Into You (14)
Created | Updated Dec 27, 2020
Into You (Part 14)
Consciousness comes slowly. I realize I'm still parked on the floor, sitting at the juncture of the two counters, slumped against the cabinet on my left. I blink and refocus my vision, noting the sunlight seems different from when…
I spasm and look at my hands, at my feet, then clamber my way up the cabinet. The quietude in my house unnerves me. After all the doings in the last two days, it gives me pause to think. It's later in the day; the angle of the sunlight indicates I conked out for several hours. The reason I lost consciousness was the tentacle attack by another blob thing. Or was it the same blob? If it was loose in the lab when Arlo returned, or if it had stayed on him, then it could have used him as a host. Then, it must have steered him to me.
But why? Why would it be drawn back to me? Initial contact? I've heard of ducklings that 'imprint' on a human caretaker, if the mother duck isn't available, and they'll follow the person as their surrogate. Maybe? Maybe…
So where does this leave me? Am I a host now? Maybe… I examine myself, observing the changes in my body and my thoughts. Physically, I'm as intact as I've ever been. I feel healthy, no aches or pains. But there's a shimmer to my skin, akin to having sunscreen slathered over my whole body. Mentally, I'm…
What am I? I feel as if I'm being logical, thinking things through. Perhaps a bit more than I usually do. Then again, I've always been reasonable. Yet there's something nagging, whispering in the back of my mind, an itch I can't scratch because it's not tangible, only manifesting itself in tiny hints and glimmers.
An image of Gerald flits through my thoughts. I imagine him standing on his back porch, looking toward my house, leaning toward my house, leaning and longing. There's a pull from the scene, a tug I feel almost physically. Despite the weakness in my legs, I stand upright, and find myself leaning, leaning, leaning.
'No!' I shout it out loud. '…no…' The thought subsides, fading quickly into the background of my mind. It shelters in my past memories, finding refuge in the forest of years. I choose not to pursue it or try to shine a light into the shadows.
I turn and check the time on the microwave display. There's time for a shower before my 'date' with Gerald. There's conflict waging a skirmish in my heart. I recognize I should keep my distance from him, that we have no valid grounds for a relationship. We're only neighbors. But I feel an attraction, a draw, a strange sense of kinship. I push the latter idea away and head for the bathroom.
After the shower, I dress in a light cotton dress with large bold bird of paradise prints. It's colorful, comfortable, and attractive without being sexy. I check the time again, cognizant of how close I've cut this to the appointment with Gerald for dinner. I rein in my thoughts and persuade myself to frame it in a more businesslike fashion; we are neighbors, only. Perhaps friends, but nothing more than that.
I walk to the kitchen and stand in front of the counter. The glass cake dish with the tart and the borrowed tote bag, laden with the Merlot and corkscrew, are sitting there, waiting for me to pick them up and take them over to his house. The decision is already made, yet I dither, second-guessing myself, re-examining my motivations and intentions. It's not a voice in my head, rather, a fullness of feeling, a surfeit of knowledge, a surety, a complete assurance this evening is the start of a new chapter in my life.
The time is close. I gather the tart and the tote, take my house key in a small clutch bag, and make my way next door. The evening breeze wafts the scent of barbecuing between our two homes. I inhale deeply and the aroma reminds me this evening holds so much promise.
The day is drawing to a close. The evening sun is waning, casting long shadows across the front stoop. I feel like I'm being painted in shades of amber and orange, warmed from outside, and simultaneously from a very different spark within.
Gerald answers the door. Our eyes meet and I feel an overwhelming sense of affinity. This may be more difficult than I at first thought.
'Lynne. This is good. Come in, come in.' He ushers me in and takes the cake dish, cradling it with great care. 'Wow! This looks good. Let's go to the kitchen and we'll set up all the final preps for the meal.' His eyes never leave mine as I step in and pass him, moving down the hallway.
When we get to the kitchen, Gerald stands placidly between the dining table and the counter. He turns and places the tart midway along the open space, then retrieves two small plates—stacked atop each other— and places them near the dessert. He also wrangles two small forks from a utensil drawer and places both on the top plate.
'I've already started the grill a few minutes early. It should already be at temperature, and I can put the steaks on…' He holds out his right hand, and it's steady, unwavering. 'Care to accompany me out to the back porch to get this show on the road?' He scoops up a metal serving tray with his left hand, balancing a spatula atop the two cuts of meat. 'Did you say you'd bring some wine? In the bag? Bring that out, too, okay?' He waits for me to acknowledge his request.
I nod and set down the tote on his dining table, the weight of it thumping a hollow note. I notice there's nothing else on the counters or the table. It raises questions in my mind. I pull the bottle of Merlot from the tote, along with the corkscrew, then take his hand and follow. From the first moment of contact, I feel a tiny surge, an infinitesimal pull, as if a faraway tide from a strange shore has risen behind me and is propelling me forward, slowly, gently, inexorably.
