― Lorin Morgan-Richards
Nuanced Transitions
I feel I'm living two lives―the one I call my everyday reality and the other a shadowy dream existence where I process a life that's dead.
Back in the Twenties I was called Cole Turner and was a reporter for The Toronto Telegraph―and that's about all I know of my past other than my troubles with women and the fact they're still ongoing. It's reminiscent of a classic novel, updated in a revised edition, the only difference, the shiny new cover.
And the two woman in my life, Kate and Gemma, will always conflict and always tempt me, regardless of times or appearance.
I was mulling over all these things on my way to Kimberley Connor's office―she's the historian who provided the few facts I knew about Cole Turner.
I hoped I wasn't going to be viewed as a pest by her because I knew grounding myself in solid facts was the only way to lay to rest these ghosts from the past.
I caught her just as she was exiting her office.
"Hey Si," she called out to me while grappling with her briefcase, balancing a sheaf of files and finishing a call on her cell. Yep, she was harried.
Obviously, not a good time, I mused, giving her a pained smile I hoped conveyed that thought while I disentangled her raincoat belt that was wedged in the door she was trying to close with her butt.
The belt was freed, the door closed and I gave her a smile, intending to come back another time. But she waved me back, ended her call and handed me the sheaf of files that was weighing her down.
"I'm just heading over to Victoria College," she gasped, "but I also wanted to grab a coffee at The Human Bean--we can talk on the way and if you need more information, I can spare you about fifteen minutes there."
"Sounds like a plan," I laughed. "Obviously, your life is busier than mine."
"Not if you're toggling between the present and past, which I suspect is the case with you. But don't worry, I won't pry and I don't mind trying to help in any way I can."
"Thanks, Kimberley. That's very generous and kind of you."
"Famous for it," she smiled.
I didn't doubt it for a moment.
"I take it you want more information about Cole Turner," she said as we walked through the rain splattered campus.
"I am interested in Cole because after 1923, he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth."
"I don't think the people in Squamish would be happy to hear their town characterized that way."
"You mean he went west to B.C.? No wonder I couldn't track him."
"Not only went west but stayed there a few years until Genevieve finally tracked him down."
"So, he didn't leave the country and Viv, I mean, Genevieve actually sought him out?"
Romantic, isn't it?" she laughed and then saw my confused expression and decided she'd better explain.
"You got me intrigued with the story, so I went back through some of my great grandmother's papers and found a diary entry that gave me that information. Seems Genevieve really loved Cole and I'm not sure of all the details but I do know she convinced him to come back east with her. The threat from the bootleggers was gone and there was no reason for him to hide."
"But why no further mention of Cole after this date?" I moaned, "he was a well-known reporter at the time."
She shrugged. "Apparently, he gave it all up and settled down with Genevieve in a small town just outside of Toronto. He actually sold real estate for a living. Hard to believe, huh?"
"Not really, I smiled brittlely, "it kind of makes sense."
"He died in the late 1980's and is buried out there beside his wife. I'm not sure of the exact date."
Maybe Kimberley wasn't sure of the date but I had some idea of when it could be. My birthday was June 1, 1987. I wasn't sure of how this business of being reborn worked, but I knew he wouldn't have died before that date because I was waiting to take his place.
As a matter of fact one of my earliest memories was a fuzzy image of being somewhere up high, as if perched on a shelf, waiting for an opportune moment to finally come down.
I know, it all sounds so improbably mystical, but I’m just saying it’s my earliest memory and it has to mean something.
But now I feel like my head is full of bumblebees and I can’t stand the buzzing any more. I need to go home, take a walk with Mollie and clear my mind of all these confusing images that keep coming at me.
Who knew trying to unravel your dreams could be so upsetting?