Anomalies, Pt. 4 of 4.

          Within twenty minutes, Scott's teasing more unified companions departed, leaving a promise to meet again at various other places in and about their hometown.  Scott watched their vehicles disappear from sight from beneath the cozy shelter before disposing of his empty soda can and venturing out in the open again.  A light breeze greeted him, and he took a deep breath while looking about and saw the first few convective cumulus clouds developing in a broken line along the far western horizon.  The sounds of passerine birds, meadowlarks, led him on; the swimmer further below captured his attention next.

          He walked a few dozen meters down a gentle slope and came to the top of a sturdy wooden stairway that zigzagged its way downward to another small, tree-sheltered picnic area in front of the small bay.  The structure was neatly tucked between boulders and small crevices, natural and man-made, and protected much from sunlight and storms by many tall poplar and birch trees.  He remembered that it was built by the Youth Conservation Corps under the supervision and aid of skilled carpenters when he was in elementary school; an observation platform marked where each line of wide steps went in a different direction.  Now, each of those beautifully stained junctions was etched with graffiti of lovers and losers, past and present, young and older, including that of his and hers too.  

          Scott stopped reminiscing about his past romantic experiences on the large stairway, as he came down the last few steps, and looked back up in admiration at it, before casually moving onward.  The thing was a nostalgic landmark, one of many, that told him that he was home again, but since an honorable graduation, he noticed a bad atmosphere in the area and among many of the people that increasingly touched his acute curiosity.  Most everyone seemed more informal and nervous, and the landowners, as he had learned from a barber, acted more defensive than before, especially since the big quake.  Something was still wrong -- eerie.  

          He walked across the up-kept picnic area appreciating nature's small pretty things: a pair of fluttering yellow butterflies above a table, an equally observant squirrel on a branch of an elm tree, and the random arrangement of fragrant wild flowers at the fringes of the place.  Then, he emerged from the trees and approached the rocky uneven shore, as Celeste came closer in the water.  Dragonflies darted in the air in front of each of them, like lovebirds leading lost sweethearts to an ideal reunion, and they soon saw each other at last from three score of yards away.  He smiled faintly, but she appeared to be in a blissful aloof state.  

          Celeste shifted her effort from a perfect breaststroke and swam the last two dozen yards toward him underwater with a skill he never thought she would ever be capable of.  While conducting the graceful task through the calm clear water, he gazed at her beautiful face, accentuated by a white turban swim cap, and trailing shiny bubbles rapidly from the nose.  Her large eyes and shapely body continued to show relaxation, and she emptied her lungs of air while surfacing in front of him where the shore dropped off steeply.

          He took her hand, cordially assisted her out of the water, and said, "It's about time we finally get to meet again, Celeste, but I thought it would be under much different circumstances.  Isn't that water pretty cold to be swimming in for long?"

          "I've had plenty of time to get used to it and other things around here by now," she replied, but never offered a hint of a smile or much recognition of him.  Instead, she proceeded to walk by him slowly on the broken rocks and removed her ornate rubber swim cap.

          He promptly discovered that his old friends were both right and wrong about her.  She was more taciturn and had much shorter hair, but it had a more auburn color to it too.  He also did not expect to be so alienated by her and felt neglected.  There had to be an explanation for the extreme lack of romance, and he intended to get it while following her into the trees faster.  The snug glossy black swimsuit she wore seemed to further enhance the mystery about her more than adequately then.  "Was her personality or memory still affected by the past traumatic experience?" he wondered.  

          Scott took her arm from behind and stopped her in the quiet picnic area again.  "Hey there!  It's me, Celeste.  Don't you remember, the brainy guy with the exotic fetishes?"  

          She caressed the right side of his face and showing more emotion, replied, "I'm sorry, but I am not the same person I used to be."

          "I know that.  You've been through quite an ordeal: several weeks in a coma, battered up badly, and -- "

          "And I don't want to talk about . . . it or . . . what happened.  Okay?"

          "Okay," he said, and held her shoulders, "but is it still possible to renew a good old friendship with some intimacy?"  

          "It might be.  I don't know."

          "Let me show you, Celeste."  

          Scott brought his face down to hers to deliver a kiss, but she emitted a short squeamish sound spontaneously while turning her head away.  It seemed as if she was completely unfamiliar with or afraid of the passionate act for some reason, and he drew away, exhaled loud in frustration, and said, "Still not convinced about us, sweetheart?  Come now.  I have to show you something.  This won't take long.  Then, I'll leave you be."  

          He led her up the stairs onto the first of the four supported platforms above the lower ground level and took her by the hand to a corner of the elegant surrounding balustrade.  They bent forward, and his fingers pointed to their names carved in the wood near the top of the thick corner post amongst the other various engravings.  A heart was around them and the date, but each was divided by a thin distinct crack now, to symbolize the rift that time and events created between them.  Both were paradoxically found and lost.

          "Do you think the quake back then caused that flaw too?"

          "I have seen it before," she replied, appearing unaffected.  

          "And what did we do after I put that . . . special symbol there?  I surely haven't forgotten.  Did you?"  

          Celeste looked completely ignorant, like an actress oblivious to her lines and whole part in a play of life, while he anxiously waited for the desired response.  Her face remained emotionless, and after almost another half a minute, he shook his head in disbelief and threw his arms up.  However, when he started to walk by her, she promptly held him close by the shoulders, pursed her pink lips for a few seconds face-to-face, and left him baffled by subsequently turning away and leaving fast.  He thought he felt her do more until then also.  Despite the revelation of knowing she had only mimicked his previous action largely, it was sufficient to strongly stir another volatile emotion in a sensitive observer hiding in the trees below -- that of jealousy.


Continues with "Informants" (3/'91).