would believe the absurdity of it all.
― Shannon L. Alder
Seeking Wren
For the vast majority of people living dull, generic lives, normal is their daily routine―for someone like me who writes and lives with mystery, weirdness is my default condition.
Bad enough to have an alternative life in dreams, but to be hindered by memories of it that are indistinct and full of gaps? I mean, what sane person dreams about walking in rain with someone they love and then awaken to find their coat and shoes drenched?
It's mysterious and eerie and sends chills down my spine.
And it's absurd to not recall places I've been or the name of someone I've spent a lifetime with, wandering in that murky realm of sleep.
It's useless busting my brain thinking on these things, so I start making coffee, trying to get a start on my day because I'm expecting a visit from Lucas.
I could take Luc's reminder off my calendar and just set my clock to expect him at eight am because he never fails to show and is never late. Yes, he's obsessive but not just about friends, but also his dead wife.
Thursdays he goes to the lake and talks with her. Whatever the weather, he goes.
It's sad really, but in some way it comforts him and who am I to judge? I'm not even in control of my own dreams and I'm probably just as compulsive. Hell, I'm eating the same breakfast every day of my life and I just bought a house on impulse because of some mysterious connection with a ghost.
So, tell me then, who is sane?
Mollie's sitting beside me. Kate dropped her off on her way to visit a client and I'm thinking if she comforts me, maybe she can comfort Lucas.
It breaks my heart to picture him alone by the water holding a conversation with his invisible spouse. Mollie is familiar with that territory between here and eternity―she can navigate the changing boundaries of lonely waves and haunting heartbreak.
I'll offer her to him for the morning and see how he responds. If he refuses, no worries―but if he accepts, maybe she can help him find what he's seeking―out there, just below the horizon
Lucas arrives at eight, and knocks and walks in as usual.
"Man, it's a bit chilly out there today," he mutters, "It's almost the end of June. What gives?"
"Who knows―global warming? I'll lend you my North Face hoodie. Would you like to take Mollie with you to keep you company?"
"Sure, Wren likes dogs. She might enjoy seeing Moll again."
"Mollie always liked Wren," I smile.
"Aw hell," he chuckles, "Moll just loves being with women. I think it's their voices―not deep and scary like men's―but then, come to think of it, you don't exactly have an FM barritone yourself―maybe that's why she likes you."
"She likes you too, Luc," I remind him, while Mollie's pressing close and leaning against his leg.
"No accounting for taste, I guess," and he hands her a piece of toast.
"You're going to spoil that girl," I warn him.
"That's okay―maybe she needs some extra loving today―or maybe I do," he adds glumly.
"I'll come with you too, if you want."
He shakes his head. "No, when I start talking to Wren it'll just freak you out―especially when she talks back to me."
My jaw drops.
"See? That's what I mean. But Mollie won't mind―she likes women's voices."
I feel like my head's exploding but wisely keep silent. The guy needs comfort not an argument.
Luc grabs my hoodie and gets up to go and then, stops and looks at me. "I want to tell you, Si, you make the best coffee. And thanks for loaning me Moll―she always calms me. You're a good friend―I don't say it often enough, but I do appreciate you."
I've got a lump in my throat and my eyes are burning. I want to say something macho, like, 'Thanks, Man,' but am afraid my voice will break. I simply nod and look away.
"Cmon Moll," he says softly, "let's go see Wren."
Mollie 's tail begins wagging and she's whimpering with excitement.
"Don't spoil my dog," I call out to him.
"She's not a dog," he calls back, "she's a guide."
I couldn't dispute it. It was only half past eight in the morning and already I was so drained I felt like going back to bed.
But I was glad Luc was in my life. We could at least indulge our mutual weirdness.