Breakfast at Denny's (part 2)

[preston]

I’m putting the last of the dishes away when I look up and see her standing in the doorway.
She has on an old flannel shirt ... well worn, from many years of travel.
I love it when women wear my clothes.

“I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed one of your shirts.”
“It’s looks kind of big on you.”
“Your closet is a mess.”
“What were you doing going through my closet ?”
“I went through your drawers too.”
She sticks her foot out. She’s got on a pair of white socks with worn elastic.

Old clothes. Hmmm ... a fashion statement ?

She gives the kitchen the once over.
“So, I see you took my advice.”
“Oh, that was advice ? I thought it was more of a request.”

Everything has been arranged in exquisite detail, for her approval.

“Can I get you anything ... maybe some juice ?”
“How about some orange juice ?”
“No orange juice. I got apple, peach, carrot ...”
She wrinkles her nose. “I never did like carrot juice.”
“Something else then ?”
“Surprise me.”

She walks into the breakfast area and stands at the window, staring out at the rain.
It’s been raining here for almost 3 weeks now.

“I like what you did in here.”
“Thanks.”
“I never was very good with plants.”
“I had originally planned on making it a sunroom ... kind of an indoor greenhouse. But the trees block the afternoon sun. So I turned it into an office.”

She moves around the room, looking carefully at the pictures on the walls, then at each plant in turn. She reaches down and cups her fingers around a small white flower.
The flower comes loose in her hand. She raises it to her face and closes her eyes.
“Jasmine.”

“When they first open, you can smell them from the living room. I once walked around the kitchen, opening cabinets and sniffing, trying to figure out what it was I was smelling.”

She walks over to my desk.

“I decided to put the computer in here last month.”

She rubs her hand across the top of the monitor, turns a dusty finger towards me and smiles.
“Yeah, well take your pick ... dirty dishes or a dusty computer.”

She sits down. There’s a spiral notebook sitting open beside the keyboard.
My earlier anxiety had abated somewhat, but now my heart skips a beat. I was up late last night writing ...
I watch her from across the room.
She turns the notebook slightly.

I’ll post my writings in cyberspace for all the world to see, but this is somehow different.
A thousand possible reactions on her part, and a thousand corresponding emotions on mine.
She sets the flower down beside the keyboard, and picks up the notebook and begins to page through it, stopping at an entry.

“Did you write this ?”
“It’s just a journal I keep when I’m travelling.”

A flash of lightning and a crack of THUNDER !!

She jumps, and drops the notebook on the keyboard.
The monitor pops to life, an open Word document on the screen. She looks at the screen for a moment, then moves the mouse to minimize it, turning her attention back to the notebook.

“Uinta Autumn. What does that mean ... ‘Uinta’ ?”
“It’s the name of a mountain range in Northern Utah.”
“An Indian name ?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“When was this ?”
“Oh ... the first part of October.”
“Are you from Utah ?”
“No, it’s just one of those places I like to go when the big city life gets me down.”
“You didn’t lose any footwear on this trip, did you ?”
“No, but my feet were awful damn cold in those Teva’s.”
She gives me that look. The sideways look, with the raised eyebrow. I add this to my “things I like about her” list.

“So, are you a writer ?”
“No, I just like to keep a record of my trips. More for myself really. I stopped carrying a camera a couple of years ago.”
“How come ?”
“Oh, I had illusions of becoming the next Ansel Adams, but as it turns out I was a very bad photographer. It was actually an accident ... the first time ... leaving the camera at home.
I thought it had been stolen. When I got home, I found it sitting on the dining room table.
I realized then that I enjoyed not having a camera with me.
I stopped looking for the ‘picture’ and started enjoying the moment.”

“So you record it all now in a journal.”

“Something like that.”

She reads aloud a passage.

“an unfamiliar landscape
secretly reshaped while i lay sleeping
by the first of many snows to come”

“It sounds beautiful.”
“It was. Almost a foot of snow fell that night. Try to imagine an alpine basin, covered over with snow.”

She stares out the window for a moment ... seemingly lost in thought.

“ ‘you wear sandals in the snow
and a smile that won't wash away’ ”

She looks at me and smiles. “It’s a line from a song. I can’t remember who it’s by.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence.
I try to think of something to say.
She senses that I’m uncomfortable with the characterization.
We both examine our motives ... the respective personas we’ve created for ourselves, and for each other.

I hand her a glass of juice.
“Peach.”

“Do you always travel alone ?”
“No, but it’s hard to find people you’re compatible with on an extended trip like this. Everyone has a different agenda.”
“And what’s your’s ?”
“Hard to say. Our wilderness is disappearing so fast. There are places you could go 10 years ago and not see anyone for a week. And now, you’ll see 15 SUV’s parked at the trailhead.
Early autumn is a good time to go. I only saw about half a dozen people on this trip, and they were all coming out as I was going in. I set up camp the second evening in the high country, and stayed there for 4 nights.
A small meadow beside a stream, surrounded by aspen and snow capped peaks.”





“The high country ... ?”
She looks over at me inquiringly.
"How high are we talking here.”

“Maybe 8 thousand feet.”

She flips through the pages, stopping to read an occasional entry.
I sit and watch her. Memorizing everything about her. The way she moves. The way her hair falls across her shoulder, as if by design.
There’s a nervous feeling in my stomach. Something I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’m not sure what to do.
She stops at an entry, reads for a moment and begins to laugh.

“christopher columbus’ mother standing on the front porch waving goodbye”

She looks up at me, as if waiting for an explanation.
I shrug. “You would had to have been there.”

“So each trip is like a voyage of discovery ?”
“Well … yeah, something like that.”
“So where is this one ... ‘Middle Fork’ ?”
“I’m sorry, that information is confidential.”
“You can’t even tell me what state ?”
“Well then you’ll tell someone, who’ll tell someone else, who’ll tell someone else ...”
“I don’t really know anyone here very well. At least, not someone who I’d talk with about this kind of thing with. Denny’s is a pretty boring crowd.”

“Here ... twist my arm.”
“No ... no, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Really ?”
She looks at me out of the corner of her eye.
“So you think I’m being intrusive ?”
“I got no complaints.”

She turns back to the notebook. Her mouth moves silently while she reads.

“Against this backdrop i watch the raindrops fall
silently one by one
each with it's own story to tell
gathered as they are from other places, other times”

“I can see now why you don’t carry a camera ... not really the kind of thing you could take a picture of.”

She puts the notebook down and yawns. A delicate yawn with her hand over her mouth.

Another flash of lightning. Closer this time. The thunder shakes the house.
I get up and open the back door. The rain is coming down harder now.
She’s there behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“I hate my apartment when it’s raining. It’s always feels cold and damp ... and lonely .”
We stare out at the rain.

I could say the right words ...


~

[heinzs]

Or you could say nothing at all...


<img border="0" alt="[BowDown]" title="" src="graemlins/notworthy.gif" /> <img border="0" title="" alt="[Cool]" src="cool.gif" /> <img border="0" title="" alt="[Big Grin]" src="biggrin.gif" />

Ok. Do we have to wait 4 more months for installment #3?

You realize when you're done here this will be a salable short story/novelette.

H.

[preston]

thanks heinzs
haven't started working on chapter 3 yet

also haven't considered any long term possibilities

[Blaze]

Nicely done!

[Debbie]

Preston you have to have another part to this..
gee wiz this is too good not to...
I'll always be wondering..
you are a gifted writer..and Heinz is right..this can be a novel..
my goodness go for it..
I hope more people read this one..
I can't even explain how I feel when I'm reading this..
awesome work..

[preston]

thanks Debbie ... part 3 is still being tweeked but i'll post it when it's done

[snorple]

very good

[Asher]

wow, I actually read it. It's one of those stories, not the most exciting in the world, but gives you that good feeling inside that makes you want to keep reading. it's not boring at all. I love it.

[preston]

thanks snorple , Asher

~

[nekot]

Very,very sweet. Enjoyed it much.

But me can't find part 3. Was there ever a part 3?

[heinzs]

click on the author's name to access his profile and go to "find all topics started by".

[nekot]

click on the author's name to access his profile and go to "find all topics started by".

T'anks

[preston]

Thanks N'kot ...