Memphrey

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to real people or events is mostly coincidental.

"May I share something with you? A vision I had in my sleep last night — as distinguished from a dream, which is mere sorting and cataloguing of the day's events by the subconscious. This was a vision, fresh and clear as a mountain stream — the mind revealing itself to itself. In my vision, I was on the veranda of a vast estate, a palazzo of some fantastic proportion. There seemed to emanate from it a light from within — this gleaming radiant marble. I had known this place. I had in fact been born and raised there. This was my first return, a reunion with the deepest wellsprings of my being. Wandering about, I noticed happily that the house had been immaculately maintained. There had been added a number of additional rooms, but in a way that blended so seamlessly with the original construction, one would never detect any difference. Returning to the house's grand foyer, there came a knock at the door. My son was standing there. He was happy and care-free, clearly living a life of deep harmony and joy. We embraced — a warm and loving embrace, nothing withheld. We were in this moment one. My vision ended. I awoke with a tremendous feeling of optimism and confidence in you and your future. That was my vision; it was of you."

Major Briggs to his son Bobby

Twin Peaks (Season 2, Episode 8)

One

The vague light to the east.

The stillness of the air.

A high unfixed moan in the sky. A plane, maybe, stratospheric.

It's 4:49 a.m. and the great gods of the universe sleep between the fading stars.

I step onto the porch and close the screen door behind me. There's a new oil stain on the street at the end of the driveway. A dark pool against the lighter grey of the asphalt road. It wasn't there last night. It's not rain – we haven't had rain in so long.

I peer at it from the porch steps.

The newspaper is on the corner of the lawn, rolled and sheathed in its blue baggie. I never hear it come, never see it whistle through the window of a passing car. It's always already there, almost as if it falls nightly from the sugar maple like a leaf. I'll collect it later, when I get back.

The oil stain moves.

I stare at it hard, the night still too dark to make out much besides shapes and shadows.

It moves again.

An animal. A massive raccoon, a scoundrel, an ottoman. Maybe - probably.

I step from the porch onto the driveway, keeping my eyes on the beast. Is it keeping its eyes on me? My phone, with its flashlight app. I aim it at the road. Two bright pennies of light shine back.

We regard each other – warily, I assume. I take a couple of steps towards it and it doesn't move. Maybe it's blinded or frozen by the light or something. I don't know. I pause for thirty seconds or so, waiting. The raccoon just stands there. Finally, I give up and break the stare, switch off the flashlight app, release us.

Sometimes, lately, these guys speak to me, tell me things. Not this time, though.

I move around the car to the driver's side. The raccoon moves across the road to the Capatostos' breezeway. It stops there. I start the car and back it into the road. For a second I see those eyes again, along the edge of my headlights, along the edge of the Capatostos' house, under their kitchen window, but then the animal turns and is gone.