Stardate 7631.
(It's been a slog. No one has been slain. I was angry this last month quitting Copenhagen and coffee, and raw sugar. And smiting all my angst. It was a near-dragon few weeks. I'm taking today off for some much needed R & R with my dogs. Marrow bones and Mike's "Strawberry Margarita" are involved. And some barking at 'bad guys' in Recycling trucks in the alley.)
"Here we are
Born to be kings,
We're the Princes of the Universe...
Here we belong -
Fighting to survive
In a war with the darkest power."
Queen, from the 'Highlander' soundtrack. Probably 7/8ths epic. Or 15/16ths. Or 31/32nds.
"Glurg perm sprit pamsit cha-glurg. Smartly." I pushed, impatiently. "Spin'to, pamp lerp sit." (The Rotatey Chair spun me around to COMMS, like they knew I wanted to say something...)
"Blinx, Klargen." (I won't get tired of hearing this, I'm sure.) NAV went through their motions, added this new point. They don't like serving my indulgences.
If you have a UFO, you end up serving your indulgences. Let's be real about this. (I want to see the nude beaches, unless it's all/mostly men.) And can you say, while you're there, you're being 'ethical' if you're in a 'cloaked' craft?
No, take off the veils!
"Prelt ninx bot spat elp Beatrix glurg. Hal spin'to perns bamp glurg, pin-t' O-sal."
That's a heavy push. I knew it going in, sometimes I go too far... The rough translation is:
"Take me back to Beatrix' world. This order is without uncompliant issues."
The XO knew I was in a snit about something. I didn't even know what it was, but I knew it.
I felt the accelerations as we came about. We were back to the Pacific Northwest so fast, it's silly. 10-12 seconds the fast way. Soon we were in a fog bank, in defensive hover. I told them to 'uncloak' and they did.
"NAV, commence search."
"Klargen, ship is uncloaked," the XO smirked (if they could smirk,) "We're vulnerable."
"Understood."
They really, really, hate that.
It's tough. My crew hates to show themselves in this ship. Their UFO-5001 model is built to 'not be seen.' (Disclaimer: This craft isn't that make/model, obviously... for security I've changed it. It's been upgraded, by private contractors. Has some kinks, but we got 'em nailed down for now. The inertial compensation issues were 'bad' for while, I'll admit, and some of us got bruised.)
They, as a crew, seem remarkably competent. Reckon most alien species are. It's like I'm on "Star Trek" but I'm the alien Captain.
I got the chops. They know it.
The Tinglev was still a mess from that 'roar' last month. Fucked with the anti-BS modular diodes, whatever. Odd damage reports kept coming in. I knew we needed to get back to Archuleta Mesa ASAP (it's a 'heavy repair facility.') I shouldn't be saying this here. But no one reads this, right?
Let's stick with that.
COMMS piped up, and she pushed politely, "Novel authored contact in proximity to Klargen Home Base."
That got my neck hair up. "Full report, COMMS. Give me numbers. Human relative, of course."
"Social network scanning reveals a near intercept, at Phinney Ridge. Photo exif data indicates 1.6 driving miles, and much less given extrapolation of possible routes. Intercept was from several days ago."
"NAV, take us there, smartly. Full anti-collision protection and cloaking." We all know Seattle's airspace is indeed crowded.
The Rotatey Chair sucked me in and we arrived a few seconds later. Clear weather. At 200m I could see my house to the northwest. Clearly.
"Fuck." I was out on Whidbey Island, thank a deity... "She might have even driven by."
"Blinx, Klargen. Osmic fluctuations indicate direct concurrence."
"SCIENCE, give me more data."
"Klargen, signals are weak in temporal mode."
"Yeah, I know that." I could feel my brow furrow. "Tell me something I don't know already."
"Blinx Klargen, refining aperture and analysis of latent osmic detections. There will be a slight delay."
"As to be expected. XO, I need a cigarette, do I have any left?"
He nodded, sympathetically.
"COMMS, give us local FM radio. I need some rock and roll. "
"Blinx Klargen." He wandered to the Klargen's Quarters and fetched them and my trusty orange lighter. They always recoil a bit when the flame catches, it's mildly amusing. I heard a local hatch open for ventilation and my ears popped. An immature bald eagle cruised by on MAIN, even turning its head at us. He knew his altitude was a busy place, but couldn't see us.
"Give a little bit
Give a little bit of your love to me
Give a little bit,
I'll give a little bit of my love to you.
There's so much that we need to share
So send a smile, and show you care..."
Supertramp, "Give A Little Bit"
But it appears Beatrix will not 'give a little bit.' She was so close, so recently, and yet gone again.
You know I won't contact you again, right? (Maybe in another 21 years if I haven't 'shuffled off this mortal coil.') I've met you half-way with that call and this blog. My grievances have been aired. You're gonna have to 'reach down and grab a pair' if these crucial ruptures to our lives are to ever be healed.
Unless you have no such intention. Can YOU create peace of mind or not? You're trained to do that, but won't in my case. (So do I exist to you, or not? Indifference is quite a message, in that respect.)
It seems as if your alliances aren't as creative for you as they are for others. Sorry about that. I wonder 'how much of that blame is mine?' I'll accept it, if so. I didn't let you go 'quietly' because I didn't want to. I loved you with hurricane-force intention.
Remember that old man at Carson that still had a crinkly picture of his 'life's love' in his wallet, which he proudly showed us. That'll be me in 30 years, with that 'wet-hair' picture of you at the ocean that you slipped into the middle of my copy of "Closing of the American Mind." I didn't find it until a year later, and I almost bought a big bottle of sleeping pills in the hours after that. Had them in my hand, even. But I didn't buy them, and put them back on the shelf. I decided you wouldn't kill me.
And you were at Port Townsend watching one of my favorite movies this last weekend. Probably looked at the James House as the ferry docked. And at Fort Worden, where I asked you to marry me with the infinity-rock. Can you honestly say you were completely indifferent to those memories in the last few days?
Why is it so hard for you to meet me half-way in momentary friendship? We shared real time. We shared life. We shared lust, laughs, hotel rooms, mandala-moments, tears and trauma. We both ended up in the hospital in those months. (Maybe that was a sign.)
I can't help but be a little miffed that a trained therapist can't confront her own past and directly help a former friend. (I'm sure I'll get over it.)
Or maybe I won't. There's no greater shadow upon my life than your interminable silence. My tears could fill a wine bottle or two. Here's a little gem of personal recollection: The night you called me from Temple Square in Salt Lake City was the first night I was with another woman after you. You knew her, (because we'd had party-sex at her apartment a few months before) and she knew I was crushed beyond recognition about you, and she proffered a sympathy fuck because she has a big heart and was a good friend. I took it, because I knew you were fully prepared to forget me (I thought, drunkenly.) So I get back to the dorm in the wee hours of the morn and there are numerous messages on my door about you calling, late into the night. My stomach dropped and I gasped. I had only one option for a long distance call, and it was in the place where the bunny jumped on me while we were making love. I ran there at breakneck speed - right down the street from where I'd spent the night - across campus. And dialed the number of the hotel. (Do you want to know which room?)
I knew you knew, nearly a thousand miles away, because in the first few sentences of that phone call you said "I just feel like something's been lost tonight."
And I dared not tell you. Maybe I should've. Maybe that would have changed things.
She gave me real love.
You know what I get from you. It's in the title of this blog.
And you probably think I still deserve it.
"NAV, glurg nix paht spin'to."
"Klargen?" The XO inquired.
"Let's get outta here. It's depressing me. I stuck my neck out too far. Maybe should'a not called her."
He nodded.
I met a checker-girl at the PCC in late March. (Was working a tile/carpentry/metal/plumbing/drywall job down the road.) Her name starts with a J. She has strong Welsh/Celtic features and medium-long auburn hair. Her eyes smile and cute dimples grace her face. Her voice is sweet, sometimes with a tinge of breathiness. She's smart, intuitive and well-travelled. Has a good degree and a young scallywag from an ex-husband. A perfect logical progression of the you that I knew at 18-19. Amazingly so. I flirted relentlessly with her. I gave her a tile spacer and she kept it in her purple work apron for a week. She was so charming. One day I ate an errant almond off the conveyor belt, like a bird. I just bent down quickly and pecked it up without an expression and she teared up laughing so hard. Her laugh was music to my ears.
After a few days of eating lunch there, she joined us for organic deliciousness. This went on for few weeks, and one day she mentioned that her birthday was coming up. I guessed your birthday, cynically.
"OMG, you're good. How'd you know that?"
My brother and I were both flabbergasted. I acted smugly. I knew where this was going.
"Next you'll tell me you're from (you know where you are.)"
Nope. Our jaws dropped. One island away. One ferry stop.
She's exactly 10 years younger than you, turns out.
She could see that we were both absolutely astonished at the synchronicity of it all. We didn't let on as to precisely why it was.
"What is it?" She was dying to know. But, lunch break was up.
So I finally told her the whole story. It took a few days of lunches. She was quiet for a minute, thinking.
"So, what's your reason for not calling her." She didn't even look up.
"She's married and has kids. She won't talk to me. I don't exist anymore."
"Maybe you should just do it. See what happens."
"What would I say, hypothetically?"
"Ask if you can stop hating her. That's a start."
"Yeah, right." I was having major doubts about that suggestion. My brother laughed because I was getting uncomfortable at her prodding me to DO something.
A few weeks later, you heard my voice. And I meant it. I'm done with hating you. I'll never be done with loving you. Your smile makes my soul tingle.
I will never be indifferent to you. It just isn't possible. If you see a UFO, well...
Blinx, Klargess.
Zoot zoot zoot zoot.
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