Stirfry Neon

The infinity of colors must have included the golden depths of tequila, the twinkly veridian wink of absinthe and the variety blend that is hootch, because I came back with exactly that kind of a headache.  First step: pick self off pier. Second step: sit down on something solid. Third step: blink.  Fourth step: well, that would involve language you really don’t want to see transcribed for fifty tweets as *(&^_@^#(+^(@(^@%!(^(@+! Fifth step (always a good sign when I can count higher than three): close my eyes, ignore the pain, and try to remember what Mace’s sisters had wanted to show me so much they didn’t care if it blinded me…well, to be fair, they might not have cared anyway. My middle name could very easily be Acquired Taste.

But it isn’t ; )

I saw the map in my head; I wouldn’t put it past the Daughters to have remapped the folds of my brain into the path required. And to have burned the goal into the area behind my eyes. the maze, the labyrinth, the original, his original home and prison, the buried maze of the King of Crete, the ever lost Atlantis, and where I had a vision of Mace weaving a shawl of water, weed and tears. I was going to have to call in a favor.

She might have been a daughter of Poseidon or an even older god. Or maybe she had just been created when a wave leapt high enough to kiss the moon. That’s what she looked like, moonlight and sea foam in motion, swimming easily in air and water. She never set foot on land , probably because I’d never seen that she had a foot. I’m sure she had a a name and I might have known it, but it was a name to be whispered into the wind, in the hope of a distant reply. I needed more than that. Which is why she’d left me with a stronger memory of her than just a kiss. She’d left her face, surging toward toward the waves, about to break through to the sky. I took a deep breath, I did like air, although I missed the city tang, and it would be my last breath for awhile. With her face in my mind, I leapt off the pier (well, stepped into freefall and tried not to think about it) and remembered. There was laughter behind me. Of course, they’d stayed to watch my stumbles. It’s always better in 3-D, without the weave and with the Sensaround. But I was busy remembering flow and motion and weightlessness and a solidity that sheltered my ears and a splash that that sparked new hungers. And the blue that shimmered until there was a green that became the intelligent embers that shine in her eyes.

She wasn’t unhappy to see me. She was just unhappy about Mace. That made two of us, for different reasons. But we were both sorry to cut short the swim.

Well, I was especially sorry because I happened to be swallowing a lot of water at the time. The trouble with the ebb and flow of both words and relationships is that sometimes because something sounds good or looks right or seems that way, you start to think that’s the way it is. When the way it is is actually: you should have tossed a few more messages in a bottle, chump, or made some time for madcap moonlight swims BEFORE you needed the favor. Right, noted. Sounds lyrical doesn’t equal don’t need to be able to swim. She stayed to watch me struggle; I’m getting that reaction a lot recently. Note to self: more messages, more texting, more concern, more communication — people like that. Skip the flirt and run — or flirt and drown approach. Be honest. Or be like me (you’re really not here for advice on getting the lovely ladies (as you all are) not to throw things at you, are you? Smart that) swim like heck in the other direction and don’t look back.

Someone must have knitted me a lifeline because I eventually woke up on a moonlight shore, hacking up seawater in a very unromantic fashion.  The crescent of moon sliced the night like a bright sail and the stars scattered like wave droplets.  I was exhausted as you can only be from being battered enough by wave, disdain and adventure to make you miss all of a day. Not the best way to make the dawn to dusk traverse but I was here, alive, and reaching into my pocket for a very soggy chocolate bar. So +3 there. And it was quiet enough that I could actually do something more complicated sounding than thinking like mulling or pondering or cogitating or brooding — well not brooding, that might attract feathery friends and I did not need a Harpy or Fury visit. Pegasus yes, but they preferred popcorn to chocolate.

Rule of thumb #68: when in doubt, walk it off. That I could do, after I wrung the deep out of my clothes. Head inland with a merry whistle ; what could be wrong with that strategy?