MINE

[Continue] 

Within a day or two Laura had amassed two pages of questions that she thought would be helpful to ask in supporting what she called the "fleshing out" of the material on paradisaic intentionality, those precious seminal musings he had made himself vulnerable enough to share with her.

At his station near the window he sat beside the opened envelope in disbelief. He smoked a cigarette. He shook his head and mumbled to himself, completely taken off guard by her ability to take over and put herself in charge of it.

Why don't you dive in and make it your own… Looks like somebody needs to run my shit. She doesn't even understand half of it and now she takes it and turns it into some kind of assignment for me to work on.

Anthony came by with a warm-up for the French roast. He leaned in and had the cup full all at once.

Sup chief? How is that paper route feeling with all of this rain we've been having?  We need to get you a parka. It's supposed to be 38° tomorrow morning.

It had rained for four days on and off. He gazed out the window after thanking Anthony with a wave, then also pointing to the notebook in front of him as though saying – I'd love to talk but I'm in the middle of something right here.

It was a sketch of the kayak he'd used during his getaway trip.  He was happy with his lines at the far end and the precision with which he illustrated the islets through which the loose net of bungee cord was threaded over the top of the pack that only the artist knew had been filled with smoked fish and half a loaf of old French bread and a small flask of wine and a bottle of water.

Later that evening he went online to treat himself to a men's extra-large McMurdo parka by North Face. It was windproof and rain proof and had a fur lining around its hood with a 550 fill count of down making it perfectly warm and dry. Not only had it been wet walking up and down the broken sidewalks but the temperatures had also dropped for some reason in the city making the normal summer days feel more like autumn. The wet streets and bone chilling damp did wear on him toward the end of his route. His old blue hooded sweatshirt needed to be retired for some gear.

He ate a simple dinner and spent a few minutes clearing a space in front of the television to do tai chi. There was a group online that shared the practice each morning in a public park near Seoul, South Korea. For whatever reason the group decided to start a YouTube channel simply offering the group exercises with soft music each day. Although he usually got around to it later at night, he enjoyed the whole experience.

Often times Zoe would make her way to the corner of the room and peer out from behind the leather chair with a posture of curiosity. She would roll and stretch, contented.

He told himself he would look at Laura's questions again when he was ready. If he was ready. The letter from her sat on the end table beside his keys. He was angry with himself for opening up about the revelation and thought to himself how easy it would've been to keep it all to himself.

It was intimate. It was just for him. What else did he expect for reaching or pressing along further to show it to her, almost as though he had some credit to take for the whole thing ever happening in the first place. His own pride had led him to say – guess what happened to me? Now it was biting him in the ass.

Of course, this was only part of it. Doing what she did was way out of line. No question.

As for now, he was moving like one who floats through the air. Tranquil notes trilled and turned softly through an Asian flute.  All of the surrounding space was water in which he could suspend himself without an ounce of movement.

He could not move, he would not intend or push or press any movement of his limbs in any direction whatsoever. He let the air, the open space, take hold of him completely. He let it carry him along.