunge forward and grab onto his arm. He tips towards the edge of the ledge he is standing on, but my grip is strong, and I pull him back. I help him back over the railing, and he thanks me, still laughing softly.
“What's so funny?” Allison asks.
He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “Sunderland really is a lame place to end it all. He is totally right. If I'm going to take a header off a bridge, I might as well do it in Montana.”
It suddenly hits me that, once again, I was pretty much working on pure instinct. After he said that, it finally occurs to me that I am actually a bit shocked that what I said worked. Well, I guess when you are the man on the spot, you do your best because you are the one.
He starts walking off the bridge.
“Um, you need a ride or anything?” Allison asks, unsure.
“Naw,” he says with a smile. “My car is right over there,” he says causally, as if we were leaving the bar.
Allison and I look at each other. I am suddenly feeling very tired, deflated from the tension of the moment which I had not previously felt. She looks a bit of amazed and a bit of incredulous.
“I've got to tell you, I thought you were about to push him right over the edge,” she explains.
“Yeah, I don't blame you,” I answer numbly. “I just kind of said whatever came to mind, and I guess it worked.”
We look up to see a blue car come off the side of the road and drive away from the bridge. The man waves pleasantly to us from the driver's seat. We wave back, half heartedly.
“I wonder what will happen to him?” I muse.
“Whatever it is, I bet it will be better than leaping into the river,” Allison replies, and she puts her hand reassuringly on my shoulder.
Goal: 26,000
Chapter 7
“You hungry?” she asks as we are fastening our seat belts in the car.
“I suppose I am, now that you mention it,” I reply. It is getting to be around noon, which means that it has been quite a few hours since I last ate. “What do you recommend? My memory of the area is a bit fuzzy.”
“Fuzzy seems like it would be an improvement,” she replies. “No, I don't think I'm ready to take you out in public. How about we go back to my place, and I'll make you lunch. You like tacos?”
Tacos. I know of tacos, and I recall that they are fairly easy to make. I also know that taco seasoning that you get in the supermarket contains MSG and other preservatives, but that the MSG is nothing to worry about because it does not actually cause the health problems that people think it does. Finally, I know that none of this has anything to do with the question at hand.
“Yes,” I finally reply. “Tacos would be great. You really don't have to feed me, you know.”
“It's true. I could just eat in front of you, but that seems rude, and if I just send you on your way, I'll never get to find out how your adventure turns out. So, I feeding you is the right answer for me,” she explains.
Here apartment is only a few blocks away from the church. She lives in an apartment upstairs in a converted Victorian era house. The apartment is neat and relatively spartan. A few tapestries and other tasteful decorations adorn some of the walls. A few generic pieces of art with dates and locations of art shows that no one who sees them have ever attended add to the décor.
Allison explains that she has a housemate named Suzanne, but that she is probably at work at the moment. “Most of the decorations are hers. I moved in here when I finished traveling, so I didn't have much to decorate the place with.”
We move into the kitchen, and she starts pulling out pans and bowls. “Any allergies?”
I grin. “Funny story about that,” I reply ironically.
She turns to me, looking embarrassed. “Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot.”
I approach her and place my hands gently on her arms. “It's okay. I can't exactly fault someone for forgetting something, now can I?”
She smile back at me. We stand for a moment, looking at each other, momentarily surprised by the unexpected intimate moment. I hear Father Doyle's voice in my head from this morning, “William, the whole world is laid out before you in a way that few others every experience. All you have to do is reach out and take what God has intended for you.”
Before I can think better of it, I lean in and kiss her. At first, she is startled, her response stiff and I worry that I have overstepped the bounds of proper decorum. Then, slowly, her arms wrap around my body, and I feel her kissing me back, her lips soft, warm, pleasant. It is immediately clear to me that my advance was not unwarranted, and it is further clear that here interest in my journey was more than mere curiosity in how my journey might turn out.
I wrap my arms around her, pressing her body close to mine, as we continue to kiss. I run entirely on instinct, doing what feels right, briefly aware that other than the basics, I can remember nothing about this thing that men and women do together. This gap in my knowledge could be important, but I am sure that it is not important right now, so I set the thought out of my mind.
We embrace for a long time, letting the world around us fall away. Not merely letting it fall away, but embracing with an intensity to push away all the worries of the world. All of my concerns about who I am and where I come from fade to insignificance. Whatever might worry her is also pushed to the side. We fill our entire awareness with nothing but each other. It is a kind of intimacy that can only exist in the simplicity of a relationship between strangers. Pure, simple, direct passion, nothing more, and nothing less, and it is everything that we both need at this moment.
After what seems like an eternity, but what may have been objectively mere moments, we pause. We pull apart slightly, our arms still around each other. I am looking into her gentle brown eyes, looking back at me. We are breathing heavily. I realize that I may have been forgetting to breath while I kissed her, but that is not what is quickening my breath.
Our eyes are still locked when she says, “So this was just a complicated pick up line.”
We both laugh, and I plant a quick, playful kiss on her lips. “Hey, you were the one who invited me here.”
She kisses me again. “I didn't say whose pick up line it was,” she intimates with a wink.
I give her a pretend glare. “Taking advantage of my disability. That is not politically correct,” I declare.
She takes a step back. “Are you complaining?”
“I didn't exactly say that. Just saying that the next guy you meet with no memory might be upset at being taken advantage of.”
She gives me a peck on the cheek before returning to the pots and pans. “I'll keep that in mind, next time,” she answers lightly.
She starts pulling out ingredients for the tacos. “So, I guess you'll want to get back to your quest after we finish eating?” she asks as she pulls some ground beef out of the refrigerator.
I wait for her to put the meat down on the counter before replying. Then, I take her hands in mine. “No, I can find out who I used to be tomorrow. Today, I don't care. Today, I will take Father Boyle's advice, and see the world with clear eyes.”
A broad smile comes across her face at this. “I hoped you might say something like that,” she replies. “The world with clear eyes it shall be, but first...” she squeezes my hands before turning back to the counter. “full stomachs!”
“A wise plan.”
We eat lunch an talk about food. As we talk, I am able to remember quite a few foods that I like. Sushi is good. Pad Thai is excellent. I recall that there is some Indian food that I like and some that I hate, but I never know which is which by name, so I avoid Indian restaurants because they become a bit like some kind of dinner raffle. Get the winning ticket, and get to eat. Lose, and go hungry with a bad taste in your mouth.
Allison tells me that she enjoys a great variety of foods. She had the opportunity to try a great variety of things while she was on the road, and she learned to eat anything put in front of her. 'Beggars can't be choosers' was sometimes an operative phrase.
We decide to start the afternoon with a hike. She says that she knows some great trails up in the Sunderland area, so it seems a good way to enjoy the world, and, incidentally, enjoy the company of someone who I am finding to be a most delightful woman.
We finish lunch, and I offer to help clean up, but she insists. “You are mentally impaired, after all. I wouldn't want to take advantage,” she says wryly.
I am amused, but if someone insists that I not do the dishes, who am I to argue?
After lunch, we head off to do some hiking. She assures me that the trails are not too difficult, as I have already had quite a bit of walking earlier this morning. This time, she promises that the walk will have better company and a more positive outcome.
Between the highway and Sunderland, there is a bridge that runs over the Connecticut River. As we pass over this bridge, I see what, at first, I think is a man standing at the railing and looking out at the river. Then, I look again, and realize that he is standing on the outside of the railing.
“Stop the car!” I declare.
“What is it?” Allison asks, as she pulls the car over. By the time she gets to a stop, we have gotten off the bridge, and she pulls over into the grass.
I turn to look back over my shoulder. “There is a man back there, on the bridge. I think he might be thinking of jumping.”
Before I can say anything else, she is getting out of the car, as am I. We rush along the sidewalk towards the man. We can see that the man is still there, hanging on to the railing. He is looking up the river, his face blank, but his mind likely racing with whatever thoughts weigh so heavy on him as to make him consider this option. He is wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt. He looks like me might normally keep his hair neat, but the wind over the bridge has left him looking very windswept.
“It's quite a view,” I say, stopping a few yards away from him.
He turns to look at me, clearly startled to hear my voice. “Don't come any closer,” he warns. “I will jump.”
I smile at him. “I have no doubt you will. You have already gone to all the trouble, to climb over the railing, but,” I extend my hands in invitation, “we have gone to all the trouble to walk over here, so you might as well talk to us first. I think that the river has been here for a while, although I cannot be sure, and is probably not going anywhere.”
He looks perplexed. “What do you mean you cannot be sure?”
“Well,” I explain as I take one careful step towards him, “I started today by waking up on a sidewalk. You know the Staples down in Hadley?” I ask.
“Yeah, I've been there,” he answers.
“Yup, that's where I woke up, with absolutely no memory of who I was or where I was,” I explained.
He throws me an unpleasant grimace. “I could go for forgetting who I was,” he declares. “At least forgetting about her.”
“So, why don't you?” I ask honestly.
“Why don't I what?” he replies defiantly.
“Forget about her, whoever she is. Sure, she wronged you, dumped you, cheated on you, burned your favorite sweater, whatever. I have no memory before a couple hours before sunrise this morning, and I have looked at the world with new eyes. Everything is new to me. Everything is fresh and exciting.”
“Not for me! Things are not fresh and exciting for me. They are done. It's all been done, and it's all over. There's nothing left,” he seems to be getting a bit upset.
I take a couple steps towards him. “I'll jump!” he threatens.
“Okay,” I reply, “I was just getting tired of having to yell over the traffic noise, so I thought I'd get a bit closer. You can jump, I won't stop you.” This is not what he expected to hear, and he is a bit stunned for a moment.
“But,” I continue, “As far as I can tell, with my admittedly limited experience, the world is a big place. You seem to think that you have done it all, and you have nothing to lose. That sounds like a pretty neat place to be.”
He is definitely baffled by where I am going with this. From the look on Allison's face, she is a combination of confused and horrified, but it does certainly look like this man will at least stick around long enough to figure out where my line of non-sense is taking him.
I take another step towards him. “You are ready to fling yourself into the icy waters below and call it quits. That strikes me as quite a waste. If you have nothing to lose, why not try something?”
“Try what?” he asks skeptically.
“Try anything! Catch a bus to Arizona and see the Grand Canyon. Become an airline pilot. Join the merchant marine. Whatever! It doesn't matter. If it doesn't work out, just come on back to the bridge and take a nice cold final swim.”
He looks at me, an expression similar to what I might expect if I had started speaking Ancient Greek. But... he has not yet flung himself off the bridge. This is likely a positive thing.
“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,” he states.
“Sure. Maybe it is. After all, I am the guy with no memory, but I can't help but think that traveling the world might beat the experience of freezing and drowning in a river in the middle of farm country. If you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?” I ask.
“Montana,” he replies instantly.
“Montana? Not my first choice, but seems nice enough.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. “Listen,” I say as I pull out some money, “Here's, um, 30...40...50 dollars. Not enough for a bus ticket, but a good start. Get on a bus, go to Montana. If you don't like it, I bet they've got a nice high bridge out there somewhere. Because, really,” I take a step closer to him, close enough to lower my voice conspiratorially. “Of all the places in the world, Sunderland seems like a pretty lame place to end it all.”
For a moment, he is very still and very silent. I wonder if I got his attention or I said the wrong thing and am about to watch him plunge into the river below. Suddenly, he laughs. Not just a chuckle, but a serious belly laugh. I mean, this is some epic laughter. He doubles over laughing, bellowing laughter.
Then, he stumbles in his mirth. His hand, losing its grip on the railing. I lunge forward and grab onto his arm. He tips towards the edge of the ledge he is standing on, but my grip is strong, and I pull him back. I help him back over the railing, and he thanks me, still laughing softly.
“What's so funny?” Allison asks.
He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “Sunderland really is a lame place to end it all. He is totally right. If I'm going to take a header off a bridge, I might as well do it in Montana.”
It suddenly hits me that, once again, I was pretty much working on pure instinct. After he said that, it finally occurs to me that I am actually a bit shocked that what I said worked. Well, I guess when you are the man on the spot, you do your best because you are the one.
He starts walking off the bridge.
“Um, you need a ride or anything?” Allison asks, unsure.
“Naw,” he says with a smile. “My car is right over there,” he says causally, as if we were leaving the bar.
Allison and I look at each other. I am suddenly feeling very tired, deflated from the tension of the moment which I had not previously felt. She looks a bit of amazed and a bit of incredulous.
“I've got to tell you, I thought you were about to push him right over the edge,” she explains.
“Yeah, I don't blame you,” I answer numbly. “I just kind of said whatever came to mind, and I guess it worked.”
We look up to see a blue car come off the side of the road and drive away from the bridge. The man waves pleasantly to us from the driver's seat. We wave back, half heartedly.
“I wonder what will happen to him?” I muse.
“Whatever it is, I bet it will be better than leaping into the river,” Allison replies, and she puts her hand reassuringly on my shoulder.