Strange Awakening by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 5
I drove the car past the yellow house and didn’t see any interesting activity outside. No un-interesting activity, either. The same two cars were still there. It seemed that one of the drawn blinds was pulled open a bit, but it was just a quick look at a distance for me and it could have been the play of the sun. Still, I couldn’t help but think that it would be very easy for someone there to watch my activities. Now, all of a sudden I didn’t want to spend a lot of time at the reservoir because I was picturing someone or two or three going over to my house in my absence and setting some kind of trap for me, or maybe they’d be waiting for me inside with guns when I got back.
The latter thought suggested that either I go right back home and watch for the invasion, or spend more time at the reservoir to delay the inevitable. I decided to continue my journey, as I didn’t want my enemies to detect any fear. I’ll do exactly as I please and let them do their worst.
The rest of the drive was pleasant enough and I almost forgot about my fears. When I drove into the reservoir grounds, I decided to go to the other end of the park, where 200-300
boats were stored on land near a very gradual slope to the water. No one seemed to be about and that gave the abandoned boats the feel of some kind of marine cemetery from a past war.
I quickly realized that maybe there was a war going on right now. I’d have to remember to ask Diane that one.
I parked between the last line of boats and the water, got out and started walking toward the sun, away from the boats. I followed the shoreline, with either sand or rocks at my feet, very few trees or bushes and hence a long wide constant look at the still blue water reflecting the sun. For some reason it reminded me of some Swedish movie, which name I couldn’t recall, but it involved some old guy living an isolated existence, who amuses himself with thoughts of suicide. Though I wasn’t sure, it didn’t sound like it would have been a thought anyone wants to hear, so this feeling was probably best kept to myself, as if I had a choice in the matter. I’ll save it until I meet someone from Sweden.
I felt like I was getting into quicksand, not by my feet, but by my head. A quick analysis of the situation revealed that I no longer needed strange people and happenings around me to feel unsettled. I could now manage that all by myself. I wished a weird person would show up to give me some excuse for feeling strange. I turned on a dime and started walking back toward the parked boats. I veered inland so I could end my jaunt walking right by many of them. None of them seemed to exhibit any damage, so I concluded that there must be some unseen person or two around, otherwise kids would probably have
vandalized some boats. Is that paranoid, cynical, logical, all of the above or none of the above? I haven’t the slightest idea. Most likely it was some word I had not yet thought of; reality. A bit of a breeze kicked up, making some folded sails groan and rattle around. The restrained tied-up masts struggled for freedom and as a result, were capable of moving only a foot in each direction, hardly worthy of their auditory stimulus. My eyes darted around to make sure the noise I was hearing was not being made by a human, a monster or both. When I still couldn’t detect any sign of life I briskly walked back to my car and drove home at 50 miles per hour, rather than the usual 30-35
rate. I had managed to unnerve myself so much that I almost forgot to eyeball the yellow house. A belated quick glance didn’t reveal any outside activity, but that a number of cars were parked there. Hopefully, the owners were in the yellow house rather than mine. I opened the door slowly and timidly and gingerly stepped through all of the first floor rooms.
Seeing no signs of an intruder and thereby with a slightly improved countenance, I climbed the steps to the second floor.
I didn’t note anything requiring immediate attention, on the steps, the landing or in the three rooms themselves. I slowly went back down in the ominous silence of a cemetery on Tuesday afternoon, my sneakers pounding against the stairs as an ambitious tongue in its bell. Something told me that I had
forgotten to check the closets, the attic, under the beds and any other possible hiding place a marauder could utilize. “Fuck it,” I said to myself; “This is getting ridiculous, even by my standards.” No matter how many places I check, there are bound to be places I didn’t. This could become a lifetime occupation.
As I really wasn’t in the market for a job, I pragmatically decided that if a killer wanted to get me, all he has to do is try, my angered mind stressing the word “try”.
I again started to feel some kind of security, so I conducted a quick pop psychology analysis of my situation. I’ve got to stop worrying. It’s becoming constant and results in the brilliant deduction that all roads leading to Rome, anyway.
Instinctively I turned to my music collection. I needed something angry or defiant, Sex Pistols or Patti Smith. I liked her better. I put on the “Easter” C/D, got a joint out of the refrigerator and again called Diane.
“Diane Jensen.”
“Sorry to bother you again, but I’ve got to know the answer to one more short question.”
She sighed, “Go ahead.”
“Are we at war?”
Diane started laughing so hard, for a few moments she couldn’t say words. After composing herself some she said; “I don’t know what to say first.” She started laughing again.
“It’s a simple question.”
“You think so, apparently. Sometimes you remind me of what I first liked about you. First of all, who do you mean by ‘we’?
Me and you or the country?”
“The country, of course.”
“The country’s always at war with someone. Some are out and out declared wars. Others are called police actions, assistance to the forces of freedom, CIA covert actions and loads of other bullshit terms they’re probably in the process of coining right now.”
“I really wasn’t looking for you to get into every possible nuance. Let me put it this way; are we bombing anyone?”
“Yes.”
“Are they bombing back?”
“No, not really. I could say something else, but that would only be confusing to you now. Why do you ask anyway?”
“I was walking down by the reservoir and I saw a boat cemetery and I wondered if they were war casualties. Not exactly that. I just got an unsettled feeling and reacted that way. It’s more the logic of a dream than any tangible calculable reason.”
“You have always been out there. It wasn’t caused by the brain tumor. What kind of evil are you seeing this time?”
I gathered that I had made a huge step toward being my natural self and felt flattered or something like that. “Well, I told you, it started with weird feelings and sightings at Mason’s house. I’m probably still freaked, as now the stillness of the boatyard struck me as ominous.”
“You need a cuddle.”
“For sure. When are you going to get here?”
“I’m not exactly sure. But, I think I’ll be visiting sometime within a month.”
“I can’t wait to meet you. I like what I hear.”
“Soon, chubby.” She hung up, before I could ask her what to do in the meantime.
I felt better after talking to her and looked forward to our meeting. I still didn’t fully understand whether we were at war or not. The word loses its meaning when it’s a constant state of affairs and peace is logically stricken from human thought, graduating to existence only in Plato’s world of forms.
It might be one of those difficult questions that the grown-ups don’t speak honestly with the kids about. I took some solace in the fact that I was not in danger of getting hit by a bomb. On second thought Diane did not make a black and white answer, adding “not really” to no.
I smoked my joint, listened to my music, started to move around the room, in the best imitation of a dance I could
provide. After I started to feel the warmth generated by the smoke, my security level was very high and by the time I finished it, I was ready to handle whatever came my way, even if they had bombs. It was either that or maybe I just didn’t give a flying fuck. Of course this lasted about thirty perfect minutes and then the bag started to close around my head and I contentedly drifted off to sleep with the “Easter” C/D playing over and over.