Last Taste of Summer ...Trapped in Limbo
Here I was, standing in my own front room but back in the Thirties, and of all improbable things, I was flirting with a ghost while my wife was away for the afternoon.
It was risky and incredibly stupid and what made it maddening was the fact that the lovely spirit who was enchanting me didn’t take things seriously.
She was laughing, champagne flute held aloft in her delicate hand. I grabbed hold of her slender wrist, tightly.
“Ouch—that hurts!”
“Look, Blythe—this isn’t a joke, or a dream—this is real.”
“It can’t be Silly—you say you’re from the future, so, you’re not even born yet. Say, maybe that means you’re not married yet…”
“Don’t even go there,” I hiss. “You’re gorgeous and I’d like nothing better than to have an affair with you—a fling, as you call it—but, like I said, I am married, and I am in love with my wife.”
That seemed to sober her a bit.
“Obviously, that’s true—if we were really in my time, you’d have no memory of a woman you hadn’t met yet.”
“And if I were truly in my time, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you.”
The realization that she was from the 1930’s and I had somehow blundered into her time slowly began to dawn on her.
She frowned. “It does raise a question,” she muttered, “where exactly, or more precisely, when are we right now?”
I stared at her. “I have no idea.”
A cloud crossed over her features. “Do you think we’re stuck here in some kind of limbo?”
I stared back at her speechless. We sat opposite each other trying to come to terms with the mystery.
The whole bloody thing struck me as absurd. I began to laugh. I remembered some lines I memorized in school and muttered them aloud:
Time travels in diverse paces with diverse persons. I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Her eyes grew huge. “I know those lines—they’re Shakespeare. I recall them too. And for whom does time stand still?
She gazed deeply into my eyes, “For us, Dawes—for us.”
I nodded bleakly. “Yeah, but for what purpose, Blythe?”
“I don’t know. Moods of weather create their own atmosphere. You know how rainy days are perfect for curling up before the fire with a book? Maybe they also provide the right conditions for other things too.”
“Like time travel?” I snorted.
“Who knows? Maybe.” She grew pensive for a moment. “Tell me, Dawes, are you comfortable in your time? —I mean the era in which you live.”
I shrugged, “Not really. We live in a society of fast walkers – people didn’t walk as fast in the 1930’s and ironically, housewives spend about half as much time on housework – and have appliances and all kinds of free time and don’t know how to use it to justify their lives.”
“That’s so odd. I hate my time. I always envisioned a future where women would be liberated—free from roles and drudgery—able to travel anywhere on earth at a moment’s notice, free as birds.”
I sighed. “We do have free time, but what’s the point if there’s nothing to fill it with? Anyway, why do you think we ended up here—in this Limbo?”
She shook her head. “I have a friend who’s a writer. He’s a kind of mystic, I think. He’s got this theory based on ancient texts that we’re tied to certain moments and certain people.”
“That sounds plausible,” I mused.
“Just picture it, Dawes—there’s this golden cord trailing behind us, that tethers people. It permits a certain radius of freedom but becomes entangled in relationships. In troubling ones it becomes knotted, and in devastating circumstances, it becomes broken and the person floats freely away, drifting like an untethered kite for all eternity.”
“Don’t tell me that’s happened to us.”
Her eyes were moist.
“Is that what happened to you? I asked.
She didn’t answer for a long while. “No, that is not what happened to me. I was afraid it might happen to me, so I remained behind the shelter of these walls, safe from pain and suffering.”
She stared into my face intently.
I had my answer.
I like how this part was developed, @johnjgeddes. I like to think that there are people who meet in every time, that in every life they have, they are crossing like lines that are made to join. Sometimes we are not so comfortable in our time, that we prefer to travel to other times, other spaces, even, to isolate ourselves. The fact that he is a writer and that he owns an old house perhaps makes those spiritual journeys easier! Ah, remember that it all started because Dawes' wife wanted to travel, to go out! Maybe a little vacation and a change of space, can air your mind. Nice Thursday.
Yes, I believe we are meant to be with the people that surround us - our circle of flesh - and in the era where we find ourselves. I don't know why we are drawn to certain other eras - I'm fascinated with the 1930's and am drawn to certain types of people who, like me, are conflicted and reclusive
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thank you for post
thanks
What a beautiful house