Ruedibopbop thought he would give it a try. Rample Don was going to be along for the ride; west, to the Crankles; to Marczies place; where the ground was firm, yet gave a little, just a little, pretty much wherever you trod.
Woowee! – He mused – This will indeed be something.
Rarna was lost. She would be coming from way over, on the other side; didn’t even know that that place was where she was also headed. All those penny-martens, she’d been weaving, had been selling like penny-hotcakes. She’d quit her lease and smashed her savings jar into too many smithereens; but it sure had been satisfying. That ole landlord, well, he wasn’t fit for sitting at a dining table with; probably never had anyhow. Oh mercy come! Things would be different at this ‘some other place’ she had all nicely pictured and framed in her head. Only had to go find where on earth it was.
The moss up there; you know, around Marczies place, had all kinds of incy-wincy stuff, growing in amongst it. If you got down, real close, you could study it in the early, shining brightly, early dew, right up ’till the sun was gone again, and you wouldn’t get bored for any moment of that. There was something there in a rust-red color, just a fascinating rust-red; some kind of plant, wasn’t it? You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at it. Nothing else had that color, and your brain would go off bouncing around itself inside your head trying in vain to find a reference, a similarity for it. Never ending; that program, that code still running when you’d taken your focus elsewhere; brightening, freshening, making you somehow, inside, lighter, cooler. Cooler.
Rarna tore down the length of a sheet of coral-colored rice paper, laid one corner of the rip on her home town, on the map, pinned it down with a fingernail of flaking color layers, then rotated the sheet, until she found a line she might just be interested to follow. The beat-up-to-beyond car was packed already; all she had in world fitting, snuggling easily in the trunk.
Oh! Oh! Oh!…Roany!…Man! You turned out to be something like a waste of time – She sang softly under her breath; through teeth pressing too tightly together, eyes flitting around. No-one heard. Hmmm. A distraction he was, she concluded, in a little tune. It’s okay, I guess.
But hers was such a sweet voice; made your heart sink, nay, tumble for a moment, like a bird in a stall, until it found its wings again, started to glide and then soar. Oh! Yes! Something we could all do with hearing, every once in a while. That could be the cure for all kinds of things. Yup!
Ruedibopbop pulled his fingertips across his stubble, releasing each whisker, one at a time. Where were all the things that seemed to matter so much? He had lost them one after another, clutching on to them, knuckles getting whiter and whiter; and now they were all gone, and he didn’t miss any of it; but he was lost and drifting in a cloud full of thinking about them; searching in the fog of his mind for stuff that might never have been there anyway. Yet, he felt free, relieved. Wowee!
He sat down, beer in hand, with his father, on the porch they had built together.