Peeking Ahead
Written with my Thursday night group with the prompts: they stared at each other, never guess what we saw, the God of right there, keep peeking at, word got out immediately, somebody has to throw it away when you die, freedom to sing, relapsing/remitting, just stop asking, sensual seductive sleep, gulp, endless desert crystal sand, peanuts, born with wings, two spirits collide, sound of the dishwasher, inside a cave, happy are the happy
After a particularly unrestful night, Rebecca surrendered to a day of idleness, finally picking up a paperback novel that had been left on the coffee table. “Endless Desert,” the cover announced in a bold unserifed font. “Relapsing/Remitting Sand Crystals.”
Rebecca found the prologue intriguing: the story of a boy born with wings who led a life of adventure and daring. But the poor lad was so inarticulate that he bored everyone he met at gatherings and parties. Alone and rejected, he took refuge in a cave, finding community with fruit bats.
Rebecca was enchanted by the poetic description, but she found the plot to proceed way too slowly, so she anxiously kept peeking ahead to the latter chapters. Now the boy had discovered a great freedom to sing, imitating first the high pitched sounds of his bat companions, then the low hum of desert crickets and fat yellow bees that swarmed around florescent cactus blossoms.
Rebecca skipped ahead.
Now the boy was drawn to a man at an oasis fountain who was singing about the sensual seductiveness of sleep for it is only in slumber where two spirits may collide. Rebecca was concerned that this man might try to trick the boy. She skipped ahead.
The boy was gulping a delicious broth made of peanuts and peppers, a magic elixir that the man told him had the power to grant wishes. “Don’t do it!” Rebecca said aloud for she was afraid the boy might give up his ability to fly in exchange for a momentary spell of acceptance. The boy and the sorcerer stared at each other and the wicked man grinned as the boy drank. “This potion will make you bubbly!” he promised.
Rebecca could stand it no more. She skipped to the last page. The text began mid sentence: “. . . never guess what we saw, but word got out immediately.” Curious, Rebecca retreated a page back. There, on the penultimate piece of paper, centered mid paragraph, was the Goddess of Right There, looking indignant, yet as beautiful as ever. “You have got to stop asking,” she scolded. “Put this book down right now.”
Rebecca was taken aback, closing the paperback slowly as she stared up at the apparition. “Don’t you see,” said the Goddess, “the universe is folded like an accordion—just like this book. We are all enclosed within its pages. You may horde your photos and your knickknacks, your books and your shoes, your hopes and your fantasies, but someone else will have to throw them out when you die. Let it come, let it go, but stop sneaking a peek, for crying out loud! Happy are the happy, and you can be too.”
Rebecca awoke to the sound of the dishwasher, grateful for the smallness of her problems.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
