Singularly Yours

#saturdayscenes #weekendchallenge

(1) Kiss Off

Drumbeats awakened me. Drumbeats that came from inside my head and hurt like the proverbial bastard. Each downbeat cupped my eyes from the inside and threatened to hurl them through my exploding skull. Which would have been a good thing; ending the drumbeats.

I sat up quickly, hoping the change in attitude would put the kaibash  on the cranial percussion. Big mistake. A wave of nausea, strongest I had ever experienced, threatened to drown me. I clamped my jaw and bolted for the head; only I had literally gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. I bolted straight into a blank wall.

I got my bearings and navigated to the head just in the nick of time.  The ensuing technicolor prayer service at the altar of the porcelain goddess was spectacular, and reached back to last Tuesday's lunch; but, It did take the nausea with it and quieted the drumbeats to ibuprofin manageable levels.

An extended, hot shower- well it was eventually hot, once I reacquainted myself with the arrangement of the hot and cold valves - gave me the opportunity to gather my wits. I had very little to go on. The details of my immediate situation were pretty fuzzy. I mean I remembered the party celebrating the discovery of the library and the codex, sort of, but how it ended, how I got here, and how long ago it had been, were all lost in the fog.

Shower done I threw on some fresh clothes. I didn't bother shaving, handling a razor in my current condition was not a good idea. Coffee was the next order of business; and the paper.

I ground the beans, Costa Rican medium roast, set the former to brewing and downloaded the latter.

That was when I saw the collection of objects on the kitchen table. A set of keys, a watch, an empty cocktail glass, and a sealed envelope, held down by the glass, with the hand written words I'm sorry on it.

I went right for the envelope. It held a single sheet of unlined eight and half by eleven, unlined paper. Good stuff, heavier than copier paper, one of those off-white colors with a fashion conscious name like ecru or bone, like you would use for a hard-copy resume`. The writing was a clear steady cursive in black ink.

Dirk,
   You are brilliant and gorgeous, thoughtful and the kindest man I have ever known. But. You are not mine. That far away gaze you get - I know where you are - in her arms. On bottom with your true love.
   I should be able to deal, but the fact that I can't makes it worse, makes me into some kind of clinging demon. I can't be that, especially to you.
   Don't come looking. The transfer came through last week and by now I'm off station enroute Nexus.
   I will always love you. This is about me not you. Stay strong, I know you will. And by the way, the chandelier bit is getting a little stale.
Karie
 
There were three spots where the ink was washed out and had run. The cocktail glass wasn't completely dry. I was able to get enough moisture on the tip of my finger to make a fourth spot. Damn OCD.

I read the letter twice. Sat down with it and a cup of coffee, one cream only.

I was stunned; but not for the reason you might think. You see, my name is Rick, not Dirk, and to the best of my knowledge, I've been on my own for the past five years. I don't know anyone named Karie. But the chandelier? I knew exactly what she was talking about.

(2)

So. Where did this leave me? Clearly something monumental had occurred last night. Beyond the discovery celebration. Either the stress of the last few months, let's be honest, years had triggered some strange form of hysterical amnesia, or sometime in the last twenty four hours I had exchanged my world for this world. Not totally farfetched given the work we were doing.

Fundamental structure was the same. Significant details were different, alarmingly different.