Chapter 4
| The Story | The Authors |
|---|---|
| The next day Elizabeth took off at dawn and headed south. The trip was long but uneventful. With no pressing problems Elizabeth was left with her thoughts. About halfway to her destination she began to have doubts about her plan. As she flew closer to her destination, Elizabeth was positive she had made a huge mistake. Pick up stranded sailors? What had she been thinking? Had she been drunk when she came up with this lame idea? Was she really this stupid? Looking back on it now she thought that it could only be the plot of a bad novelist. I slunk down lower in the back seat of the Cessna. It would not do for her to notice me, the author of her story. What was going on? I had written and observed many ppls stories in the past, but never had one of my own characters noticed or suspected that I was the controller of their destiny. I distracted Elizabeth by sending a pigeon, a seagull and a bouquet of flowers at the windshield of the plane. While she attempted to deal with these problems I thought of how I had come to be the mover and shaker (the Oz behind the curtian) of so many people. I remembered how it all began, that cold day in March of 1968. | |
| Some would have you believe that it all ended in March of 1968 but that partof my existance is only a hazy dream that I won't dwell on. Suffice it to say that I was 14 and attending school in Hanoi. We were reading the writings of Uncle Ho, when the alarm sounded and the lights went off. The next thing I remember was the bloody body of my teacher on the classroom floor and the rumbling of cinderblocks collapsing. I had a most excrucaiting headache and then I passed out. Some would say I had died. | |
| But I didn't. By continuing to live, you annoy the hell out of life. Instead of it annoying the hell out of you. And making you do stupid things like fall in love or drop out of school. Or read Ayn Rand. Or listen to the Spice Girls. Or babble all day long. Like you were hallucinating. Or about to die. Or dead actually. Dead bloody dead. But death is not in my naycha, dahling. Maybe in a coupla years, when I'm rich, filthy rich, drowning in oodles of money. Maybe never. Then I woke up to a bright light, and someone was tapping my shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?" the voice asked. I tried to talk but somehow nothing came out. My throat felt dry and gritty. I only nodded and passed out again. | |
| The dream began again. No control. Like suddenly waking up on a roller coaster, I could do nothing but hold on and pray. Terrors beyond the imagination of any mere mortal swirled about the periphery of my field of vision, with utter darkness ahead, wherever I looked. Threats, screams, and a low murmuring chant something like the sound of swarming bees assaulted my ears. In the pit of my stomach, it felt like I was about to vomit, but I couldn't achieve even that momentary release. | |
| A frigid breeze brought me release for the terrible inferno raging in my mind. I weakly opened my eyes, barely noticing the dark figure in the corner of the room. All of a sudden, the person moved towards my bed. "Go to sleep," the shadow hissed, "for you shall need your strength. Tomorrow is a long day." Without another word, he seemed to float out of the room. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Was the creature only part of the terrible nightmares? The rational part of me agreeded whole heartedly on that, but deep down inside, I knew what I had just witnessed was not a dream. | |
| The next evening I was crying not for for any reason,just because I felt like it. Then the shadow came back and in a whisper he said,"every thing will be alright,there's nothing to worry about." That's when I realized he was my best friend,who died in a horrible tragedy.Which was all my fault.He told me not to play with matches,but did I listen,the one time I should have. I think he understood.Now he's my gaurdian angle. | |
| Let me make it clear, a gaurdian angle is not the same as a guardian angel. It is really the antithesis. A gaurdian angle leads one into trouble and instead of giving guidance leads one into the depths of indecision. For years I dwelt under his control in a self-pitying bleakness, until I got so low it seemed like up to me. The only way to survive was to start caring for others and that led me on a spiritual quest. Eventually I became a true guardian angel which is how I ended up in the backseat of Elizabeth's Cessna. That old ugly penchant for indecision still rears its head occasionaly and that explains why I threw the pigeon, the seagull and the bouquet of flowers at the windshield of the plane. Wouldn't one have sufficed? | |
| nose hair run tight | |
| "Elizabeth. Elizabeth? ELIZABETH?!!" Russel began to panic. She'd been standing here talking to him and all of a sudden she had just sort of fainted. And he couldn't do anything about it, not with these restraints on his wrists. Couldn't even call for help. He stared at her intently. What was she thinking about in her unconcious state of mind? About how she'd cheated on him. Ruined him. Totally screwed up his life. He smiled smuggly. Let the bitch have a heart attack for all he cared, it served her right. What was he thinking? This was his Elizabeth, his Angel, lying here on the floor, he couldn't just do nothing. But in all actuallity that was all he could do. His ankles and wrists were binded to the bed: standard hospital procedure. So then what could he do? He had to think. Elizabeth lay out cold on the floor of Russel's room. She was dreaming, or perhaps it wasn't a dream. Perhaps she really was a fighter pilot for the peace corps. Yeah, sure, and she was Mother Teresa too. She was tired of flying anyway. And that person in the back seat of her plane was really getting on her nerves. Hiding as if she didn't know they were there. She was about to just tell them they could come out when she thought of something. What the hell am she doing in an airplane anyway? She was scared of heights. This was the stupidest dream She'd ever had...OW...oh something hurts...ow.....why hadn't she noticed that pain before?....oh it hurt....her head... Elizabeth slowly began to come to. "Elizabeth, Love, are you alright? What happened? Do you hurt? Can you get up?" Russel was nearly delirious with joy. His angel had woken up, she wasn't dead after all. Elizabeth looked at him. "How on earth did I get here?" she demanded. Russel looked at her sharply. "You don't remember?" "Would I ask if I did?" she started to get up then thought better of it. Russel began slowly, "Rememeber, you cheated on me with Jon, I went loony, got put here in the psych ward...four days ago, and you just came to visit me..sound familiar?" She looked at him foggily "Yeah, I remember. I came to tell you I'm sorry, that if I had it to do over again, I'd do everything different. But I can't, so you'll just have to try to forgive me. I'm not asking you to forget it or even like it, just try to forgive, it's all I can ask.." Russel breathed in sharply. His angel was asking him to do something. He could never say no to his angel..."'Liz'beth, I will tell you something. I can't forgive you. I can't forgive you because there's nothing to forgive. I went wrong somewhere, caught the right train, it was just going the wrong way I guess. I can never forget what you did to me, you and Jon, but I can understand now how it would happen, and yes if you want to here it,...I forgive you...you can leave now with a clear concious if you want, and I won't stop you if you go, but know this, I did, I do, and I always will love you. So go back to Jon if you want and lead your happy little lives while I live mine here...or live your own life doing whatever t is you do, but leave me in peace whatever you do, JUST LEAVE ME IN PEACE!" Elizabeth, kneeling beside his bed, lowered her head to his stomach and cried for what seemed like forever. At first she could feel all of the muscles in his body tighten up when she touched him, but as she cried she felt them slowly loosen up and when the last of them relaxed she slowly lifted her head and looked at him. He looked so at home, so at peace, staring at her like that. She kissed him gently on the forehead and turned and walked out the door. She was leaving him at peace. That was what he'd wanted. | |
| It was sprinkling when she reached the sidewalk. "Where was that damned umbrella?" she murmered too herself. Must have left it in Russel's room, but no going back there. Mindlessly she raised her arm and a cabbie pulled to the curb. As she climbed in the back she automatically said Haight Street, but no she couldn't go there she realized. That was where Jon lived and right now that was the last person she wanted to see. "No, don't go there, just take me to the bridge." "Which bridge?" the driver queried. "Any fucking bridge" she retorted angrily. Who was this talking she asked herself, she didn't normally use that kind of language. She closed her eyes and drifted off for what could have been hours. The cabbie woke her with another annoying question, "Miss, we are across the bridge and in Berkeley, where would you like to go now? The fare is $29.40, can you pay it?" The purse, where was her purse? Damn, must be with the umbrella. As he slowed to let a pedestrian cross, she panicked. Like a flash she was out the door and running. Down Telegraph Ave she fled, jostling the street vendors and knocking their wares to the gutter. Finally she could run no more and collapsed on a bench at Sather Gate. "Where am I?" she asked the Rastafarian next to her. He smiled at what he thought was another crazy tourist. The surroundings suddenly took on a familiar tone, she was at the University. Yes, it was the Berkeley campus where in March of 1968 she had been arrested. How ironic, she smiled to herself. Looking up she saw two men approaching, one in uniform and the other was the cab driver. | |
| The uniform looked fresh and neat on Jon. The cab driver was irrate. Oh! if only she had her purse! | |
| "Elizabeth! It's you!" exclaimed Jon. "Oh! Jon-- you have come!" "This cabby says you jumped out of his cab! What's going on?" Elizabeth began to explain that she was running... running away from Russel, from Bert (she didn't remember him very well), from herself, from life... As her emotions carried her away, Jon dug into his pocket and handed the cabby two twenties. "What are you doing here?" Elizabeth wondered. "You told me it was the _literacy_ police you worked for!" | |
| "I do work for the Literacy Police" Jon replied, "Wanna see my badge?" "Actually I'm detailed to the UCB campus. Last week we had an anonymous phone tip about a professor who left a participle dangling, and I'm in charge of the investigation. Can't talk much about it....it's kinda hush hush until we decide which charges to file, know what I mean? You hungry Elizabeth? How about if we we grab a bite and you tell me all about the cabby." "Sure" Elizabeth answered, asking herself what she was doing with this guy. If he is on the level I better watch what I say in front of him. Together they headed back down Telegraph. She had a yearning for a Grossburger, but what would he think? Better suggest something a little more cultured like sushi. He held the door for her as they entered the air-conditioned comfort of Aoba. The lunch board read "Miso Soup and Special Blowfish Maki $5.95" | |
| As they were shown to their table, Elizabeth's mind was turning. Something was wrong. His answer was too glib, it didn't set right. She searched his face. "Jon? But your uniform? I don't understand!" It was a Navy uniform. It reminded her of her plane and rescues at sea."I'm working undercover..." he lied. She saw it on his face! What was she doing with this guy?? Where was the love she had felt for him? It was slipping away and all she could say was: "I'll have sushi, please." "Darling, what's the matter? I left Nicole for you! I've lost Russel's friendship and I'll never play on the rugby team again! Tell me, what are you thinking!?" | |
| v. poor see me. 1/10 | |
| "What did you say?", Jon leaned closer, "You want to see me feeding the poor?" "N-n-n-ooo" Elizabeth stammered, but she couldn't think of how to tell him. Suddenly for no apparent reason she despised him, maybe it was the uniform, or his lying, or because his hair was slightly greasy. She ought to be nice, after all he had gotten her out of that jam with the cabby but the thought of spending another minute with him, let alone a lifetime revolted her. Glancing around the restaurant for the toilet, she noticed a woman in her forties, assiduously reading the current issue of Time magazine. "Jon, I have to be honest with you. Jon....uh um uh I'm gay. I'm coming out of the closet to you, because Ellen is gay too." Jon looked at her with disbelief. "Are you serious? And who is Ellen? Do you mean all those times in bed with me, you were just pretending?" Elizab felt as if she was going to faint, the room was spinning and the aroma of raw fish made her feel that she was about to vomit. "Yes, I'm sorry Jon, Ellen is my lover...excuse me please" She rose, grasping the back of the chair to steady herself as she headed for the loo. Why had she told him, she thought to herself, was it true? Suddenly she was stumbling, the room went black as she collapsed in on the floor in front of the glass showcase. The last thing she remembered was a meat cleaver eviscerating a blowfish. | |
| Jon, seeing Elizabeth's distress, jumped up and followed her from the table. As she went down, he wondered if he could reach her in time to break her fall. But he was too late. The other patrons were all staring at Elizabeth, some whispering, some just gaping. One young man, dressed in nines, had the table near the showcase. After leaving the theater, he had come to enjoy a cup of java alone and Elizabeth's collapse irritated him more than distressed him. He was not, however, an unfeeling cad, and he got up and leaned over the prone young woman. As he touched her forehead and lifted her hand Jon arrived. His uniform, open at the collar, revealed the pulse in his neck. "Is she with you?" Slava Stephanov asked. | |
| Yes, she is mine. Keep you foreign hands off her. Go back to your country. | |
| "NEIN!" I screamed, leveling my nazi-engineered rifle at his head. "Perhaps NOW you will be more reasonable, American swine!" I grinned at him and pulled the trigger, perforating his skull in 5 even circles. | |
| At the sound of gunfire the Literary Police rushed in! Jon was relieved they were not Johnny-come-latelies, and popped to his feet. "This is incredible," said Joe Swanson, head of LPD. "I am so sorry to interrupt your scene, but this fellow is out of place here. My appologies, Slava, we know you are a Russian, and not a cad." Slava nodded,"Shall we get on with the story?" This sort of thing had happened many times in his experience. Both professors and students were continuly amazed at his seminars at the universities he visited. His English was impeccable. Besides his native Russian, he knew several languages, including German... Elizabeth stired. | |
| Through half closed eyes Elizabeth tried to make sense of the situation. Three men, two of them in uniform, were crouching over her. As she lay in a mishmash of chopsticks, seaweed, and wasabi she tried to remember what had happened to her. Had she had too much saki? Then she saw the Time magazine laying amongst the littered floor. "That's right" she thought, I told them I was a lesbian and that announcement seems to have started some sort of international incident. She had heard of parent's disowning their children upon hearing the news but why all this fuss, and why was a handsome stranger speaking to her in what seemed like a slavic language. In the distance she heard sirens approaching. Moments later the door burst open and in came two men dressed in white carrying a folded stretcher. "Nooooo", she screamed, "I'm not going back to Russel" Scrambling to her feet, Elizabeth felt her hand being grabbbed by the sushi chef. "This way", he said as he pushed her through the kitchen and into the opened doors of a wildly painted Volkswagon van. Collapsing on the floor she looked up to see a familiar looking woman in the drivers seat. "No time for formal introductions", the woman hollered, "Name's Jade and you're not going back to Russel, everythings cool". | |
| Instead she went to a camp where it was just lesbians who could change their name so noone would know how sick they really were. But they all knew it would get out sooner or later | |
| Although the thought of her small town friends learning about her new attitude kind of excited her. | |
| She was determined not to let anyone change her mind about this. | |
| The van turned off on a gravel road just before they reached Sonoma. "This is the place, and you're welcome to stay as long as you like," Jade said in a friendly welcoming tone. Elizabeth was too stunned and confused to do much more than grunt a thank-you. She had no idea where she was or why this seemingly nice woman had basically kidnapped her. All that mattered right now was that she get some rest. Tomorrow she would think about Jon and that strange masquerade as a LPD agent. Jade showed her to an upstairs bedroom which was clean although exceedingly spartan in furniture. It contained a single bed, a very small pine dresser and a writing desk solely occupied by a heavy black telephone that reminded her of her mother. "Bathroom's down the hall and help yourself to the towels in the closet" Jade told her. "Why don't you have a hot bath and a bit of a lie down. I'll be fixing supper in the kitchen if you need anything," she added. Elizabeth replied, "Yes, I'll do that, thank you very much." She wanted to ask Jade who she was and why she had brought her to this place, but didn't want to know the answers quite yet. Jade closed the door as she left. Immediately Elizabeth peeled off her fish stained t-shirt and wriggled out of her jeans. Flopping onto the bed she felt something rustle under the pillow. Upon inspection she found a notecard of pale yellow with purple pansies in the corner, in meticulous flowery script was handwritten 'Elizabeth'. How could theis be, for who knew she was coming here? |