the contact of two chemical substances:
if there is any reaction, both are transformed.
― Carl Gustav Jung
Tess Woods
After my session with Elias I felt energized and emboldened not only to continue my quest to recover my memory but also to explore my family's past in West Harbour.
Tess Woods, the owner of Afterlife Antiques, knew something about the Yardley's and their connections in West Harbour and I coveted that information, although I suspect I also coveted something more.
She was incredibly beautiful and seductive and had lingered subliminally on the edge of my consciousness ever since I first saw her through the window of her store.
Obviously, there's unfinished business between us and the only question is whether it was in this life or a previous one.
Yeah, I'm succumbing to the mystical or as Elias would say, exploring deeper layers of the psyche.
But it makes me wonder if it's the culmination of the lives of my ancestors or if I'm continuing their lives again. I really don't know and it frustrates me, hence my complaint that metaphysics gives me heartburn.
I can see through the window Tess is already seated and waiting at a table in Tim Horton's. Even from a distance her colours brighten the room.
When I enter her eyes light up with the same spark of recognition I saw when I first met her and I take it as confirmation that part of her was responding consciously or unconsciously to our previous relationship.
All of this leads to an overwhelming question, but like Prufrock, I prefer to not ask what it is.
I just want to be with her...and hold her, although as 'new' acquaintances, that doesn't make much sense―but in my life, what does?
"Glad to see you haven't ordered yet," I say as I sit down opposite her.
"Why would I? You're buying lunch, or did you forget?"
"You're not someone I'd easily forget," I blurt out, and feel embarrassed at being so direct.
"I'm unforgettable, huh? Is that why you're late?" She points to the clock on the building across the street.
The hands of the clock show I'm five minutes late.
"It's not good to keep a girl waiting, Marcus."
There's something so familiar in her patter and the inflection of her voice that I'm completely disarmed.
"I'm so sorry," I try to explain. "I was driving back from a previous appointment. I guess the traffic was slow."
"Was she pretty?"
"Who?" I say, confused by her remark.
"I knew you were a player when I met you. You're not really interested in the cedar chest, are you?"
"I certainly am interested in the chest-―and I'm not a 'player' as you phrase it―far from it, believe me."
"Okay, Lothario, I'll have the chilli dinner with a medium coffee, no milk, and a honey dip doughnut."
She shrugs off her blue wool coat. She's wearing a white drop shoulder waffle knit sweatshirt that reveals her shoulder in a way that I had never thought sensual before, but I do now.
I admit I stared just a fraction of a second too long.
"Like I said, a player," she whispers in a sing-song voice that instantly melts me and fills me with longing.
"I'll be back," I croak hoarsely and hurry up to the cash to order.
I return a few minutes later with our trays.
"You ordered the same as me?" she asks.
"It seemed a good choice," I reply.
"You know, Marcus, to copy my moves in chess, might seem genius, but to flatter my taste in food is kind of lame."
"But I honestly liked what you ordered."
"Good. I'm a fast eater. I'll probably eat your doughnut, so you should order another."
What is it about the air in this berg, I muse, that turns everyone ravenous?
At that moment, she gazes at me with her dark eyes and I have my answer.