When you're lost, sometimes all you need is someone to follow.
Finding Her
A new transplant from Winnipeg to Vancouver, Samuel Berlin walked the city streets searching for a job, an apartment, a life. He'd been couch surfing--moving steadily from friend to friend. But he was a hard worker; he wanted to make his own way. The first piece of that puzzle was finding a job. He'd reached the middle of yet another day full of rejection--no after no. Did people in this province know any other word? Samuel dragged himself down the crowded sidewalk--an elbow hit him in the ribs, and the toe of a high heel hit him in the shin. If I knew I was going to play defence, I would have worn padding. He recalled happier times, playing rec. hockey with his buds. The wind whipped past his face as he sailed down the ice. But that was then, this is now. The sky was a pewter dome. At least in Winnipeg, there would have been sun. Out of the corner of his eye, through the maze of zombie-like bodies, he saw... A woman dressed in eye-catching colours, flowing dress and scarf. She didn't walk, she danced, and like magic the crowd parted, clearing a path. Bottle sunshine. He had to meet her. And immediately, Samuel abandoned his futile job search for this new goal. He deked this way and that, avoiding the businessman swinging his briefcase. He looked up and the woman was--? But she couldn't have vanished. He hopped up and down, peering over the heads. His frantic searching revealed the tip of her flowing scarf disappearing into a building. Samuel raced after her, opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was empty. It resembled the waiting room of a doctor or dentist. Chairs were against a beige wall and faced a half wall. A half wall. A barricade keeping him out, at least for now. Why had he followed her? He didn't know anything about her. He gulped. There was a word for men who followed women--a stalker. He breathed out slowly. He just wanted to meet her. Simple. Innocent. He meant no har--.
"Yes?" the receptionist, whose brunette hair was fading to gray, looked away from her computer screen and fixed him with a cold-eyed stare.
"I'm here to...to..." he stammered as he desperately searched for a way to end the sentence that wouldn't lead to him talking to a burly cop about the best method to meet a woman.
The receptionist's face softened. Samuel wondered why and then realized that she must think he was pathetic.
"Ah, you'd like a reading?"
A reading? Had he followed an author?
"Have a seat."
A stack of magazines was on a small table beside his chair. He pawed through the pile looking for Popular Mechanics but would have settled for Popular Science. As long as it was popular. These magazines were full of articles on the healing power of crystals, sequential photos of Yoga stretches and endless essays on how to live a healthier, more fulfilling life. He knew the answer to that question--find her.
"Mystic Vision will see you now," the receptionist told him.
It took Samuel a few minutes to translate that sentence. Slowly, he realized the opportunity being presented. The receptionist directed him to a door. He left the glaring fluorescent lights in the waiting room and entered a dimly lit corridor. The walls and ceiling were wrapped in a muster yellow fabric, like a gypsies' tent. Barely visible in the half-light, a woman stood by a burgundy curtain at the end of the hall. Her.
He tripped over something. The something--he had nothing to offer her. He was unemployed, unhoused, and penniless. He was nobody; she was a princess. She deserved a knight. He pulled up short.
"Please come," she said in a melodic voice favoured by a thick accent. "I want you to come."
She wants me. His brain slowly began to trickle out of his ear. And he continued walking. He reached her and stood mesmerized as she eased one elegant ebony foot out of her slipper-like shoe and set the shoe in front of the wall to one side of the curtain. Before she'd removed the other one, he'd kicked off both of his sneakers. His big toe poked out of the holes in his socks. A smell like rotten bananas drifted up from his shoes. He stooped to rip off his socks. Stuffing them into his shoes would contain the stench, he hoped. He grabbed the toe of the sock on his right foot but--.
"Enter." She swept her hand up the middle of her body, extended it out and pushed back the curtain. Trance-like, he lifted one foot, stuck it across the threshold and set it down. A white mist carrying flecks of silver obscured his vision. He turned his head to where she had been. The silver flecks outline a silhouette. It was eerie, but he was too manly to hesitate. He entered the room and was engulfed in mist. Step by step, he followed the gilded image. Like sugar stirred into hot tea, he dissolved into her world.
photo by ldyck
On this blog in May
Sunday, May 4
Book Review:
All the Little Monsters: How I Learned to Live with Anxiety
by David A. Robertson
builds community and leads the way to healing.
Sunday, May 11
Tips (short memoir)
Once upon a time, I was asked to help serve tables at a country inn and I...
Sunday, May 18
Ethan's Ferry Trip (children's story)
For the first time, Ethan travels with his mother on a ferry, and he...
Sunday, May 25
Wenlido (short memoir)
Intimidated by the thought of moving from Winnipeg to the heavily populated city of Vancouver, I...
Photo by Byron
Without a reader,
A writer's words mean
Nothing
Mayne Island Authors Interviewed by CBC
