Lake Pathos, July 30, 1989
The month of Christina’s absence trudged along. Saying goodbye was the most difficult moment, but the days of waiting for his leave for the land Down Under without someone with whom to have dinner and talk besides his dad and mom and sister brought on a melancholy spirit. Although the adventures of spending seven weeks on the Outback range with the drovers seemed opposed to leaving the ranch behind upon graduation, Jerry wanted to prove to himself that he could endure the mental and physical hardship. It was like climbing to a mountaintop, few could do it, and the reward of the view was worth it. For Jerry, the payback from the cattle drive was the freedom from tomorrow, every day was today, and the future had not arrived. In essence, time stood still in the Outback. He didn’t have to consider anything heavy. At twenty-something, and just barely, what did it mean to be called by God? After the excitement of hearing the Voice and seeing a vision of someone who really wasn’t there, he just shelved it. Lead, teach, and heal? What does that mean? Christina wasn’t around to explore it any more in-depth, and well, that’s what this trip was about anyway, right? Finding himself. Like, who am I, anyway? Son of a rancher, money broker, real estate magnate? Author? God must have thought so. Christina was sure of that. His sureness was slipping. Finding out what he wanted to pursue in life. He felt his life changing even before he left. The wildfire. His dad’s miraculous recovery. He didn’t want Jerry sticking around, not out of pity. Rick would have none of it. In the abyss of Jeremy’s mind, he came to know what he could not see.
He drove aimlessly on the highway that divided the high plain, a picturesque landscape of home on the range. Black dots of cattle grazed a roam of hundreds of miles of Flint Hills grass, untillable soil from haphazard surfacing of prehistoric amalgam. That was the beauty of this range—it looked today as it did eons ago without man taming it for harvest. The highway began to descend slightly. His panoramic view diminished as he approached the outer banks of the river that divided the grassy plain from the arable fields on the other side.
He continued on the windy road that followed the stagnant flow of the tree-lined river. Flashes of reflected light between the trees—like a motion picture projector flipping through thousands of stills. As he rounded the bend, the view opened to the vast expanse of a lake dotted with sailboats. He continued along the water, glimpses of the mirrored brightness weaving in and out as trees permitted.
The marina emerged in sharp contrast to the canopy-covered lane with river bottom view. A two-story, white-planked building with a marine supply store below and a glass-walled restaurant above featured an outdoor deck overlooking the length of this water sports paradise—the perfect place to lounge with a cold beer or glass of wine. A near empty three-tier, boat storage building led to a crossword puzzle of docks and ramps jutting out into the harbor cove.
The serene waterscape drew him to pull in the parking lot on the bluff that overlooked the speedboat and ski area of the lake, its water choppy and stirred. He parked along its lakeside edge. The view down from the marina was a serpentine cascade of wooden stairs weathered and grey from sun-scorched days. They led to the Tiki bar or traversed the grassy slope to a shady area, an inviting place to rest and meditate on all that he had lived through during the past thirty days at the ranch. He grabbed his mail pouch bag from the rear seat and slung it over his shoulder, then slowly meandered the wooden stairs, pausing periodically to take in the wet vista, a soothing contrast to the parched prairie. At the split, he surveyed the Tiki bar with its crowd of bikini-clad beauties and college town jocks partying in the summer heat, icing their parched throats with slushy Margaritas as Jimmy’s song about the same and flip-flops and pop-tops drifted from the patio bar.
He turned right to take the long cascade of stairs away from the party and took in the beach volleyball game, two-on-two—four girls that appeared naked in the shimmering heat in the midst of a crowd of beer-slugging guys and gals cheering on the ball and sand battle. He gripped the strap of his bag and looked at his steps, feet shod in leather sandals, his legs white from a summer of Levi’s and cowboy boots.
Upon reaching the relative cool of the grass and shade beneath the thick tree canopy, he kicked off his sandals and squished his toes between the blades sheltered from the intense summer sun. He lay down in this small meadow bordered with sun-loving flowers, a manicured green spot apparently watered and tended by a gardener, and arm-propped his head and watched the boats and skiers and wondered why his thoughts were heading 9000 miles around the world to one of the most desolate and dry places in the world. Another Buffet song, one about a dreamer related to a sailor, drifted along with the shouts and cheers of the sand match.
He thought about Dad— their horse race on the range, his bravery to fight a wall of fire with fire, his willingness to sacrifice self for his family. Son of a son of a rancher and visions of cattle drives played as he rested his mind for the first time since— I’ll be waiting for you.
He saw her face pressed against the window of the airplane, the wave of good-bye. He laid back and folded his hands across his chest and gazed at the boughs of the tree. The music and laughter and voices began to fade. His eyes closed.
v v v
Stoked for a joust, Jessie crested the tape and stretched over for a kill. Four guys sloshed from the beer and sun, hooted in support, “Wicked!”
Game, set, match—Jessie and her teammate, another Sports Illustrated athletic model of swimwear, high-fived as they trotted off the hot sand to shake hands with their opponents, equally muscle-sculpted eye candy, sleek and tanned beach babes of summer. The pagan romp revelry that surrounded them didn't care who won. The T and A entertainment bouncing in the sun and sand was their focus and coursed testosterone through veins laced with alcohol.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the open ice chest and wiped down her face and body with a towel. The male revelry was not enticing her today. She wanted a swim, cool and refreshing, away from the entire party clamor. The baby inside her, although she could yet feel his or her physical presence, nonetheless, she sensed the growing life. The boys called after her, but for the first time, she ignored them. She was on a mission, one of her choosing, one that would change the course of three lives.
v v v
The black and white of it was confusing. In Jerry’s dream, he couldn’t make out the face. Long dark hair serpentined around her neck over her shoulder around her breasts parting for her navel flowing between her legs. He still couldn’t make out her face, although it seemed he had seen her face or was she yet to come, knowledge of not knowing that he would know when he knew? It was all so very confusing.
Something in the corner of his mind’s eye. He looked away from the faceless girl and floated towards it. It did not move. A figurine? Yes! Crystalline and intricately adorned. A ballerina! She was beautiful. He knew her! Yes, undoubtedly he did! But why a statuette? Christina! The figurine vanished.
The girl with the serpentine hair. He could see her face now. Beautiful. Alluring. Captivating. She opened her mouth. It grew and grew and grew. He felt like he was falling, falling into a deep well. Darkness. Her face reappeared. What was happening to her face? Aging. Aging before his eyes as though time leaped forward, as though every year was a second. Grotesque hollow eyes, dark with despair, body gaunt and shrunken, chest sunken where once stood hills of paradise. She gasped for air, a thread of life.
Then a woman held him. She consoled him. He felt a terrible loss of life. Life yet to be born? Whose? Who died? She comforted out of compassion, not grief. Who was she? He felt he knew her, knew her heart.
Desperation. He wanted to scream. He ached to scream! Darkness. Wet. He felt wet. Hands on cold, wet stone. Slimy. A light! Way far away was a light, a pinhole of hope. He wanted out. He wanted out, now! Darkness. He couldn’t wake up. Wake up! Wake up!
“Hey, you.” A voice in the dark and someone shaking his shoulder.
“Hello, hello?” A sweet voice, a lullaby as she sang it over and over, “Hello, hello?”
Darkness turned to color, vivid colors blurring. Riding his horse, faster and faster and faster. Fire! He rode into a wall of fire! Engulfed in fire but no pain.
“Hey, you okay?” A voice in the fire and a hand brushing his arm. The beautiful face appeared in the flames, black diamond eyes with an onyx hole—mesmerizing, penetrating, magnetizing—drawing him in. Darkness.
“You okay?” A voice in the dark. A different voice. A voice he recognized. Christina!
The beautiful face again. Who is she? Her lips were moving but silent. Her face floated towards him, her lips moving, her mouth getting bigger and bigger and bigger. All he saw was her tongue, then darkness.
Jerry sat up with a bolt.
v v v
The cool water shed from Jessie’s face as she surfaced from her dive deep into the cool depth below. The swim along the length of the beach relaxed the tenseness of the game. The summer sun warmed her face. Her cheeks glistened. Her leg muscles were still hot and tight. She walked up the sandy silt bottom. Her sports bikini top—red and white horizontally striped—held in her chest taut. Bikini shorts were cut high to a broad red band with stitched gold stars, vertical red and white stripes hugged her hips and muscular glutes as she walked out of the water dripping with refreshment. Sweetpea. She smiled at the thought. That’s the size of my baby, a sweet pea.
The beach was much more deserted now than when Jerry had arrived, the lone silhouette against the languishing sun of the late afternoon was walking towards him, not to him surely, he didn’t know anyone here. His gaze continued to rest on her, her curves outlined by the solar backdrop, hips that rocked with each step, shoulders that cadenced on the half beat of her torso’s drum. He blinked several times and then pinched his arm until it hurt.
She continued to walk towards him. He maintained his stare on her silhouette, her face and body still dark, the sun bleaching a backdrop behind her. She towered over him as his eyes adjusted to see her face. She pursed lips slightly apart as though she were blowing at him.
“Hey, you.”
His shoulders quivered at his mind’s recognition, yet he had never seen her face before. He was powerless in her presence, and just kept staring at her, her tanned body—striped red and white—studded with water droplets.
“Hello, hello?”
Waking as though from a daydream, he played it in reverse, like dragging a record backward across a phonograph needle, nothing made sense.
She squatted down to his level and sank her knees into the plush grass.
“Hey, you okay?”
A sense of familiarity brushed the hairs of his arm, a warning of wrong. It was then that he looked into her black diamond eyes. Long moments of silence stretched between their locked gaze.
Jimmy’s voice lilted in the breeze, something about latitudes and attitudes and drinking all night.
She then turned and sat with her back to him and leaned back on her arms looking out over the water now settling from the day’s crisscross of skiers, waves lapping at each other content to still.
“Meant to be here,” she said.
“Meant to be here? What are you talking about?” Jerry asked confused from his dream and the subtle familiarity of her.
“You were meant to be here.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know me, and I’ve never been here before.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Matter about what?”
“Why you’re here.”
“Why am I here?” Jerry taunted.
“Because I am.”
At that, he got up and walked into the waning sun. Hands in his pockets, he stood in ankle deep water and looked across the lake. And then, he turned and walked towards her. He sat cross-legged on the grass facing her and leaned forward. “Excuse me, but we’ve never met. My name is Jerry.” He extended his hand. “My pleasure for the encounter.”
She sat there stoically without moving. “I hope so.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“What?”
“So frigging arrogant, sauntering up here with your bod that would cause a hundred guys to drop jaw and stare, plop your awesome looking butt in front of me, and act like you know it all.”
“You’re right. I left that crowd of guys back there.” She nodded towards the remnant milling around the canopies that bordered the sand court.
“And you just decided to swim from the sea and seduce me?”
“Am I seducing you? Excuse me, I just said, ‘Hello, hello’ as you stared at me as if a mermaid had mesmerized you senseless.”
He laughed nervously, this girl naturally in control of whatever was unfolding. “Okay, you got me. Not every day that a cowboy lying on the beach has a mermaid mesmerize him.”
“Don’t see any boots on you cowboy, but I’ll challenge you to ridin’ the bull.”
“You are a calf to be roped.”
“You wish. If I were to walk away, you would never see me again.”
“Are you?”
She looked into his eyes with her black diamonds.
They walked up the wooden stairs that he had descended earlier that afternoon. The feeling was déjà vu, a familiar spirit, yet he had never seen her before, or so he thought. In the lapse of an hour on the green shade of the oak, he had spontaneously invited her to dinner. As he walked with her, it made no sense to him. He was leaving for Australia early tomorrow morning. Christina was on a ship of mercy to Africa. His life was an upheaval of reality mixed with the paranormal and fantasy, this girl taking him away in one, yet the choice was his. What would tomorrow bring?
v v v
Excerpt from PURSUIT – A Matter of Choice,
a novel by Jeff Cambridge.
Author of transformational
fiction—
Realistic characters in real life drama that tell a story of
growth in wisdom and understanding that changes their outlook on life, where
achievements are no longer about self or competing. Instead, life is about
completing their purpose and planting a legacy of redeeming value.
To
read the scenes sequentially, begin with
“PURSUIT:
A Novel – Prologue”
Located
in the May Blog Archive. Click on the episodes and enjoy.
This
episode is pre-published. The book will be available Spring 2018.
Your
comments are welcomed and appreciated. Check one of the reaction boxes below,
write a comment, or email me at lightbycambridge@gmail.com.
This
novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses,
organizations, and locales are intended only to give the story a sense of
reality and authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
v
One mistake changes the course of three lives…
Jessie
– chasing the dark side of destiny
The daughter of an
alcoholic father in prison for manslaughter and a mother who has
abandoned her for her latest boyfriend, Jessie has but one objective in life – to find the big ticket out of her
miserable childhood.
Christina
– striving to bring comfort and light
The daughter of a
nurse who served in the Army medical corps, she follows in her mother’s
footsteps, pursuing her passion to care for the disadvantaged. A ballerina – a thousand eyes behold her, the dance
flowing seamlessly.
Jerry
– living in the grey of his circumstances
The son of a
sixth-generation Kansas rancher, his desire is to make it rich – to find the American Dream. A
cowboy with a tender heart and crystal blue eyes, he finds love in unforeseen
places.
An
allegory of destiny and choices,
of
wasted dreams,
of paths
that lead to nowhere…
of
trials, we face every day.
PURSUIT
Where
will the chosen path lead?
v
Copyright 2018 © Jeff Cambridge
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