Makes me conceive how dark I have become.
― Wallace Stevens
Early Morning Sun
The storm is over now, except for puddles on the road and no one would never know it.
But I know it―both the natural and human storms of last night. My lip's still bruised from Sarah kissing me hard― what the hell!
I'll never understand women's motives or what's happening beneath their brightly coloured surfaces.
Sarah's incredibly beautiful but married and I'm single and struggling to commit to Ella, wanting the simple life my dad had without troubling complications.
Is it me or her? I just don't know. Am I sending off signals like Seti into the void, or am I the plaything of Fate and malevolent forces?
Is this me, my life, or am I inventing some grandiose Shakespearean tragedy to justify my own darkness?
Yeah, such over-arching questions and the jury's still out on all of them.
While I'm in the midst of musing, there's another knock on the door reminiscent of the night before.
I feel paralyzed, almost afraid to answer thinking it may be Sarah.
I peek out and breathe a sigh of relief―Ella's on the porch waiting for me. I take a deep breath and answer the door.
"My car or your F150," she smiles, "which will it be?"
"Do you want coffee first?"
"Maybe for the road―I was up early and raring to go."
I laugh. "In that case, you drive. I don't want to break any laws."
"Or any hearts?" she asks sweetly.
I take another deep breath and try to be patient.
"Okay, this Rosa thing is getting old. She's got a boyfriend. And I've got you."
"Glad you know it," she smiles mischievously.
She has no idea how I feel right now. The last thing I need is complications―my life's stressful enough.
And as for Sarah, I'm sure she's embarrassed for stepping out of line last night and if not, then I have problems.
Anyway, when we're finally out on the road with windows down, I'm able to feel more settled. The wind is thundering in our ears making conversation almost impossible.
I glance over at Ella and realize how beautiful she looks with hair dishevelled by the wind and a rosy sun glow lighting her skin.
I don't know if I ever told her she's beautiful and for a moment it grieves me to think that oversight might have made her feel insecure―I hope not, because in the morning sun she looks absolutely gorgeous.
She spots my glance and arches an eyebrow, telegraphing, what are you thinking?
I reach over and gently caress her cheek. She smiles contentedly and a different shade of pink tells me she knows my meaning.
She rolls up her window and makes a circle with her hand for me to close mine as well.
The thunder stops and the silence between us is almost tangible.
"Ive been thinking, Scott―if Brock Ferguson is your man then seeing you on his turf may provoke him. Aren't you scared?"
I nodded soberly, "I am, but more scared of appearing unaware and letting him pick his moment. I don't want a threat hanging over me all the time―it's too much like Afghanistan. They used to call it battle fatigue but that doesn't even come close―it's absolutely debilitating and I have no intention of prolonging that feeling."
"I get it―Dad's the same way―he'd rather confront things than wait for trouble to find him."
"Neil's a good cop―and a good mentor. We're both lucky to have him.
The smile was back on her lips and it warmed me. She took as much pride in her dad as herself and that was a good sign in my books.
I was reminded of what Camus said that the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart.
I began to imagine myself being happy.