The Gemini: Emancipation

23 - Revelation

June 6, 1997

Clouds. They never seem to be moving as fast as they are until they do. Once noticed, you're caught up in a potential dizzy spin. Nature's psychedelia. The most beautiful in Roger's eyes; sights that have seen all that any psychedelic could offer. It's all gray to him compared to southern French skies.

It's warm out. Soft breezes flying now and then balance out the heat, making it the comforting kind.

Grass. Blades green as money cushion his lay. Admiring the wonderwhirl above, he's never felt more synced with the universe than he does now.

Heaven.

On his way down afterlife's memory lane, earth's kaleidoscope becomes three dimensional. His lids shut a second too slow. Flower petals multi in color drop onto his face. Hed swear one touched his eyeball, the way it stung said so. Rubbing at it, it's no matter. He's all amused chuckles.

"Here nudda fowa," says Brie the garden bandit.

"Thank you, princess."

She's been bringing him flowers for a little while now. Roger gathered them into a mini bouquet on his chest where she'd set them. This is the first time she's brought only petals.

"Where's the rest of it?" Showing the skinny green end, "Where is the stem?"

Thinking apparent on her cute face, her young mind puts together an answer. She points near direction of the bushes, giving her version of 'there'.

"Dere in it." Running closer to the flowers, she points again, See.

Roger nods. "Oh, it's in the bush?"

"Yeah, buss." She returns to picking.

"Okay. Are you bringing more?"

"Yeah."

Watching her at task, Roger sees her method. Rather than yanking all an any that she sees, Brie chooses with intent. Making sure to pull the stem as well. Her fondness for the yellows makes him wonder if that'll be her favorite hue. He hopes so. No better color fits her being.

His happy girl. He's doing all he can to keep her that way.

The more he cleaned house the easier it became to do so. It's all still a pleasant surprise to him. Sure he's imagined it, but never did he think it could be this simple. All he had to do was stop fighting the tide and swim.

The peace that he has now proved worthy the risk. A conversation that nearly derailed his tomorrow.

April 1997

"I want us to get a divorce."

Roger's heart thumps. A thudding chug that his ears can hear. He waits. And waits.

The silent play, his internal muses.

He's certain that more than a minute must've passed. Jody hasn't responded a thing. He wonders if her heart is pounding too. He sure as hell can't tell. He's went over this scenario twenty times while in the back of that limo and none of the outcomes looked like this.

Stoic. Brown sugar irises stab into his own pupils.

Looking on at the definition of composed irritation, Roger can't ignore how extra fuckable she looks when she gets this way. When her cheeks redden a touch and her mouth purses prettily, making it's pout even lusher. When the soft peak in her brows climb, angling like delicate boomerangs ready to cut his head off.

There's a smirk begging to be let out. Gently, Roger allows it to play. Jody doesn't take too kind to the action. He doesn't realize, he's too busy thinking about her skirt. About how the olive green material wouldn't be too much of a hike.