New York City – Page 9 – A Piece, of the Sky

Ran sat in the well. The sky was white. The pods of newly unfurled leaves floated down, the donations of the beginning of spring. She stared up at the yellow-green waif-like plants, and then looked at the well wall in front of her, an impenetrable gray surface, down there in the gloom. In Maine, on Kaan’s property, she closed her eyes, soul moving around the darkened barrier, to a room beyond, a dim room, with red carpeting, in a château, in the south of France.

The room was ornate, set in a Baroque style. There was a grandfather clock, giving off a muffled clicking, over-wrought side tables and a resplendent golden davenport, made in Italy in the 1600s. A glass decanter of port sat on the heavy walnut desk of the study. The room opened out into a balcony. Translucent, white chiffon curtains floated upward, in the breeze of the late summer afternoon. Nealy stood just inside the doorway, with a glass of wine, in a beige three-piece suit and a red ascot, heavy golden rings on each hand.

Nealy turned as Ran slunk out of the shadows in the room, still wearing the jeans and cashmere sweater she had been wearing at the bottom of the well. The wind rustled some papers on the desk, held down only by a fountain pen.

“This needs to end,” Ran growled, “She is my girlfriend now, not yours.”

“How do you know that she ever stopped being my girlfriend?” Nealy asked. Beyond the balcony, the full, broad leaves of summer danced in the gentle gusts.

“She broke up with you years ago. We may look alike, but you’re on the other side of the world. I am the one she has now!” Ran said.

Nealy looked down, studying the glass of port, “No, you are the double, the clone. I am the true girlfriend.”

“Why, you -!” Ran choked out, and rushed forward, not knowing what she would do. But Nealy looked up, with a frozen glare. Ran felt herself transfixed, riveted with terror, under the unrelenting gaze. The pages got loose, from under the pen, and whipped around the room.

She woke up, eyes roving the ceiling, raking the room for any signs of the château, the chandelier, the bronze candlesticks.

Ran found herself back in her bedroom, in New York, Alli asleep, and unaware, reclining beside her.

Second image courtesy of Kristina Stipetic

Music:

Mendelssohn – The Hebrides, overture in B minor for orchestra (‘Fingal’s Cave’), Op. 26

who you are

Ran sat at a wooden table in Galanga. The dying rays of the sun painted the restaurant interior red, on a sunny afternoon in Noho. In a white dress shirt, with the collar unbuttoned, she fanned herself, to ward off the early spring heat, and took a shot of lao khao.

The Thai eatery was quieter than usual, drifting somewhere between lunch and the evening rush hour. Dallas appeared in an off-the-shoulder blouse and acid-washed jeans, heels clicking on the tile floor. She went right over to Ran, “Good to see you again.”

“I figured you’d might like cuisine like this,” Ran said, refilling her glass.

Dallas sat down and ordered a plate of fish cakes, with bird’s eye chili dipping sauce and lime, “How have you been?” she said, “I haven’t seen you in a while, not since that night at New York Central, I don’t think.”

“No, I’ve been busy,” Ran replied. She offered the rice whiskey bottle to Dallas, who shook her head, “I have a dinner party later tonight. That stuff is strong!”

Ran glanced at the label, “I wouldn’t have guessed. How did you manage this in Thailand?”

The fish cakes came to the table, “Well, they eat it with a ton of spicy, sour food, minced pork and grilled prawns – like peanuts or buffalo wings here.”

“Sounds delicious. May I?” Ran reached for a haddock cake.

“Go right ahead!” Dallas gestured at the plate.

“What have you been doing in New York, since you got back?”

“There’s this artist I want to sponsor, help her open up a gallery. A small one, here in Downtown.”

“That’s nice of you,” Ran dipped a second cake in the sauce, “Did you ever hear from your old girlfriend, the one who came back to the states early?”

“She lives up in Oregon now,” Dallas sighed, looking out the window, at the deepening sunset, “She said that her house is near an apple orchard. I thought she sounded happy.”

“Was she the soul mate you said you had met already, and it didn’t work out?”

Dallas shifted in her seat, “No, that was another one. From before.”

Ran refilled her glass, to wash down the salty cakes, “Not to pry, but do you ever think of her? How she is?”

“Sometimes,” Dallas said looking up at a point above Ran’s head, “I was wracked with guilt. I just walked away. I guess you could say Aspen, the second woman, was a rebound. I shouldn’t have done that. It made sense that I was dumped in Thailand.”

Ran sipped the burning whiskey this time, “If you could make amends, would you?”

Dallas looked at her, “I am not a strong person. That’s why I did what I did.”

The shadows were long, as the sun was eclipsed by the cityscape.

The plate was almost done; Ran pushed the glass away from her. She placed a few rumpled bills on the tabletop and stood up to go.

“I met Alli in Florida,” Dallas began, “She was such a powerful spirit. I didn’t feel like I could be the one for her, even if she was the one for me.”

Ran glanced down as darkness fell, “Do you feel like you could be there for her today?”

Dallas looked down, “No, I can barely be there for me.”

“She will heal, like Aspen,” Ran said moving around the table, to the door, “But can you heal? Can you avoid that from happening again?”

The brown bottle glinted in the pale light of the evening. Dallas regarded Ran, “I want to say I am a different person, but honestly, I don’t know.”

Ran nodded, “Take care Dallas.”

Outside, she walked several blocks, before lighting a cigarette and exhaling into the sky. Ran sat on a park bench, feeling the night’s first breeze, wondering if she had done anything for Alli.

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