BED & BREAKFAST

CHAPTER 13 - Wings and other things

"My dear Elise,"

(Her writing slanted forward, every letter 'r' written with a capital and ending in a small flourish.)

"I have been thinking about you.

You were too serious all the time with us, I could see this. And you were sad, maybe you were thinking, comparing, non? Thinking why you carry love in a computer? We heard you typing in the night. I said to Daniel, maybe Elise has a lover faraway?"

(Ohhhhh! I 'd paused on this opening paragraph during every one of the dozen reads. "Typing in the night". Yep. That was my "lover faraway" but how the hell- I'd assumed her too preoccupied with her extolling of their LOVE to not only be scrutinising the emotions on MY face but forming conclusions based off them?)

"Daniel and I wish you wings, my dear. He said the same to me, the first time we met. He said, "I wish you wings Marie, so you can always fly to me."

He said, when you have wings and you can fly high, everything looks small. All the problems become small. You can see them, but they can't hurt you, or anyone else, because you are bigger than them so you are not scared, yes?

So, I wanted to write to you and say always look down from up high Elise. Not up from down there. From down there, you will always be unhappy because you believe you cannot fly.

But you have to accept, oui? That you have wings.

We hope to see you again soon, with a happy smile and not with a computer. I will cook vegan. For you. For him, I will cook meat. You understand.

Daniel and Marie x x"

...............................!

Really? My weed-infested brain (Funny comparison! Or was it the weed made it funny?) was in severe bitch-mode. I'd suffered through some heavy days of internal upheaval and she'd sent me this? Really? A fucking pep-talk?  Like I was some teenager... like I needed guidance... like I was floundering- Witch!

What had she seen in her crystal ball then? My miserable "love in a computer" life? How dare she assume I wasn't exactly where I was supposed to be huh?

... Truth be upheld, (and I won't bore you with the rest of the above, it gets repetitive) I repeat,(yeah...) I had no idea what was coming at me. She'd featured a lot in my dark hours; this though- it didn't exactly feel like a beacon of light. The witch was gloating! I was sure of it. Wasn't I? Was she a witch? Was she a good witch? Was she even bloody real? (I am just entering the next cycle as I write this, bear with me please...)

"NO!"..............................

"No!"...............

"No?"......

"Yes?"......

"Yes."...............

"Yes..."..............................

Okay I'm there. (I saved you these details too. They weren't pretty; especially towards the end.)

So.

"Who the fuck am I to assume such a status as deserved?"

I'd been an awful guest. A bitch (internally) for the most part. I didn't merit her kindness.

But she'd given me a word again. "Wings" (You get by now how my mind works, right?) I sat and examined that one word for hours. I had no wings? How did one have wings? How the hell could wings be wished upon another? How did one receive said wings from another? (The word itself of course having dual meaning for the both if us since it also alluded to 'physical wings' and bridging of physical distance.) Hmmm.

So of course, I tried interpreting it thusly. Which got me into all sorts of mental messes. For instance, I spent quite a time mired in: Do I have to use physical wings in order to understand the concept of "look down from up high"? This necessitated overcoming the biggest of fears- one I've kept between myself and him till now: How much worse will it be, living knowing what I would then know? Yep, back to that. Now, I don't quite know what I am missing- I mean I know what I am missing, but in theory?

What happens after my wings take me there eh? Be it a minute, an hour, a day, a week, be it a coffee or every imagined scenario in both our heads becoming real, what happens when I come back home with that now in my head? What will missing mean then- when I hold tangible memories of having had me some of it?

Do I come home and what... resume the clacking back and forth KNOWING exactly what it is I am missing? Could one do that? The collision between the virtual and the real; which of the two would make it out with the least personal injury?

I hate me sometimes. I don't know if it's the opportunistic writer or the nun shrugging off her habit or perhaps the two in tandem. I hate the me who thinks the above. Why think it? Why introduce further dis-ease when I am barely coping with the existing lot?

The plight of having an inquisitive mind: No such thing as "leave well alone". No. That, in fact, is an invitation to anything but leaving it. You'd think - going back to the damn steps again - you'd think I've learned my lesson, accepted that they can only ever be seen in hindsight. Yet here I am, attempting as always to anticipate, maybe even direct?

Yes, the romance within this letter did infect me. I had that to contend with also. The kindness in the gesture and the LOVE producing this kindness. Yes, she knew of me, but since that knowledge was discounted early on, she'd in effect extended a hand to a stranger. A friendly, guiding hand.

The irony. To now be heeding guidance from another myself?

Elise, you are one fucked-up specimen.