So many parallel lines. The roads here remind me of the night drives to and from Crossville court., Soldiers lining the road blocking out the world leaving only the moon to bear witness. The city is named Crossville. who planned that? the house seems EXACTLY like Solana’s. It’s decoration is fast, loving, and completely covers every inch of space. Bill isn’t her dad, but he’ll do. “Are you at the right place?”, he asks. Annette is exactly as I pictured her. short, curly brown dyed old lady hair. Her voice is more discernible in person. Christmas beats its way into my brain over and over. That Godly ornament, the lustrous meals. That blissfully ignorant Bellerophon month; those years ago. The scent is unforgiving. I’ll have to ask what it is tomorrow.
No. I won’t.
This is Solana’s would be house. In a perfect world, she would be here.
The attic is a discordant symphony of decoration in the way that true farm houses are; since nothing is ever thrown away and half the items are hand me downs. Nothing matches; everything is placed wherever it will fit. Tiny desks and lamps fitting under the edges of the sloping tent ceilings. The fan at the top of the stairs gives the impression of cutting my hair each time i go under.
This air hurts to breathe. It’s fruit and spice and telling. It peels back my hard wood layers of indifference and points accusingly at the rotten foundations of my soul. It gloats victoriously.
“I know you,” the vile perfumed entity cries. “I see your lying heart and I know you.”
This was supposed to be my life but it is only a scent of my past. Just a hint of ‘maybe’ spiced with a dash of ‘what might have been.’
I drink straight from the bottle. Hoping these bitter Chilean grapes will somehow alter the smell. It’s an empty bottle quickly.
The recliner I am sitting in is reminiscent of the chair in my grandfathers basement. The one I always sat in, as much to emulate that great man as because the blanket in grandmothers chair was course wool; irritating to a young child’s skin.
Sleep comes and goes.
Breakfast is good. Home canned fruit. Bacon seasoned with pepper and brown sugar is the highlight for me. Cherry preserves on wheat toast they serve with their hands followed by some scrambled eggs completes the morning. It’s obvious they don’t have guest with allergies often, but it is cool that they asked.
I gotta get outta here.
