Ancestral Versions

ghostly goo

The mist continued to fall on buildings that were shorter and squatter and sported more Mom-and-Pop grocery storefronts. The lonely car, or two, wound its way up the road, every so often, blinding Alli and Nealy with its headlights. They walked down the thin strip of sidewalk to one of the park’s entrances. The two followed the pebbled road, lit every few yards with black iron lamps, put in place at least twenty years ago.

They walked through the dark rows of trees, dotted with specks of lamplight. Late at night only nightingales chirped, and trucks honked in the distance. The two turned off main path, after main path, passing The Mall and the Carousel. Soon they were climbing up rock steps and pushing wet branches out of their way. A path that was barely stomped into the ground led to a muddy clearing, covered with red and yellow leaves, clustered by sopping, leaning trees. In the middle of the clearing was a ring of monoliths. Beyond them stood a wall marked by an unlit opening.

The orange clouds continued to roam overhead. They made their way over the slippery leaves, to the dark passage and descended the slick steps. They knew the way, even though the shaft was black as pitch. Both descended, until they got to a dirt landing, lit with a single brazier on sticks. Across the chamber a single wooden door, with black iron bolts, could be seen. Alli knocked. The guard drew open a latch and then, opened the door for them.

The guard ushered them into the main chamber, which was carved out of brown stone and lit with wrought iron candelabras along the walls. The room fit about a hundred people, and they were looking at the front of the room, where Old Archon, elected leader of the Young Avatars’ Club (Y.A.C.), stood on a balcony, in front of a small cave mouth, addressing them.

Old Archon had just finished his speech, “So, that’s our latest dispatch from our research group in Gilf Kebir. That concludes the updates for this week. I hope to see all of you at the benefit dinner, at the W Hotel, on Saturday.”

The room clapped, and Old Archon left the podium. The crowd dispersed to the little tables around the room, filled with the members’ own blend of red-colored punch, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.

Alli introduced Nealy to some of the other avatars, since Alli had been in Y.A.C. longer. They were for the most part college-educated young professionals, like themselves, with a keen understanding of a combination of comparative mythology, archeology and astronomy, as well as other fields.

The crowd split into two groups, filing into two black doors on either side of the chamber, one with a small blue flame symbol at eye-level and the other, with a red flame.

In the avatar room, stood a long wooden table and on the walls hung various tapestries of famous leaders of the avatars – numerous Sky Avatars, Thunder Avatars and Lightning Avatars. A large painting of the current Sky Avatar, Æon, in black armor and on a white horse, carrying a sword, sat behind the head of the table. Old Archon took this seat and about fifty avatars sat down on either side of the very tight room, with rock walls, also lit by candelabras.

After their meeting, the avatars filed back out of the tight, airless room and out into the cool main chamber, stretching their legs. The anti-avatars came out from the other side of the chamber, also tired and restless. Alli found Nealy and they joined the throng heading back up the dark, slippery steps.

“Shake Shack?” Alli said.

“Yes, please,” Nealy said.

“I’m so tired.”

“Why is it such a long way back again?”

“There’s going to be nothing but hobos on the train.”

“Or drunks.”

“We could take a taxi,”

“Some of the drivers are weird though.”

The night air was cold after a long time spent in the hot underground chambers. The rain still spat around them, and the tree branches creaked in the wind. Alli and Nealy said goodbye to Carlton and some of the other avatars. Tiny groups ambled around the muddy clearing, before the groups scattered, going in different directions, into the night.

Alli and Nealy clambered back through the trees to the main path, paved with cobblestones. The lamp lights hung in the autumn fog, that was beginning to rise from the earth.

“I don’t know why we still meet in that place,” Nealy said.

“Y.A.C.’s been meeting there since the park was first built,” Alli said.

“I know, I know. But it’s high time we expanded it, especially the side rooms.”

They reached the station. The rain was coming down harder now, splattering against the sidewalk. The two took the escalator into the now quiet subway station. They pressed their Smart Cards to the circles on the gates and the orange barriers rolled back, the sound echoing throughout the cavernous station.

Two trains came on the other side of the tracks, before their train came. Their car was empty except for a lone, grubby hipster, bopping his head to something coming through his over-sized Bose headphones.

iiJeNxytetWw

The World City

Do Not shake the Martini

Rainwater ran down the streets and pooled around the gutter. Kaan watched the downpour from the window of the bar and restaurant. The glass case of an edifice hung in the air, suspended a stone’s throw from Grand Central. The cars moved through the clotted street, thronging Midtown.

Kaan sipped her martini, stirred, not shaken. She sat in her usual black leather biker jacket, paired with ripped, distressed jeans. On her feet, she wore sandals.

Another woman, in a knee-length, pink chiffon dress, plopped down at the bar and ordered a vodka and cranberry juice. She swirled her drink with the cocktail straw. As she conversed with the bartender, her wavy chestnut-brown curls bounced with every exclamation of her bubbly personality.

The first drink was gone in no time, and the mystery woman ordered one more, again vodka, this time with lemonade. But instead of remaining on her stool, she now walked over to Kaan, drink in hand, heels echoing on the floor.

“Barefoot beatnik type?” she said, “Are you a punk rocker?”

Bleary-eyed, Kaan turned to her, “No. Who are you?”

The woman smiled, “I can see that you’re not on your first martini.”

Kaan’s eyes narrowed, “Did you escape from a debutante ball?”

“No,” she said, inclining her head, “What are you escaping from?”

Kaan turned away and looked back out the window.

Mystery woman let the stool spin until she was facing backward, elbows reclining on the glass table, “You don’t get out much, do you?”

Kaan glanced at her but said nothing.

“Where are you from?” the woman asked.

“Maine,” Kaan said, still looking out at the inclement weather.

“Originally?”

“No.”

The woman turned back around to face the same direction as Kaan, “You’re from here, aren’t you?”

Kaan nodded, taking a sip of her martini.

The woman in pink leaned over the table, to get a better look at Kaan’s face, “I live in Williamsburg, just a quick jaunt across the river.”

“Have a nice jaunt,” Kaan said, not moving.

“Be nice,” the woman cooed, “and I just might let you come along too.”

Kaan looked into her eyes, bright and sparkling, like a cat’s, “I just got done with a bad breakup.”

“How soon is ‘just got done,’?”

Kaan looked around for the waiter, “You know, maybe I should go.”

This new person cocked her head to the side, “Don’t be like that. C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”

“I think I’m far enough along already,” Kaan grumbled.

“Alright, well at least a club soda. My name is Beth, by the way,” she proffered her manicured hand to shake, a female handshake, with the hand descending from above, not extended from the side.

Kaan shook her hand, “My name is Kaan.”

“What a strange name,” Beth said, “Did you land here from Krypton?”

“Might as well have,” Kaan said, finishing her martini. She caught the olive with her teeth.

Outside, commuters whisked by silently. Somewhere, out there, Kaan thought, was Aspen, black heels clicking against the wet pavement.

“I want to say you’re one of the most interesting people I have ever met,” Beth said, as the club soda arrived.

“I wish I could say I believed you,” Kaan said, angling her stool to face her.

“I wish I could say I loved you, too,” Beth smiled, sipping her new drink.

Kaan raised her eyebrows, “You’re being awfully nice to me.”

“I’m a college friend of Ran’s,” Beth said. She ate the cherry in the cocktail.

“Oh, I see,” Kaan rubbed the back of her neck.

“‘Oh, I see’ indeed,” Beth grinned, leaning backward on the stool, re-crossing her legs.

“Well, I think you’re very nice,” Kaan said, putting the drink down, “but I don’t think I can be that person for you.”

Beth leaned back forward, soft dress crinkling, “You’re still beating yourself up, aren’t you?”

“How could I not?” Kaan shrugged.

Beth asked for a pen from a nearby waiter, and wrote her number on a cocktail napkin, “I’ll take a rain check Kaan. The night is still young after all.”

“Is it now?” Kaan smirked, taking the napkin.

“Don’t brood too hard,” Beth said, brushing Kaan’s hand with her own. She slinked off amid the bar, toward the hotel elevators.

Kaan considered the cell phone number, before looking back out at the congested street.

 

polygons

Music

Ravel – Pavane pour une infante défunte, for piano (or orchestra)

Chopin – Prelude for piano No. 15 in D flat major (‘Raindrop’) Op. 28/15, B. 107/10

Saint-Saens – Samson et Dalila, “Mon cœur s’ouvre à ta voix”