carefully. Trust is not something freely given in my world. It is something earned.”
“Your story involves me and possibly a link to my past. It isn’t yours to keep.” I feel her sorrow and remorse, but her will strengthens.
“You don’t understand. Our kind can be ruthless. We have the ability to sense lies and hear understated exaggerations. If questions are asked, they will know that you are hiding something. We have ways, horrible ways, to extract information when it serves a purpose.” As she says it, I know by the nearly imperceptible twitch on her soft lips that she experienced this pain firsthand. I decide to leave this matter unresolved and she gives me a look of gratefulness.
She slowly drags her right hand over the seat and console to touch mine, and she says, “There are things I need to…” As soon as our hands touch, the ache returns with fire. I feel myself becoming uncontained. As if outer-body experiences are based on truth, except my body is disappearing and joining hers. I am so frightened of losing myself that I knee jerk back with frantic response and nearly scream. The little car careens back and forth until Percy regains her composure. I turn to her and see the sweat formed on her brow.
“What’s happening to us, Percy?” I demand.
“I don’t know… exactly.”
Outraged, I say, “What do you mean exactly ?” I fill the last word with anger to guarantee she understands my position.
Yet she calmly says, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything. Please give me a little more time to sort this out. When I do, I’ll withhold nothing from you. Feel the truth in my words.”
I close my heavy eyes and shut off the outside world until all I can hear is my heart thumping blood in a soothing rhythm. Then, an unfamiliar beat begins to echo mine, but the timing is off by a fourth. I control the depleting adrenaline and let it flow out of my heart and absorb into my legs and arms where it disappears. My heart changes tempo and we are both on the same song in the same band. I can sense the continuity in her words; they are true. Feeling satisfied, I start my trek into the other world and allow the light to reenter as my surroundings take on a more tranquil ambience. I return a nod and settle back into review.
I recall the computer-engineered art back in the ‘90s that was blasted with resolute pixels and thousands of colors. It seemed as though it was nothing more than a splat of color-saturated wallpaper. Even when I focused with an unruffled concentration, the images hid, camouflaged in the myriad of shaded blues, reds, and yellows. I actually had to unfocus for a period of time before the picture revealed its surreptitious art. Airplanes, gardens, and other dull subjects were the substandard coveted prize. Sometimes it’s better to take a step back, rub my eyes, and look through different lenses. I’m hoping that this new piece of art that has me focused conceals a prize that is much more intriguing.
It’s a short drive from the young mountains of Frederick County to the jaded neighborhoods in Baltimore. Driving through the stillborn streets at the glacial hour of 11 p.m. on a Tuesday evening isn’t exactly a party. Even the prostitutes scurried indoors from the numbing cold and vacant corners. Yet, if one knows where the clubs are, the pulsating beat of electronica or rap swells with reverberating bass lines as twenty-somethings who haven’t joined the real-world experiment with new forms of debauchery. I was never into the club scene. Give me a rustic bar sparsely attended with soft background music that leaves me alone with my thoughts or at least the right volume for conversation. Tonight, Percy was pushing my social boundaries.
We park in a deserted parking garage just across from Philipp’s and cross the walkway that hovers above Light Street. A winter breeze chills a small group of drunken girls cradling the edge of the lightly frozen Inner Harbor running from one bar to
“Your story involves me and possibly a link to my past. It isn’t yours to keep.” I feel her sorrow and remorse, but her will strengthens.
“You don’t understand. Our kind can be ruthless. We have the ability to sense lies and hear understated exaggerations. If questions are asked, they will know that you are hiding something. We have ways, horrible ways, to extract information when it serves a purpose.” As she says it, I know by the nearly imperceptible twitch on her soft lips that she experienced this pain firsthand. I decide to leave this matter unresolved and she gives me a look of gratefulness.
She slowly drags her right hand over the seat and console to touch mine, and she says, “There are things I need to…” As soon as our hands touch, the ache returns with fire. I feel myself becoming uncontained. As if outer-body experiences are based on truth, except my body is disappearing and joining hers. I am so frightened of losing myself that I knee jerk back with frantic response and nearly scream. The little car careens back and forth until Percy regains her composure. I turn to her and see the sweat formed on her brow.
“What’s happening to us, Percy?” I demand.
“I don’t know… exactly.”
Outraged, I say, “What do you mean exactly ?” I fill the last word with anger to guarantee she understands my position.
Yet she calmly says, “I promise, I’ll tell you everything. Please give me a little more time to sort this out. When I do, I’ll withhold nothing from you. Feel the truth in my words.”
I close my heavy eyes and shut off the outside world until all I can hear is my heart thumping blood in a soothing rhythm. Then, an unfamiliar beat begins to echo mine, but the timing is off by a fourth. I control the depleting adrenaline and let it flow out of my heart and absorb into my legs and arms where it disappears. My heart changes tempo and we are both on the same song in the same band. I can sense the continuity in her words; they are true. Feeling satisfied, I start my trek into the other world and allow the light to reenter as my surroundings take on a more tranquil ambience. I return a nod and settle back into review.
I recall the computer-engineered art back in the ‘90s that was blasted with resolute pixels and thousands of colors. It seemed as though it was nothing more than a splat of color-saturated wallpaper. Even when I focused with an unruffled concentration, the images hid, camouflaged in the myriad of shaded blues, reds, and yellows. I actually had to unfocus for a period of time before the picture revealed its surreptitious art. Airplanes, gardens, and other dull subjects were the substandard coveted prize. Sometimes it’s better to take a step back, rub my eyes, and look through different lenses. I’m hoping that this new piece of art that has me focused conceals a prize that is much more intriguing.
It’s a short drive from the young mountains of Frederick County to the jaded neighborhoods in Baltimore. Driving through the stillborn streets at the glacial hour of 11 p.m. on a Tuesday evening isn’t exactly a party. Even the prostitutes scurried indoors from the numbing cold and vacant corners. Yet, if one knows where the clubs are, the pulsating beat of electronica or rap swells with reverberating bass lines as twenty-somethings who haven’t joined the real-world experiment with new forms of debauchery. I was never into the club scene. Give me a rustic bar sparsely attended with soft background music that leaves me alone with my thoughts or at least the right volume for conversation. Tonight, Percy was pushing my social boundaries.
We park in a deserted parking garage just across from Philipp’s and cross the walkway that hovers above Light Street. A winter breeze chills a small group of drunken girls cradling the edge of the lightly frozen Inner Harbor running from one bar to
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