Sea of Tranquility
I went to the ocean. Once. A day trip from the Big City to a place where nobody knew me. I wiggled my toes in the sand and swam in tandem through a swath of moonlight.
Never do I remember being more myself.
When the moon glowed on something white, I picked it up and took it. Polished it on both sides. A momento of my perfect life, worn on a string, tickling my heart.
Now, I stand on a rickety farmhouse porch with flowers sprouting from one fist and hold my breath. I try not to stare at her father’s snuff stained teeth. I pretend not to notice his sweat-stained clothes, while he yammers on about the price of cows and the injustice of the TVA.
She floats into the room. Short hair curled around her face, dressed in high-waisted slacks with wide legs. Just like Kate Hepburn, only without the curves and flowing tresses. Before I know what happened, she thrusts the flowers at her father and flutters to the car.
I put the top down and watch the moonlight shimmer in her hair. And, I gave her my shell. Plucked from my Sea of Tranquility. Transformed into a token of the man I will try to be.
A fiction series. Long overdue. Because, you must be well-and-truly-sick of reading about my life by now. So, what happened to that door? A series of possibilities. I’ll explore one or several. If it was even a door I passed at an intersection on the way to an appointment. Read the first installment here, the second installment here, the third installment here, the fourth installment here, the fifth installment here, and the sixth installment here.
Just brilliant Andra – no fancy theories or opinions – just brilliant!
Thanks, Jim. I hope you have a great weekend. Are you headed anywhere interesting?
Not this weekend sadly – just at home so hopefully write a few bits of nonsense and deciphering my train notes! By the way what was that Spanish author you mentioned a few days ago?
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.
I love getting into this guy.
It’s been a daunting exercise for me. I’m pretty dry right now, and he’s not who I would’ve chosen to explore. But, he sort of superimposed himself.
Very, very cool. But enquiring minds want to know – what kind of car is it?
The language, like the girl, is beautiful.
I have to do more research into cars of that era to answer your question. Right now, it is just a convertible. I know. Sacrilege. “Just” a convertible.
You, you…. woman!
The soul begins to emerge from the nether.
I hope he has a soul, Lou.
Please. Can’t he have a soul? Please, please, please.
This is so beautifully rendered. So evocative. If he can’t have a soul, make this a poem.
“I put the top down and watch the moonlight shimmer in her hair. And, I gave her my shell. Plucked from my Sea of Tranquility. Transformed into a token of the man I will try to be.” Wish I had written than, Andra. Sure do.
Everyone has a soul, Penny. I’m convinced of it. Some people realize more potential with theirs than others, though. Thank you for liking that passage. I did as well. I always like an erudite character.
I do love this. Though I have a question for the guys, do men engage in this much nuanced inner dialogue? I don’t have a clue what goes on inside their heads.
In most literary novels I read, the guys do quite a bit of inner dialogue, whether or not they do in real life. Given that he’s really living a double life, that he’s not who he’s pretending to be, I would imagine he would have more of it than most. But, I don’t know. I’m not a guy, in any stripe.
I know. I always read inner guy dialogue, but since I’m not one, I never know how true it is. I know men discuss with themselves, cause they are human…but for the average intelligent guy who is somewhat aware, how much does he reflect, and question.
Ah Andra, sweet sentiment…is there really such a thing? Yes, I know, you and MTM have it and a few others commenters on this blog, it’s nice to sit back and witness it without thinking…what’s the ulterior motive…jaded…cynic…or realist? Realist is what I always say.
Realist. Nothing wrong with being one.
I love beautiful writing, and this is lovely!! I do believe many guys have this kind of inner dialogue. Otherwise we wouldn’t have so many wonderful male writers! And I think my own guy can be very introspective!
I really do see these characters in my imagination, so good job! I feel like this could be a screen play. Hmmm. Maybe that’s because I live near Hollywood, but I feel it. 
I hope something I write becomes a screen play someday, Debra. Or, do I? They do change books quite a lot when they make them into movies.
Love the writing; struggling with the character, perhaps simply because we’ve had a foretaste. I want to be sympathetic to him, but he, more than Penelope, is the one I don’t much like.
It’s hard to like him, because you remember him from before. Misery can transform people, though.
What a blessed escape, if only for a moment. Thank you.
I LOVE your hair!! That is why you dreamt of spilling red nail polish on my sofa. It’s awesome.