Out of My Depth Part 2 of 2
So surreal…a Prof on vacation sitting in a roadside inn that looks like a Voodoo den.
Where has life taken me, and why did I consent?
I’m sitting in a window booth watching the hijinks of Hoss and his motorcycle gang while chatting with a biker chick dressed in leathers.
I’m a long way from the U of T and certainly well out beyond my depth.
“Are you visiting?”
I nod again.
“I figured. You don’t look like a local. Where are you from?”
“Toronto. I teach university there.”
Her eyes dance. “Really? What do you teach, Professor?”
My ears are roaring now and my pulse is racing.
“I teach courses on love and romance.”
“Well then, you must be an expert.”
I color up to the roots of my hair.
“I’d hardly say that.”
Suddenly, she changes the subject.
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
“We get into that with Bronte’s Wuthering heights,” I hedge, “but I suppose I do—I’m idealistic enough.”
“I thought you were,” she smiles. “I saw you through the window and thought you looked interesting.”
I look around and see there are other seats available. I begin to tremble inside and can hardly breathe.
“It’s really noisy and crowded in here—do you want to go to the beach?”
“Sure,” I reply.
I ask for the bill and pay at the cash register. She’s waiting outside, leaning on her Harley, her long legs accentuated by the tight leather chaps.
“Here, put this on,” she says, handing me a helmet.
I’ve never been on a motorcycle, but I’ve also never been with a beautiful girl. Who am I to deny the universe?
Once I’m securely seated behind her, she roars off down the narrow road and heads for the beach.
Soon, we’re lying side by side on the white sand in the shade of a tree. I watch the long white waves come rolling in.
The wind gently teases her hair.
“It’s kind of lonely,” she sighs, “ don’t you agree?”
“It is.”
“The sound of the sea,” she whispers.
She leans over and kisses me, softly at first, and then, deeper and longer. I close my eyes and drink her in—satiate myself with her essence.
We lie there in each other’s arms until sunset, and then a pale moon rises.
The ocean becomes a black wall of undulating water—just looking at it, gives me vertigo.
I inhale the jasmine scent of her hair.
I like Jasmine—it releases its fragrance while the world sleeps unaware of its beauty and truths.
And I like her.
Just being with her makes me dizzy and giddy.
“You are so beautiful, as lovely as the night.”
“Could you write a poem about me?”
“Yes.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say your hair is like dark trees of night that move upon the sky.”
“That’s beautiful, Paul.”
I stare at her lovely face barely visible now in the gloom.
“Why did you stop writing?”
I’m confused. Did I tell her that?
“I think I stopped writing when I stopped believing.”
She props herself up, leaning on one elbow, and looks sadly at me.
“Stopped believing in what?”
I’m swept into a vortex of rustling leaves and leathers.
“Stopped believing in mermaids, I guess.”
“You know, women will find you attractive, Paul—you draw out the soul through your words.”
I couldn’t see her distinctly in the darkness. Her words were some dark alphabet of letters obscuring her face—hiding her beauty.
If I saw her at all, it was through a trellis—a latticework of lines.
“The dreams you stir in women may be the only reality they’ll ever have.”
Did she say that, or did I think it?
Her dark mouth was on mine again and we lay back to the sound of the pounding surf and the cool night breeze soughing through the trees.
When I awoke in the gray dawn, she was gone.
I walked for half an hour back to my car and drove home.
I’ve been back to the restaurant. They don’t know her.
The waitress knows the motorcycle gang, but they never heard of Hettie or anyone matching her description.
“I wish a cool Mama like that would ride with us,” says Hoss, with a rueful smile.
I’m perplexed. I have no explanation.
I’s been a year now. I’m back in Toronto. Some nights I spend writing poems and others I spend on dates with beautiful women who say they like my tales.
They say I bewitch with words—I wish it were true, though they insist it’s so.
Sometimes, late at night, I drive to the lake and watch the long white waves rolling in.
I think of white sand, sea oats and chaps.
I think of the mermaid who gave me my beginning in this enchanted world.
https://goo.gl/images/TjmEFv
So, rescued from a Biker Gang by a Mermaid on a Harley, who Gave him back his poetry and the ability to Date Beautiful Women! What's wrong with that?, absolutely nothing.
exactly! Sometimes we all need an intervention:)
I have a thing for mermaids...
Just in case you missed this:
"The Mermaid and the Waterman"
I did...and made a couple of comments
Thanks... I forgot that you had visited...
Good to see you continuing here, my friend! :D
In the midst of all the changes, diminished rewards, loss of whales, and business of life, I've had less time to spend here. On balance, as a "manual voter," I've been able to do a slightly better job of steering the rewards pool towards my friends because I now have almost a week to catch up with articles that I miss... ;)
I know what you're saying - I've certainly spent far less time here as well... oft in striving to make things better...