Having Style

Part Six

 

Trying to be sensitive to her feelings, Casey took his time before going back to the painting. He had all he could do to contain his eagerness to get started making the corrections. Before he picked up the palette and brushes, he said, “Would you mind making us some tea?”

Jeannette knew he was only asking for the tea to spare her the anxiety she was feeling inside but she agreed and went into the kitchen believing it was probably best she didn’t witness what could possibly happen. By the time the water boiled and she had the tea made, Casey had nearly completed all the changes. “You want it in there?” she called to him.

“No, I’ll have it in the kitchen,” he replied, needing a break from the mental stress of getting everything perfect.

For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. Jeannette was the first to break the silence. “How’s the painting coming along?”

He smiled. “It’s almost finished.”

She took a sip of tea. “Maybe you should have finished it before coming in so you wouldn’t lose your concentration.”

Casey set his cup down. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

She wrinkled her brow. “About what?”

Casey cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking. It might be best if you leave the house before I finish the painting.”

She didn’t understand. “Why? What difference would it make?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he shrugged, “but something tells me that if you’re here when I do, and if I hit it right and go back to my time and place, you’ll be trapped there with me.”

Jeannette sat back in the chair. It hadn’t occurred to her that she could be transported to a different time if Casey were to be successful. She would be the trapped soul in that case and, most likely, with no way of ever getting back. She sighed heavily.

“You’re right, it might be best if I wait in the yard,” she finally managed to say.

Casey reached out and touched her arm. “I don’t believe you can be on the property at all. I think it best you go home. It’s the only way I believe you’ll be safe.”

Jeannette stared into his eyes and knew with all her heart that he was trying to protect her from the pain and agony he was suffering from having been torn away from everything familiar and dear to him. She lowered her eyes. He was right, of course, yet something inside her was frightened. She was frightened that she wouldn’t get her own Casey back.

 She straightened her shoulders. “I guess I should be going then. I can only imagine how eager you are to get back home.” She stood up.

Casey got up and walked her out to the gate. “It’s probably best you go home so that you don’t have any residual effects touching you.”

She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, choking back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “I wish you the best and hope you find the happiness you deserve.” She turned and walked away.

Casey watched her until she disappeared around some bushes. Glancing at the house, he could see the new changes already in place and his hopes were once again accelerated. He hurried into the house and resumed putting in all the final details.  When he finished, he made his way outside and looked everything over. The changes had definitely been made but beyond his yard, everything else had remained the same.

His mind and heart in turmoil, Casey shuffled back into the house where he picked up the photograph and carried it into the kitchen. After hours of studying the picture, he resigned himself to the couch and fell asleep.

It was daylight when Casey woke up. Still somber from his failure, he forced himself up and made a cup of coffee. The photograph was where he had left it and his first reaction was to tear it to shreds, but common sense told him that the photo was the only thing he had to link him to his own time.

While drinking his coffee, he moved outside and squinted from the bright morning sun.

“Looks like you tied on a good one last night. Hope it was worth it.”

Casey opened his eyes wider in time to see the mailman closing the mailbox. He rushed to the fence and was thrilled to see the traffic and people and knew he had succeeded. Closing his eyes from the sun, he tilted his head back and whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for bringing me home.”

   (continued)

   Chelle Munroe©

   April 9, 2015

Having Style

Part Five

He squeezed her hand. “I’m sure we will,” he offered without really knowing how or if they ever would. “I’m sure we will”, he repeated more to assure himself than her.

Jeannette rose from the table. “I best get going before it gets too late. I’ll come by tomorrow to help you look some more.”

Inasmuch as he didn’t feel like being alone, Casey stood up. “Thank you for all your help and for the great meals. I enjoyed them and your company. I’ll walk you out.”

At the gate, Jeannette stopped and turned to face him. “I enjoyed your company as well.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Good night Casey.”

Casey touched his cheek where she had kissed him. “Good night Jeannette.” He watched her walk away until she disappeared into the darkness. Before going back into the house, Casey looked around and tried to think of something he might have missed. Nothing in particular came to mind. He sighed heavily, went into the house and flopped down on the couch. Before long, he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Casey was awakened by the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying in the pan. He sat up to see Jeannette busy making breakfast. “Smells good,” he said.

Jeannette turned sharply. “Oh you’re up. I wasn’t going to wake you till breakfast was ready.”

Casey stood up. “It’s okay. I’m going to take a shower.”

“It’s almost ready,” Jeannette said.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Casey wanted the shower more to clear his head than anything else. He had hoped that when he had gone to sleep he would awaken at his home and all would be just a bad dream. Seeing Jeannette shattered that hope. Not that she was a bad person but she was a reminder of a life he didn’t know.

As soon as breakfast was over, he helped Jeannette with the dishes and they set about to search the rooms they hadn’t gotten to the night before. It was in the second room that Jeannette noticed the edge of a photograph sticking out from under a board. Unable to pull it out she called out to Casey. “I’ve found something!”

Casey ran to her. He too was unsuccessful freeing the picture from its imprisonment. He ran downstairs and hunted for something to wedge between the boards. He managed to find a hammer and a screwdriver and ran back upstairs. Five minutes later they were looking at a photo of the house as he had known it. His wide smile told Jeannette they had struck gold.

“Can you duplicate it?” she asked while choking back the tears beginning to well in her eyes. Conflicting emotions raced through her. On the one hand she was happy for him because he would be returned home. On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose him, especially because she wasn’t sure if the Casey she had known would return to her. She suddenly felt faint.

Casey looked up from the photo just in time to see Jeannette falling and leaped to catch her. He carried her to the bed. “Jeannette. Jeannette wake up. Jeannette can you hear me?”

Jeannette’s eyelids fluttered then opened. It took a moment before she oriented herself. “Casey?” she murmured, “Is it you?”

Casey looked down at her recognizing she was referring to the Casey she knew. “No,” he answered. “I’m the Casey you’re helping.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, she nodded.

Casey helped her up when she felt strong enough to stand and they proceeded to the studio where he compared the photo to his painting. At first, he didn’t notice anything different but upon closer examination, he spotted some small differences in the roof, around the windows and door, and the shading on some of the shingles.

He turned to face Jeannette. “I’m going to need you to help me. Are you up to it?”

“Yes,” she managed to say very softly. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I need you to look at this picture and tell me if you spot anything different from the painting.”

When she neared him, he pointed out the objects he had found and waited while she made her examination. So as not to put pressure on her, he busied himself with other things until she finished. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t see anything else.”

   (continued)

   Chelle Munroe©

   April 9, 2015

Having Style

Part Four

Not having any solid idea himself, Casey nodded. “I hope you’re right.”

“Right or wrong,” she countered, “it can’t hurt to try.”

Casey smiled weakly and began telling Jeannette everything he could remember trying his best to mention every little detail he could.

Jeannette listened intently while Casey spoke. She held off asking any questions so as not to disrupt his train of thought. Half an hour later, Casey finished. For the most part, Jeannette’s questions had been answered and the others she felt could wait awhile before mentioning them.

“So, do you think I’m crazy?”

She tilted her head. “I must admit it is a bit strange. Quite unbelievable in fact, but for some reason, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Casey nodded. “I have to give you credit, because I’d have thought you crazy if you had told me such a story. Do you have any ideas what to do?”

“Are you certain you have all the details correct in the painting?”

“To the best that I can remember but, no, I’m not certain I’ve got them all.”

Jeannette thought for a moment. “We need to look for a photograph. Do you remember having any?”

He shook his head. “Not that I recall. I don’t know, I could have one lying around here someplace but you have to remember, this is not the house I’m used to.”

She glanced at him still trying to understand and grasp the reality of the situation. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

As they methodically went from room to room in search of a picture, they talked about different things, including their relationship and interests in each other. Jeannette felt it best to be totally honest and open with him and explained about how they were romantically involved. Casey could not recall any such thing and was just as lost finding a memory to confirm what she was saying, as he did finding a photo of the house.

Over three hours later, they were both tired and hungry and called it a day. Not only had they not found a picture of the house, they didn’t find a single picture to show that Casey had even existed, which made the predicament all the more bizarre and mysterious.

Back in the kitchen, Jeannette set about preparing their supper. Lost in their own thoughts of fathoming what was really going on, neither of them spoke until they finished the meal. Jeannette was the first to speak.

“How is it possible for you to have lived here all this time and not have one single photo to confirm your existence?”

“Because I never lived here,” Casey answered.

She stared at him, confusion evidenced in her eyes.

Casey felt obligated to explain. “I never lived here, that is, the me I am now. If I lived here as you say, then it had to be another me.”

“Are you saying from a parallel universe?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he nodded. “I mean what else could it be that would make sense?”

She thought for a moment then said, “But even if that were true, what happened to the other you who lived here?”

Casey pondered the question before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s where I was and trying to get back here.”

“That only explains him. What about all his belongings? Everything else should still be here.”

Casey opened his mouth to answer but an explanation failed to present itself. He looked away as if trying to see beyond the walls. A moment later, his face lit up. “He doesn’t have anything here because I changed the house back to my house.”

“Then where are your things?” she challenged.

“I don’t know damn it,” he snapped angrily then quickly added, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to take it out on you. I’m just frustrated by this whole thing.”

She reached over and touched his hand and smiled. “It’s okay, I understand. It must be terrifying for you to be whisked away into an unfamiliar world.”

For the first time that day, Casey genuinely smiled. “You’re very kind. I can see why he was in love with you. I’m sorry I hadn’t realized earlier but this has to be equally difficult for you.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to figure this out?”

    (continued)

    Chelle Munroe©

    April 9,2015

Having Style

Part Three

Overwhelmed by it all, he shook his head and softly said, “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

In spite of being confused and uncertain of his state of mind, Jeannette made a snap decision. She entered the yard and took him by the arm and led him into the house. “It’s going to be okay. You need to sit down and relax and you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

Inside the house, she led Casey to a chair and put some water on for tea. He watched her moving about with a familiarity that told him it wasn’t the first time she had been in his home and that she must have been a friend to be so acquainted with things. But try as he might, he just couldn’t recall who she was, which only served to perplex him all the more.

When the tea was made, Jeannette sat down and waited for him to start talking. Knowing Casey was deeply troubled, she felt it best if she just let him talk when he felt okay to do so. She reasoned that if she peppered him with questions he would only get more agitated and make him worse. She wondered if he had banged his head or possibly suffered a stroke of some sort. Whatever it was, she was worried for him.

At first, Casey sipped his tea and didn’t offer a word. He was having a difficult time trying to understand what had happened, never mind trying to explain it to the woman sitting next to him. How would it sound? Would she think him crazy? Did it matter being he didn’t know who she was anyway? Question upon question flowed in and out of his thoughts and none of them seemed to have had an answer.

He looked at Jeannette who was waiting patiently and said, “You’re going to think I’m crazy but what I’m about to tell you is the truth.”

Jeannette had no way of knowing of what was coming next but to her credit, she nodded and showed no signs of nervousness.

Casey held the cup in both hands took a sip of tea and began telling her all of what had happened, right up to the minute she had appeared. As he spoke, he noticed different expressions wash over her and although he wondered what she was thinking, he kept going until he finished. He set the cup down and looked at her.

Of all the things Jeannette had thought he might possibly say, she never once considered what she had just heard. She knew he was waiting for a response and truth be told, she didn’t know what to say. Her first instincts were that he was indeed crazy, yet there was something in his words and tone of voice that beckoned just the opposite. Besides, she had never known him to be eccentric or foolish. Something definitely had happened to him, but was it at all conceivable it was as he said, and if so, it would mean he lived in a different time and she wasn’t part of his life. That would at least explain his not knowing her when she had approached him.

Casey cleared his throat. “Well?”

“It’s a lot to digest.”

“Do you think I’m crazy? That my cheese has slipped off the cracker?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that at all.”

“What do you think?”

She searched his eyes and realized that as bizarre as his story was, it was the truth as he knew it. “I have to be honest in saying that it does sound unbelievable at first, but I do believe you.”

He lowered his eyes and sighed heavily. “Thank you.”

She reached out and placed her hand on the back of his. “It’s going to be okay. We just have to figure out what has happened and try to find the way to reverse it.”

As she sincerely spoke the words, the thought of losing him pained her heart. She had been in love with him for a long time and now he needed her and she had to do all she could to help him, even if it meant his leaving her.

Casey stared at her. He had no idea who she was but felt tremendously relieved that he wasn’t alone and that someway or somehow, she would help him return to his life. As he pondered this, he was filled with many questions. Was he suffering from some kind of stroke? Was it a strange case of amnesia? Had he been living a dual life? Why couldn’t he remember? All questions with no answers.

“Do you have any idea what we should do?” Jeannette’s question pulled him back to the moment.

Casey forced himself to concentrate before answering. “I’m not sure,” he finally stated.

“How about we go back to the beginning?” she offered, hoping her suggestion would be helpful. “Maybe there’s something there that will give us a clue.”

  (continued) 
  Chelle Munroe© 
  April 9, 2015

Having Style

Part Two

He stepped into the room and picked up his palette and brush. With five easy strokes, he covered part of the scenery with white paint. He set the items down and walked to the door and looked out. He wasn’t quite sure if he had changed anything so he went outside and walked to the edge of the yard, that is, the new edge because the rest was gone. It had been wiped clean just as he had wiped it out in the painting.

Casey shook his head. Was he crazy or going crazy? He knew what was going on couldn’t possibly be real but yet it was happening; or at least he thought it was happening and that was enough to make him question his sanity. Without further thought, he went back into the studio and repainted the backyard scenery as best he could remember it; then went back into the yard to discover the yard had reappeared. Overwhelmed with surprising amusement, he chuckled.

Casey turned and examined the cottage. He knew what had to be done. He had to recall to memory a picture of his real house so that he could paint it and get his life back to normal. Inside the house he set up a new easel and canvas and began sketching out his house and yard, every so often stepping back from it to get a better idea on his progress and accuracy. It was anything but perfect but he believed it was close enough to get him back home from wherever he was at, at the moment.

Feeling famished, he went into the kitchen and opened the cabinet doors. To his surprise, they were well stocked, although many of the products were not ones he would typically buy. Eager to get back to the painting, he opted for a couple peanut butter sandwiches and a cup of tea. He put some water in the kettle and decided to venture around the house while it was heating.

As he moved from room to room, Casey was actually taken in with the design and décor in the house. He moved into one room and guessed by the way it was set up with desk and bookshelves, that it was a den. He spotted his cell phone on the desk and made a dash for it, snatching up and punching in the speed dial number for his friend Jon. He paced back and forth trying to will Jon to answer. The call was interrupted by the operator saying that the number could not be completed as dialed. He tried more of the numbers only to get the same response.

Casey carried the phone into the kitchen just as the kettle whistled signifying the water was boiling. Frustrated, he set the phone on the table and proceeded to make his lunch. When he finished eating, he hurried into the studio to begin getting himself back home and reality. In spite of his desire to complete the painting as quickly as possible, Casey forced himself to remain focused and determined to get the details right as best as he could remember them.

It was still daylight when he set the brush down. The moment of truth had arrived. It was time to view the fruits of his efforts. He stepped out into the yard and turned to face the house. A big smile appeared on his face as he recognized his house.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, jubilant to be back home again.

He spun around to look to the street. The smiled disappeared from his face replaced by a deep frown. He walked to the edge of the yard and looked around. The street was there but it was not how he remembered it. “You’ve got to be kidding me”, he shouted angrily into the sky.

Casey felt his knees buckle a little and grabbed the fence to hold himself up. “What the hell is going on?” he said softly. Then looking up at the sky he said, “Have I died or something and this is some state of purgatory?”

“Casey, are you all right?” a woman’s voice penetrated his silence and he looked down to see a woman standing on the other side of the fence.

Momentarily startled by her appearance, Casey stepped back.

“Are you okay?” she asked a genuine look of concern in her eyes.

Casey stared at her then screwed his face up and said, “Who the hell are you?”

Looking back at him with an equal stare of puzzlement she said, “I’m Jeannette. Who else would I be?”

Getting more and more frustrated and aggravated, Casey snapped, “Jeannette who?”

Startled by his unexpected anger, Jeannette took a step backward. “Casey Donsett what is going on with you?”

Casey shook his head trying with all his will to recall who this person was but to no avail.

When he looked back at her, she could see the pure questioning in his eyes. She moved closer to the fence and gently touched his arm. “Casey, what’s happened?”

   (continued)

   Chelle Munroe(c)

   April 9, 2015

Having Style

“Damn it!” Casey Donsett yelled out of complete frustration. Then, with a quick flick of the wrist, he splashed more paint onto the canvas in front of him. As he watched it splatter and run down the front of it, he knew it was not going to be acceptable. It was too much like the works of Jackson Pollock. One thing he didn’t want to be was a copycat. He wanted his own unique style. Disgusted with the results, he turned, flipped the light switch and went to bed.

The next morning, with coffee mug in hand, Casey entered the studio. He set the cup on the stool and proceeded to open the drapes, letting the bright sunlight fill the room. He picked up the cup, took a sip of coffee and studied the canvas. In the middle of drinking a mouthful of coffee, he noticed a particular patch of paint and moved to get a different perspective of it.

As he shifted positions, Casey began to see a shape taking form within the splotches of paint. He hurriedly set the cup down, grabbed the palette board squeezed a variety of colors onto it and snatched up his brush. His interest renewed, Casey feverishly set about fleshing out the image he had pictured was set in amongst the blotches of paint.

Two hours later, Casey stepped back from the canvas to view his work. He smiled knowing that it was the exact style he was looking for. To the best of his knowledge, he had not seen any other works that were similar. Before him was a wonderful looking cottage set amongst the trees while an explosion of paint surrounded it. He set the palette board and brush on the supply cart, picked up his mug and left the room. Getting away from the painting for awhile was the best thing to get an honest feel for it. When he returned home, Casey avoided going into the studio until he was ready for bed. Once again, he smiled feeling absolutely sure that this was going to be the painting to change his life.

The following day, Casey made his usual cup of coffee and stepped outside to breathe in the fresh summer breeze blowing in from the ocean not far away. Squinting from the bright sunshine, he didn’t notice at first but once his eyes adjusted, he realized that everything was wrong. Nothing was familiar. He turned to go back into the house and froze in his steps. The coffee mug dropped from his hand and shattered when it hit the ground.

Casey rubbed his eyes and looked again but the small cottage from his painting was still there. “What the hell?” he heard himself saying as he looked on in total bewilderment. He shook his head. “No, no……no, this can’t be,” he stammered.

He rushed back into the house and made his way to the studio. The scenery outside was the exact duplicate of his painting. He shook his head trying hard to comprehend what was happening to him. Disbelieving it was true; he made his way to the kitchen. He had to be dreaming. It was the only way any of it made sense. He splashed cold water on his face and head hoping it would snap him out of it.

Dripping wet, he made his way back outside and immediately spun around to view the house. Nothing had changed. He was still caught in the scene from the painting. Not one to usually give in to panic, Casey had all he could do to keep from losing control. He had to remain calm if he was to figure out what was going on and to overcome his dilemma.

He went back into the house, made a fresh hot cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. There had to be a reason for him seeing things the way they were because he refused to believe they were actually happening to him. It just wasn’t possible. Nor was it even logical or plausible. He looked for his phone. “Great,” he said aloud when he couldn’t find it. He wasn’t surprised by the fact, just aggravated.  It was apparent that whatever was going on, he would have to figure it out by himself.

Casey glanced toward the studio hoping something would come to mind that would make sense out of it all. He laughed to think he was trying to make sense out of something that was absolutely crazy to begin with. Crazy or not, he had to do something.

He got up and moved to the studio. He stopped at the door studied the painting and wondered how something as simple as a painting could turn his life upside down. Just then, an idea formed in his mind. What if he were to turn the picture upside down?  He thought about that for a couple minutes and decided against it, but another idea took its place almost immediately.

   (continued)

   Chelle Munroe©

   April 9, 2015

I Opened My Hand

It felt as though I had walked into a steam room that was out of control when I stepped outside. The heat and humidity was almost unbearable, and within seconds, I could feel my clothes being drenched with perspiration.

It was a typical August afternoon in New England. However, because it’s New England, there are alternatives to beating the heat. I decided to head for the coastline of Rhode Island. I have a favorite place I like to go to in the town of Little Compton, called Taylor’s Lane. What I like most about this particular spot, is that it allows me to escape the heat of the city and the everyday pressures associated with city living.

After half-an-hour drive, I parked the car at the end of the lane and proceeded on foot through a large field that I believe is owned or maintained by the state. Just entering the field is like stepping into another world. A world that is serene and brilliantly colorful. To the left of the gravel path are small, round, dark, green bushes that are spaced about two to three feet apart and kept neatly trimmed. Planted between each bush are various flowers displaying an array of colors from soft pink to burnt orange, and dark velvety purple wild flowers. Behind the rows of bushes is a lush carpet of deep-green grass stretching out about one hundred fifty yards and dotted with beautiful white and pink flowered dogwood trees.

To the right of the path is a small mirror-like pond with a large weeping willow tree embracing each side of it. Under one of the willows, there is a small stone bench that many people sit on to pose for pictures or to just relax and forget their troubles.

About thirty yards in, the path disappears into the rich green grass and the field straight ahead is completely open with only a couple large rocks that look as though they were placed there to entice everyone passing by to climb them.

It was in this part of the field that I was enjoying the strong breezes carrying the balmy salt-air in from the ocean when I spotted an object glittering in the sunlight. Naturally, as with most people, my curiosity got the best of me and I had to investigate. At first, I thought it was a coin, but upon picking it up, I realized that it was a bright gold colored plastic disc. I almost threw it down until I noticed a design was stamped into it, and for whatever reason, I cupped it in my hand and carried it with me.

At the end of the field is a panoramic view of the ocean that for me is breathtaking every time I see it. I followed a small footpath down the embankment and strolled along the sandy beach about fifty yards where there is a seawall of large boulders placed there by the state to protect the landscape from eroding. There’s one rock that I like to sit on because it looks like a king’s throne and because I find it rather comfortable.

I began examining the gold disc I’d found in the field and was intrigued by the markings that were embossed on it because they resembled a foreign medallion or perhaps an old Spanish coin. I slowly closed my eyes and began to imagine that it was   a gold Spanish Doubloon. I could vision in my mind a huge Spanish Galleon fighting the onslaught of a storm-pitched sea. The captain and crew were desperately trying to keep the ship from being ravaged by the endless battering waves that were constantly driving the ship toward shallow waters and sure peril.

With the entire complement of deckhands struggling to save their ship and their lives from one of nature’s fury, no one noticed or much cared about the small unlashed items that were being tossed or washed overboard, including a small wooden chest containing some papers, small trinkets from different countries and a few gold doubloons.

The chest washed ashore and eventually broke apart from the continuous pounding and grinding surf, scattering its contents on the beach. Some of the items deteriorated over time and the rest were either dragged back out to sea or were buried in the sand to be discovered at some point in the future.

I suddenly snapped out of my daydream when I was splashed by the cold spray of a wave that had crashed on the beach a few feet from where sat. I stood up and became aware that I was still clutching the gold disc and decided to scale it into the ocean as if to fulfill some ancient ritualistic law that states:  “anything found on or around the beach must be returned to the sea from where it came”. At the last second, I smiled and lowered my arm, breaking the unspoken rite. I had a better idea.

Reaching the top of the embankment, I looked back toward that vast expanse of ocean and felt a sense of satisfaction. I turned and started through the field until I reached the spot where I’d discovered the disc. I opened my hand and while reflecting on my dream, I let the disc fall to the ground in the hope that someone else would find it and maybe experience their own little journey through time; their own little escape.

  Chelle Munroe©

   February 21, 2015