Stirfry Neon

Ever have one of those dreams where you just run and run and your heart pounds and you know, just know that if you stop, if you falter, the footsteps behind you get closer, the dark trips you up and the laughing, well, you’ll never know if the laughing ever stops because all you hear is nothing…

Then you wake up.  That’s why I have a cat, really, so I know it’s not the dream.  Night terrors can’t survive the actual terror of a glaring cat you’ve disturbed with screaming and/or thrashing or forgotten to feed before you were thoughtless enough to pass out from exhaustion. I couldn’t stop running, this was no dream, the Minotaur had crashed larger than life through my front door (never have a front door, too easy) and was currently dealing with the wrath of the Fluffy One. She doesn’t like visitors. She doesn’t even like me…and I don’t have a cat, that was braggadocio talking, the Fluffy One sauntered through my office door one day and appointed herself my keeper one rainy night. I hope she left a few deep scratches on the bull man before she ran for the underside of the furniture. The run was leaving a very deep stitch in my side. No laughing, no roaring, no pounding steps or threatening roaring behind me…time for a pause to see how far lost I’d gotten myself.

I didn’t recognize the neighborhood. The alley grime was a higher quality, the graffiti practically Banksian, the newspapers underfoot pink.  I leaned against a wall, and shoved a few bottles and bruises aside. They only whimpered a little.  Oh, no that was me, as I slid down the wall. Good feeling that, bricks ripping cold into my single layer of shirt. Time to loosen the tie.  And burn it for warmth. Don’t need anything helpful :/ people might decide to use as a noose. Not a good look on me. Less popular than the rack or the Iron Maiden or anything that might have been used in the Princess Bride. That’s what I needed, a mask. Batman, Green Hornet, The Shadow, they all had masks — and millions. But maybe a mask would help. Yes, lack of oxygen, exhaustion and caffeine withdrawal have made me a little punchy, thank you for your concern, and yes, the tie does look dashing with two holes poked in it and tied askew like like this. And dashing is dangerous. Wasn’t that in the manual? And if I’m going to have to face Mace’s sisters, a little touch of dash and danger can only help.

I think this is the right neighborhood, I have a sense that someone’s weaving a path for me to follow. I only hope they’re sending the bull in another direction. I closed my eyes behind the tie, yes, you guessed it, I did not ruin a perfectly good piece of sartorial flair. I’m just reluctant to admit that I plan to take on the next part of the adventure blindfolded. I’d rather not know where I’m going or see what I’m in for once I get there. And I didn’t want you to think I was more than a little insane this early in our relationship. But there are some rooms too well lit and and some futures I’d rather not see written. So, we’ll go blindfolded into the night and have faith that I’m not the only one Mace sent a dream message to.

I stood and closed my eyes behind the tie, and thought about Mace, but not behind the counter, instead I focused on her hands, on the skeins of wool she kept wound, on the needles clicking in and out, creating patterns, on the colors wrapped around each other, on the yarn leading toward her, a twisted pattern of dark grey and darker blue, warmed by a little indigo thread getting pinker and larger as I walked my way out of the night and into the future I had waiting for me.

I don’t remember how long or far I walked, or if I was awake the whole time. When I finally stopped, there was the smell of water and the hunger sounds of seagulls. I stood, listening to the rustle of fabrics around me, I felt someone approach behind me and take off the tie.

“Speak.” The command tone, always fun, especially when they hold back the echoes that could move the sea.

“She sent me. The Minotaur’s in town.” Silence demanded more, my honesty was needed for a sacrifice to the Daughters of Necessity.  ”I can’t find her. And I always do.”

And in the silence, I’m sure they heard the whispers of my fear. Being who they were, seeing what they see, I’m not sure what they thought But honesty was what they demanded. And I was afraid. And I missed Mace. But that far into honesty, we weren’t going. None of us wanted to. Sometimes, you don’t have to look.

“Look at us.”

Irony has never been one of my favorite branches of humor…I mostly stay in the sarcasm/hyperbole lanes. I feel safe at those speeds. I opened my eyes, saw into the day, into the dawn. Beauty screamed an infinity of colors.

And I was blind.

The need for coffee and the pound of rain were the twin rhythms running my heart at the moment…throbbing, pounding rhythms of ruin. Ruin, rain, lost, lace, Mace, pace, make, race, trace, place…my place, word association game over, draw conclusions at will, but my place was the only solution to the coffee dilemma…I had some stashed in case of a dark night like this, somewhere, I think. And I might remember if I had some…well, enough coffee talk because right about now, you’re wondering why you stopped by.

It’s the same reason I did. You want to know what happened to Mace. I do. And I intend to find out…no lady lost on my watch. But first, we have to get through this. It’s a bond moment, where we start to trust each other, a little faith that there’s a bit of knowing laughter and you’ve been here too. And there’s a way out. And we’ll find it.  Stay tuned.

Okay, I slept, nodded off, bounced my chin off my chest, succumbed to the rhythmic lull of a milder universe than the one I currently exist in. Okay, maybe I needed to. And okay, maybe I should try to meet up with sleep more often. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve mentioned this once or twice in my hearing. Well, don’t waste your time. I’ll do what I always do with good advice from practical people: shrug it off. Shrug it off like the warm cozy blanket keeping me warm in the cold clammy dungeon air of the dream corridor. Yes, I’ve walked here before, the raw semi consciousness that we all share in the dream state. We could meet, but I don’t think you’re ready for this particular passage. The torches spit in the gusts, the two foot long rat tortoises hiss as they slowly slither (dreamscape, people, I mentioned you don’t want to visit). The cold seeps off the dank stone walls covered in a glowing golden bioluminescence that makes you itch rather than giving off any kind of comforting warmth. There were scraping noises, a distant scream and the continued hissing/slithering of various native species. And there was a corner coming up.

I turned it.

I’d turned it before, in another dream, a darker one, where I’d been alone. Now I had the feeling I was on my way to a meeting, one I’d been moving towards for a long time, with someone I knew but suddenly couldn’t remember. Then I saw her. And she screamed.

No, I screamed…or she looked behind me, into my apartment and screamed out a warning as my door crashed down and something pulled at my sleeve. Detachable doors and detachable sleeves; I learned about them the hard way, early in this business of sudden dangers and swift retreat. Don’t give your opponent anything they can hold onto. Make sure you can slide away. I rolled, leaving my jacket in the Minotaur’s hands. His shaking, shovel like hands that ripped through the fabric as I raced to the fire escape.

“Where is she?” A bellow, of fury and fervor.

But I was slipping out, sliding down, slithering far far away from the red raging angles of a corner I had no intention of being backed into. He could try to follow, but I was dropping into my corners, my alleys, my streets. This was my maze and his confusion.  And I knew something else. There’d been a whisper, before it rose to a scream. The perfect lips had pursed, the amethyst eye had narrowed, and Mace had sent me to my next test and perhaps my only doom.

“Sisters.”

Meet the fam. We all have nights like this. I always have nights like this. And still no coffee with a night so young it should be carded and a problem so old it was probably the original tragedy (or at least ten of them.) The Minatour bellowed behind me and whispers of doom pulled me into dreams. I turned the corner at top speed as the dark laughed aloud.