Stalking the Average Man HTML version
-The secretary said the pilots would be in at noon the next day. If I wanted to see their
machine to research my work, I could ask them… Paul walked in just after twelve. |
-Can't you feel a sense of being guided in all of this? | Bonnie said.
-It was a long road—like this story. |
-Look at the pivot points: Ed, Michael, the East Croydon immigration officer, Paul, Tom,
your friend in Argentina? | she paused.
-All of them opened and closed chapters to either keep you safe, sane, or push you to your
next appointed experience, and the one possession to survive his journey was an omen of your
path—the typewriter led you to me. |
-I'll give you all of the manifestations of Spirit you like, because by definition that applies
to everyone at some point in their lives, but I don‘t see where that Knock thing comes into it.
Doesn‘t a teacher have to know about it? |
-When we left the hotel, you walked straight to my car. |
-As opposed to crookedly? |
-Why was I late? |
-A newspaper blew onto your windshield. |
-Specifically, a page pictured a car accident so I changed my route to avoid the possibility
of having one, and I didn't stop until it felt right. | Focusing on my confused expression, she said,
-Leading us to my car was no accident. You thought you had options, just like you did when the
rolling force of Phillip‘s intentions brought you to Vancouver. | She leaned back. -Telling you to
take charge was Saa-ra‘s idea, and an act of faith for me to trust that things would work out. |
-Uh huh, | I said, appreciating the cleverness with which Bonnie had clad the coincidence.
She breathed deeply, seemingly content to let the sleeping dog lie.
Days later, I turned into Bonnie‘s driveway to pick her up for a rare dinner out, a gift from a
client we had both worked with, when the evening view across t he inlet between her house and
her neighbor‘s shrubbery reminded me of a particularly beautiful part of Lebanon, possibly
because it wasn‘t on fire. The incongruity of those remarkably hospitable people turning their
nation into rubble saturated my mind, like repressed sorrow cresting the dam of denial,
disturbing quandaries that had rippled beneath my peace of mind for months. Not the least of
these was her general state of sanity.
I tapped on the side door and let myself in, forcing a jaunty, -Ready to go? |
"Ready, | Bonnie said over the sound of bi-fold doors sliding through tracks. -Kha-lib
-Hold on—it‘s normal time, | I interrupted her as I climbed the stairs.
-Pardon me? | Her voiced floated hollow out of the hallway closet.
-We fed the brain all morning. It‘s time to digest things, literally, | I said, reaching the top
Bonnie came out from behind the door with one sleeve stalled halfway up her arm.
Misinterpreting her stance, I stepped forward to help her on with her coat; she froze her pose
leaving me holding one shoulder of the garment as if I was dressing a mannequin.