List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston – this is my all-time favorite book. I needed three credits in English so I took a summer course at my university and was introduced to the Harlem Renaissance. It’s not an exaggeration to say it changed my life. There was something magical about Ms. Hurston’s use of language. It envelopes and evokes. I still have the copy of the book for that class tucked away safely on my bookshelf. I do not let anyone borrow it.
My copy has this cover
2. Outlander by Diana Gabaldon – this is my second all-time favorite book. I had no idea what I was getting into when I started this book and series. I sent an email to the author when I finished this book and she replied. I printed it out and tucked it into the paperback, which has been read so many times it’s earmarked with love. Yes, I have the rest of the books too. Yes, I waited for what felt like 65 years for the show to be created. Yes, I’m waiting on season eight during the usual Droughtlander. But, I should say upfront the books are nothing like the series because the books are typically 1000 pages of genius storytelling, and though the series is based on the books, it in no way comes close to the original. This book is impactful due to its ability for the reader to step through the stones, as it were. It’s a place to get lost in if you’re looking to get lost. 
This isn’t my copy – mine is old and well loved and also I do not think it states on the cover that it is a New York Times best seller
3. Love Match by yours truly
Yes, it might sound a little strange to say this book impacted me a great deal, but if you’ve written a book, you know what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter if your book was published or not, if you have written a book and it is yours, it has changed your life. If you tell other people, and they read your book, it changes you even more. When people start to have opinions about your words, that is probably the greatest impact. It takes a lot of courage to write and have other people read what you’ve written. One could even call a blog a type of book. It’s a book that keeps writing itself each day. It’s something that means something to the writer, but also it’s something that the reader takes part in. And it takes courage from the author to post their words. Words on a blog can be equally if not more impactful than an entire bound book. But that’s a different subject for a different day.
My Book
Incidentally, when I was looking for an image of my own book to post here, I found out my book is being sold on eBay for $29.08. Just a suggestion: my book isn’t that expensive brand new. I’m not sure that the seller is going to make any profit after shipping – unless of course, they found a brand new copy of my book. But another question then begs to be asked: where is my royalty check?
I sought security. I’ve sought it since March when I learned my whole department was terminated to save the company money. I was shipped off to an agency which lasted two weeks. I was not interested in working on the account to serve my former employer, thank you very much.
I exited that job for another agency. The people were kind, and the pay was decent, but the insurance costs were steep. And I hadn’t had enough time to grieve the loss of my job, which I held for 14 years and I was really good at. I exited the second agency after a month. I did well and left on good terms. In fact, my supervisor offered to be a reference for me or to be a resource, if ever I should need it.
I took about a week to regroup. One morning, my eyes popped open, and the thought was put into my head to log onto a job search site and look at the jobs. Much to my surprise, there was a job similar to the one I’d held for 14 years. I applied for the job from my bed. It took less than 30 minutes. Within a few days, the first interview took place. Within the next few days I performed the skills assessment that was timed and observed. It was the most stressful skills assessment I have ever taken in my life, and that includes my first examination to get certified in my field. I wasn’t sure if I would pass, but I did. I found out the next day that the department was sending over my information to HR, and were looking forward to me joining the team. I was thrilled. A permanent home. A job that would feel like home because it was an environment that I had known before. The difference was in the kindness. This new company has been nothing but kind since the beginning. My former employer? The word kindness is not in the vocabulary.
Speaking of kindness, I agreed to start at another agency prior to knowledge of this job opening, and obviously prior to me gaining the position. This past Monday, I joined that agency, and these people are also extremely kind and have been wonderful. I am being compensated well, but the cost of insurance continues to try to financially sink me. To stay there would mean bankruptcy for me. I do not exaggerate.
Thursday afternoon my phone rang while I was staring at it waiting for HR to call me with the official offer. As soon as I answered the call, I heard a woman giggling. There must’ve been a funny joke prior to her calling me. Between her giggles, she asked for me. I told her she had the right person. She apologized for her giggling. I knew it was the HR hiring manager from the new job. Please understand, no one ever needs to apologize for giggling in my presence. I told her as much. She made me an offer and we had a pleasant conversation. The next steps are in motion and I have a tentative start date. I have to say, from start to finish this has taken a very short amount of time and feels like an absolute gift.
You may think I’m crazy, or you may just not believe it, but I am convinced my mother had a hand in this job acquisition. I can’t explain why the thought to go to the job search site was placed into my head when I didn’t put it there. I can’t explain why the first interview invitation went to my spam folder and the Director called me from her personal cell phone to be sure that I was interested. I can’t explain why it took less than a month to gain employment at a prestigious company that holds some of the most kind people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
I also can’t explain the giggling, but if you knew my mother, you would know she would be capable of something like this.
You see, I got the verbal offer on the birthday of one of my brothers – the 11th. He texted: “Happy My Birthday to you,” after I informed him of the news. Every year, my mom and I would meet him for birthday lunch. Often, it was on 12th of July. That’s the day in between our birthdays.
He was joking when he wished me a happy birthday on his day. The truth is, it’s a birthday present for me, it simply happened two days early.
It all started yesterday morning when I was out watering the plants in the front yard. I water the plants every morning because it’s summer and it gets hot. If I don’t water, the hydrangea looks like it’s on its last legs by noon. To be honest, it looks like that throughout the day, and then I have to water it again, but that’s a different story.
I was watering the plants per usual when I saw a tiny bird hopping in the grass toward the sidewalk and ultimately toward the road. As soon as I realized what was happening, I grabbed some vinyl gloves and hastily put them on as I hoped to reach the bird before she made it into the road. She did get to the road, but I got to her in time and scooped her up. Not sure what to do, I placed the bird – which I believed to be either an American Robin or a Bluejay – under my Eastern Redbud (ERJ, for those who have been here a while and are familiar with him).
Aerial view
I went out to check on the bird midday and couldn’t find her anywhere. It was quite hot and I did a thorough sweep of the front and backyard. Twice. I couldn’t find her. An adult robin flew to the space under the tree where I had put the baby and chirped for about five minutes. I realized this was the baby’s mother, and she could not locate her baby. I tried once again to find the baby bird with no luck.
A few hours passed and I sat down to eat my dinner. I took a couple bites, looked out the window, and saw the baby hopping around near ERJ. I immediately swung into action, not even wiping my mouth nor realizing there was food in my hair. I put on some gloves, and flew out the door (no pun intended). I scooped up Little Bit (her new name) and my first thought was the mother left the baby after not being able to locate her earlier in the day. My second thought was not really a thought, but a perception. I formed a cup with both of my hands around this tiny little breathing warm baby with a tiny little rapid heartbeat and watched her fall asleep. It was in that moment I fell in love with Little Bit and was determined to save her.
Sleepy Little Bit
I was still in my bathrobe and slippers with food in my hair and with a face probably covered in food, when I walked over to a neighbor’s house and asked them to come look in the tree for a nest in another neighbor’s yard. I’m sure these guys thought I was a crazy bird lady and they’re not wrong, but they humored me. After about 10 minutes, they did find the remnants of a nest, but it was not inhabitable. By this time, my neighbor who lived in the house with the land that held the tree with the uninhabitable nest, came out and inquired about this activity. Her cat, who does sneak out and knows how to open doors, was very interested in the bird. (Don’t worry, she wasn’t able to get out.)
The men took their leave, unable to assist, though they did try. I still held Little Bit in both of my hands and she remained asleep. She liked when I pet her head. By this time, the mother robin realized I had the baby and was nearby chirping to it. Unfortunately, the baby was asleep. I wasn’t sure what would happen if if I removed one of my hands, but decided I needed to because I needed to consult Google ASAP. The bird sanctuary was closed and I had no other resources available to me to be able to figure out what to do with this baby bird.
Sweet and Sassy Little Bit
I walked around towards the backyard, hoping the mother would follow. She did, but I still didn’t know what to do. I took my hand away and was able to get into my phone. I Googled, “What do I do with a baby bird?” I found that if the bird can hop, it is a fledgling and it has been nudged out of the nest intentionally. In the fledgling stage, the mother puts the bird in a spot and stays nearby while it learns how to be a big grown-up bird. The problem with Little Bit was she didn’t stay where she was put. And she didn’t answer her mother when her mother called for her midday.
Armed with this information – thanks Google – I proceeded back to the front yard. I kneeled in the grass near ERJ and put my hand against the ground. I opened it up and waited for Little Bit to step out into the grass. The mother had returned and was waiting at the very top of the Weeping Cherry Tree. Little Bit jumped out of my hand and immediately proceeded to poop in the grass. Her mother was chirping to her, and had been for several minutes. Little Bit began chirping back and followed the sound of her mother. I removed my gloves and watched for a few more seconds until the baby bird got under the canopy of the tree and the mother came down to greet her. I went inside and thought how lovely it was to interact with a small creature so helpless and be able to offer her help by keeping her out of the road. I had been terribly depressed yesterday, and the distraction and the joy that bird gave me exponentially lifted my spirits.
I went out later to check on mother and baby, but couldn’t find either one of them. Google told me that the mother will find shelter and stay close by at night until the baby is ready to be on her own. So I no longer was worried about predators eating the baby at night. I assumed she would make it because I didn’t want to think about the alternative. I still don’t. 
I found out later I didn’t need to wear gloves when touching the baby, that it was not true that a bird will abandon a baby if it smells a human scent on the baby. They will not reject it. In my case, though, I am terribly allergic to birds and would have had to wear gloves anyway. I was experiencing a little bit of a wheeze while holding her, but I wasn’t about to let her go until I knew she would be OK.
This morning, I went out to water my plants – the hydrangea was already acting dramatic with limp leaves and sagging blooms and it wasn’t even 10 AM. It’s always high drama with the beautiful hydrangea. It’s the diva of the yard. I didn’t see a baby or a mother. At least not until I got the peanuts out and started dispersing them for the Morning Feeding. There is a robin who lives in the tree next door (the location of the uninhabitable nest), who comes every morning for a lovely peanut breakfast. Robins don’t normally eat peanuts, but this one enjoys them. She has been coming for months. I know it’s Little Bit’s mom.
Google told me that baby robins stay in the same general area as their nest once they’ve grown into adulthood. In fact, when their parents die, they will often take over the same nesting area. It also told me that robins are among the birds that recognize human faces.
I know when I said goodbye to Little Bit like an anxious auntie, that it wasn’t goodbye, it was see you later.
I know you’ll like the peanuts just as much as your mom. See you soon!
Releasing Little Bit
The Reunion
P.S. if you think I didn’t get cursed out in meow language by Susie when I came in the house at 7 PM you are wrong. Susie was extremely upset that I was outside playing with a baby bird and she was stuck in the house. Susie was born in this house and has never been outside, so I don’t know what her beef was, but she definitely was angry. I have never seen her so upset. I wanted to talk to her about it and I did ask, but she refused.
As we head into Cancer season of the zodiac, I prepare to celebrate another year older and maybe a little bit wiser, but maybe not.
My birthday is next month, and I don’t expect any presents, but today I received one of the best gifts I’ve ever received in my life.
Our own Siri wrote a magical tale just for me. Read Love Rollercoaster here. It’s a fabulous journey, full of gorgeous art, and an engaging spinning tale. As with every story, she weaves a song into the mix. (Take a look at the title of her story and you might guess the song.)
Read her story and get lost in the beautiful images and wonderful storytelling, as I did. Read another, you won’t be disappointed. Subscribe to never miss out on the next sweeping, galactic journey and to catch up on what you’ve missed.
My heart is full and so very happy. Thank you, thank you, my friend! ♥️
If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
I’m hijacking this prompt today to share a story. Facebook reminded me of. It happened in 2018.
The strangest, most amusing thing just happened. The police just knocked on my door, talking about my neighbor across the street who is reporting A THEFT OF A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER AND TWO TOWELS. Now, we knew about this lunacy prior – her husband asked us the other day if we saw anybody at the house because A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER AND TWO TOWELS were missing. We have been joking about it ever since (“Mom, omg, hide the toilet paper from view – and don’t hang the towels out to dry!!!”).
We do not live in a Walmart. Her house has not been burglarized. These items are not missing. She may be slightly…paranoid.
So, I’m standing on my porch in my tank top and shorts, while holding my toothbrush, proceeding to tell the EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE 12 YEAR OLD POLICE OFFICER about the situation and was like “Dude, nobody stole those things. We saw nothing. I mean, seriously? TP and two towels? Dude.” And he was like “I know, right? But we got the call, and this is my duty…”
And then he asked me for my full name, birth date, address, and phone number, which I found to be slightly off-putting (and I completely forgot my last name because DAMN HE CUTE, which made my mom howl with laughter when I told her this). I sure hope the toilet paper and bath towel bandit is caught 🙄, and yes, I do expect a birthday card next month, Officer Cutie.
Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.
Tiny Baby and Mommy
Once upon a time, in a land about thirty miles away from where your author sits at this very moment, a tiny baby was born. She was born five weeks early because her mother chased around a cat with a baby chicken in its mouth and as a result, broke her waters. The baby’s father was away at sea, working hard as a ship’s captain and unable to return in time for the imminent premature birth of the tiny baby.
The tiny baby’s mother had to go to the hospital because the tiny baby insisted on being born, regardless of where her daddy was. The tiny baby didn’t care about that, she was ready to enter the world of the oxygen breathers. The tiny baby’s big sister took their mother to the hospital and waited in the father’s waiting room with a room full of expectant dads (this is how it was back in the day – dads waited in a room). After some time, the tiny baby was born. The tiny baby’s mother and big sister rejoiced.
The tiny baby grew as babies do, and eventually became a grown-up. Many people helped the tiny baby along the way, but there were only two at the start of the tiny baby’s life as an oxygen breather: her mommy and her big sister.
To go as the crow flies is to take the most direct route somewhere. Going as the crow flies is the shortest path between two points.
This expression has to do with traveling—in a very specific way. If you travel as the crow flies, you've gone somewhere as quickly and directly as possible. A shortcut is a good way to go as the crow flies. A direct airplane flight with no transfers is another way to go as the crow flies. When you think of this term, imagine a bird flying in a straight line from point A to point B.
I moved to the state I live in now when I was just turning seven. For reasons, Mom and I were graciously taken in by family members who lived one state away from our previous home. It wasn’t terribly far, but to a six-year-old, an hour-long car ride seems like a great distance to travel.
From there, Mom and I moved across a two-lane highway – which is now a four-lane highway – to an apartment complex. We lived there for seven years.
Mom found her final home in a neighborhood she admired for years and would drive through on her way to pick me up from my friend’s house.
I just realized the other day, that if you plot all three of these points of residence on a map, the triangle is very small. In fact, I determined that the distance from Point A to Point B to Point C forms a very small triangle, with each arm of the triangle being about 300m. 300m translates to 0.186 miles.
Some people may think this is incredibly isolating and not very worldly, but it was entirely coincidental and not planned, as far as I know. And since I didn’t even realize it until a few days ago, I guess it could be a statement about how much I like my neighborhood and my surroundings.
You guys know Jerome, right? He’s my crow. Well, it’s more true to form to say that he is my nemesis. He is the crow that’s mad at me for eternity because I wouldn’t let him put his dirty bagels and french fries in the birdbath. He and his friends and family caw at me as I’m walking in the neighborhood. If I’m at the local pharmacy and strip mall, they’ll do it there, too. They somehow know when to show up. If I walk out of my house and Jerome starts cawing from somewhere far enough away that I can’t see him, but close enough that I can hear him, I know I’m in for quite a mouthful. Other people have crows bring them money and shiny objects. Jerome has given me intergenerational hatred. I would prefer money or shiny objects, at the very least.
This is not Jerome. But Jerome would do this: join a gang of crows and become violent against ravens and also me, most likely
“I hear you, Jerome! Good morning to you, too!” I say loudly. I’m sure my neighbors think I’m crazy, but that crow and I have beef. I wonder how old Jerome is, and how long he’s been watching me. Maybe his great-grandfather, grandfather and father saw me at Points A and B. Point C is Jerome’s territory now, as the crows fly.
Perhaps – no – most assuredly, it is I who placed myself in this position. I do not speak of ruling the queendom. No. That is my birthright. That you don’t see a throne next to mine is my doing.
When I was born a girl I was expected to marry. And marry well. From the age of four, suitors were brought to me. Old men! Can you imagine? Vows were to be exchanged for titles given. Oddly, every single one of these suitors was deemed not fit by my father, or fate took them another direction. Some in not so pleasant directions.
When I was twenty years old and started refusing suitors, my father would not speak to me for three months. It was quite possibly the downfall of his health. You can blame that on me too, if you wish.
When I was twenty years old, there was a new stable lad employed to work with our finest horses – mine included. The lad was my age, and while he showed proper deference to me, he also showed me friendship, which no other servant had the courage to do. He would prepare my horse and sometimes we would have long discussions about life. Ha! What do two twenty-year-old children know about life? He treated me as a person, not as a queen-in-waiting. He did not let me get away with much. My attitude is often times haughty. I make no apologies for it. I am Queen and at that time I was queen-in-training. I must be strong at all times. I must not and will not entertain fools.
But when I was around him, I did not feel like a queen-in-training, and it was rather difficult to act haughty. I felt like who I imagined I always should feel like as a child, when I dreamt of having another life. A simple life, a life raising chickens and cattle and having a husband, friend and lover in one person, someone who could understand me, and would want to try. And children. We would have three children. They would laugh and play in the grass, their cheeks rosy from exertion, their tiny legs traveling as fast as they could to catch the chickens, and we would delight in the sight. My husband and I.
I began having the same fantastical daydreams when I was around this lad, not just when I was alone. I watched when he would interact with others, and I had people observe him when I could not. He never raised his voice in anger to anyone. He was as calm as the river on a late summer evening. The aura around him was yellow, just like the sunset on that late summer eve. His hair was flaxen and soft, I just knew it. I wished to touch it, but I dared not. It would be most improper, and dangerous for him. His eyes were dark blue and smiling. Always smiling. They twinkled with mischief more than not. When we were near the horses and I could freely be myself, I never felt more alive.
Shortly after I turned twenty-one, for several days I did not see the stable lad. My concern was that he had become ill. I was mistaken and quite pleased to see him when he returned. My ladies-in-waiting helped me into my favorite dress: the light blue silk. It was far simpler than anything I would wear for official business, but it was perfect for talking with the stable lad. I made my way to the barn and saw him brushing the horses. I could feel my face light up as if the sun itself were grazing my skin. I greeted the lad and asked him if he was well. He said he was quite well. He had very recently exchanged wedding vows. That was why he was not at the stables.
This was the first time I had to use the Ice Queen façade. And I was yet to be Queen. I congratulated him and quickly made an excuse to part company. The façade wouldn’t hold much longer, and I could not bear to be seen as the soft creature underneath. As soon as I turned away, I could feel my countenance change into one of grief and broken-heartedness. My eyes shed tears even as I told them not to. He called out to me, but I wouldn’t turn around. I could not bear it.
I spent the rest of the day and night alone in my chambers. No one was permitted. Of course by now you must’ve guessed: I was in love with the lad. He had never once mentioned he was betrothed, and if he had, what could I have done with that information? I was meant to marry above him. Millions of my tears would not have changed anything. But knowing he was married made the realization that he could never be married to me more pronounced. I wished I were his wife. I wondered what she looked like. I never asked anything about her, even though I saw the lad often at the stables. We talked and joked after my initial heartbreak had healed a bit, but there was this thing in between us now, a barrier. I didn’t want it there, but a wife is hard to remove. A queen-in-waiting impossible to get out of. The situation was ill-fated.
I became Queen at twenty-five, just as the stable lad became a father for the first time. My father‘s efforts to find me a suitable match were unsuccessful. I decided no one was good enough and I held to that belief. I disappointed my father and I did it intentionally.
When I was thirty, his second child was born. I saw him still, at the stables, and we spoke as we always had. We never spoke of his wife or of his children. It is not that I didn’t care, it is because I cared too much. To know about his life would reopen wounds that were almost – but not quite – scars.
I have recently learned that his wife has run off with a wealthy man. The children are grown, the lad now a man of my own age. You may be asking yourself, Dear Reader, “What now will the Ice Queen do? She never married. She rules the queendom fairly, but suffers no fools. She surrounds herself with birds and other creatures, including her beloved horses, and she is old enough to make her own decisions regarding her own queendom and her own person.”
Let me tell you then. I am sure you want to know. And even if you don’t, I am going to tell you, because I am Queen.
One crisp morning, I walked alone to the stables. I found my lad filing the horses’ hooves. His expression was forlorn, as one would expect. He looked up at me with teary eyes that made the blue stand out even more. He was much older, we both were now. I could not stop myself from crying with him. He hunched over, embarrassed by his tears and apologized. He did not curtsy, and I was glad for it. I took his hand and held it between my own two hands. We had never touched in this way before. Yes, Reader, it was still not appropriate. But I am Queen, and I rule the queendom.
What do you think happened next, Dear Reader?
I will tell you. Not because I am Queen, but because I am a woman. And I know you want to know. But let’s keep it between us.
In the next moment, I saw yellow, like the sunset on a summer eve, I felt soft hair under my hands, and a gentle touch on my cheek. Right before I closed my eyes, I saw dark blue, like the blue of gently rolling river waves with a strong current underneath that cannot be seen, only felt.
I’ve been up and down these streets, The fine leather of my boots ruined.
For what? For whom?
Who is this brash American with her strange clothing and even stranger claims that she knows me?
I left her with Mrs. Grant right after we dined. It was no more than half past six. She was going on about frogs in her shoes, but I saw neither frogs nor shoes. What That Woman calls shoes, I have never seen in my life. She’s strange, almost barbaric. The aggravating American accent, the bombastic strength of mind and loose of lip! And her frustrating beguiling face. Pleasant and full of freedom. With a little fear. She frustrates me so!
Enough of that. The storm began at 6:45, as I had just left the drive of Mrs. Grant’s establishment. There was a loud clap of thunder. And then I heard Mrs. Grant screaming, “She is gone, Nicky, she is gone!”
Alarmed, I ran back to the establishment and met Mrs. Grant as she was running toward me. The raindrops began and quickly became torrential. We made our way inside, where Mrs. Grant could hardly get out her words. “She is gone Nicky, she simply…disappeared!” It pained me to see Mrs. Grant in such a state. I rested a hand on her shoulder and asked her to explain. But I already knew who she meant. She said Miss Reynolds went up to lie down, and that was the last she had seen of her.
Lightning struck. Maybe once, maybe twice. Mrs. Grant heard a scream from Miss Reynolds’ room. She ran up as quickly as she could, only to find the room vacated. Miss Reynolds was nowhere to be found. Milton checked the entire property, as did I, several times. I assured Mrs. Grant that I would find Miss Reynolds, that perhaps she had gone down to the place where she had fallen in the road. Perhaps she thought she left something behind there. And as the doctor assessed, Miss Reynolds had suffered a concussion, and may be confused. Perhaps she was not thinking coherently, and would try to go back to that place in the middle of the night. In a severe thunderstorm. This American unnerves me so! Alas, I must find her.
I walked the streets again and again. Searching. She is not here. My whole self is drenched and the storm continues. My stomach in knots. My countenance forlorn. As I continue walking, I start to wonder, Was she just a wish? The storm lights up the night, and there is a figure up ahead. Is it her? Is it my gypsy?
💫
This piece is a blend of three things: Nicholas from my Traveler series; Gypsy, the song by Fleetwood Mac; and a smidge of American Woman, the Lenny Kravitz version. (Yes, I know American Woman is an anti-war song, but I like to use it in this context sometimes. Ok, all of the time.)
Gypsy
Song by Fleetwood Mac
So I’m back to the velvet underground Back to the floor that I love To a room with some lace and paper flowers Back to the gypsy that I was To the gypsy that I was
And it all comes down to you Well, you know that it does and Lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice Oh and it lights up the night And you see your gypsy You see your gypsy
To the gypsy That remains Her face says freedom With a little fear I have no fear Have only love And if I was a child And the child was enough Enough for me to love Enough to love
She is dancing away from you now She was just a wish She was just a wish And her memory is all that is left for you now You see your gypsy, oh You see your gypsy
Ooh ooh, ohh, ohh-oh
Lightning strikes Maybe once, maybe twice And it all comes down to you Ooh oh, and it all comes down to you Lightning strikes Maybe once, maybe twice And (oh) it all comes down to you I still see your (your) bright eyes, bright eyes (And it all comes down to you)
American woman Stay away from me American woman Mama, let me be
Don’t come hangin’ ’round my door I don’t wanna see your face no more I got more important things to do Than spend my time growin’ old with you
Now woman, stay away American woman, listen what I say
American woman Get away from me American woman Mama, let me be
Don’t come knockin’ ’round my door I don’t wanna see your shadow no more Colored lights can hypnotize Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away American woman, listen what I say
American woman I said, get away American woman Listen what I say
Don’t come hangin’ ’round my door Don’t want to see your face no more I don’t need your war machines I don’t need your ghetto scenes Colored lights can hypnotize Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away American woman, listen what I say
American woman Stay away from me American woman Mama, let me be
I gotta go, I gotta get away Babe, I gotta go, I wanna fly away I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman I’m gonna leave you, woman
Bye-bye, bye-bye Bye-bye, bye-bye (American woman) You’re no good for me and I’m no good for you (American woman) I look you right straight in the eye I tell you what I’m gonna do (American woman) I’m gonna leave you woman, you know I gotta go (American woman) I’m gonna leave you woman, I gotta go (American woman) I gotta go I gotta go, American woman Yeah
I wrote this story a long time ago and have not developed it further. It was another book idea just like last week’s story. I’ve tweaked it so that it can appear along with this picture that instantly reminded me of my story. Thanks for giving my story a home, Kevin!
Edit: all of the installments of the story have been published. Before you read The Traveler, read Prequels I-IV. Then read The Traveler, then the Sequel. I will put the links below. It will make more sense if you do it that way, as these were Chapters 1-6 of a book I haven’t finished.
Now read The Traveler, the story you in right now. It starts below.
After reading the story below, you are ready to read The Traveler sequel here
And that is where the story ends – for now. Thanks everyone for reading and supporting my almost-book. 🫶
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As I stepped off the curb, I wondered why I had agreed to repair the gowns, and then, why I didn’t just travel the four blocks to my hotel. While I was trying to avoid tripping over my feet, I looked to the left for vehicles coming toward me. Problem is, I was in England.
Stepping out into traffic and looking the wrong way, well, I didn’t see the black blur that was suddenly next to me—on me — is a more apt description.
I lay in the road with people milling around me for several minutes before I came to. A sharp, rich, English-accented, male voice bellowed, “Doctor! We need a doctor at once!” My eyes shot open in alarm when I realized he was most likely calling the doctor for me. I saw blurry figures peering down at me, with one leaning over, precariously close to toppling. Confused, I closed my eyes again and wondered with a goofy smile if every man in Heaven spoke with a British accent. Heaven would be just fine in my book, if so. Suddenly sleepy, my eyes stayed lazily shut as I gave into the drowsy, light feeling.
“Madam! No! Do not shut your eyes! You must keep them open or you might never open them again!” A crisp, rich voice ordered stiffly. Who is this guy? His piercing voice is disrupting my nighty-night time, I thought as I tried snuggling into my blankets. I reached for them, but when I did, I felt no blankets, no cozy warmth. No covers? Why don’t I have any sheets on my bed?! I cracked one eye open to survey.
“Eeks! I’m lying in the middle of the freaking road!” I screeched as I bolted and sat upright, immediately regretting that sudden move, as the searing pain in my right arm caused the nausea to rise in my stomach in a flash and I froze to avoid vomiting.
“Madam, do not move!” It was The Voice again.
“Oww, my arm really hurts,” I croaked out after the nausea had passed. I squinted my blurry eyes in the direction of the guy with the cool voice, but I didn’t see anyone there.
“Clear the way, the physician is coming through,” Mr. Voice ordered the onlookers. His authority seemed to do the trick. As I surveyed my bum arm, I heard the bustle of the crowd as they parted. Wow, this guy must have pull in some major quantities.
“Oww,” I hissed at the pain and decided to leave my arm alone. My head hurt, too, but with my left hand I couldn’t find any gashes on my face or head —that was a good thing. Maybe I have a concussion. “I so don’t need a concussion while in England. My insurance will not cover this,” I mumbled to myself. Feeling less nauseous, I tried to crawl-unnoticed-to the my bag that I had with me when I was hit. My sight was still a bit fuzzy, but Mr. Voice could see me, apparently.
“And where are you going?” he asked with mild interest. I stopped mid-crawl and smiled up at the blurry face sheepishly.
“Over here to check on my bag?” I offered helpfully.
“No, you most certainly are not. The doctor is here to examine you for bodily harm following your accident,” he answered simply. He placed his hand on my shoulder gently but firmly, to let me know I was not moving another inch.
“Okay, whatever.” I shrugged and glanced up at the face with the somehow familiar voice. He was so close now that I could make out his features with ease.
“It’s you!” And it was him-Nicholas Langdon, Royal Pain in the Ass, from the museum. Same chocolate brown eyes, same dark brown hair, same hot bod, same voice… It all made sense now.
“Nick Langdon.” I narrowed my left eye and gave him the once over. Okay, the thrice over.
He blinked three times. “Pardon me, madam?” He asked quietly with large, disbelieving chocolate candy coin eyes. “I am quite certain we have never met before.” He studied me for a few seconds. “How do you know my name?” he asked with thinly veiled interest. He had the nerve to sound ruffled!
“Ha! That’s a good one, Nick. Not twenty minutes ago you gave me orders not to destroy the gowns!” I rolled my eyes and studied him closely, my vision finally focusing enough to scan my immediate surroundings, which, at present consisted of one handsome but irritating Langdon and one older man with a sadistic streak who carried a black physician’s bag.
“Ouch! That hurts…doctor.” I said suspiciously as I narrowed my eyes at the dude carrying the bag.
“Sorry, dear. Please do stop moving,” he pleaded with an exasperated sigh.
“Right. Say, Nick…what’s with the get-ups you two are wearing?” I nodded first to him and then in the direction of the doctor. He didn’t answer me immediately, rather, he looked at me blankly for several seconds. I looked him over closely. Somehow he and the doc had gotten their hands on some darn good Victorian costumes. If he swiped those from the museum and he’s yelling at me for repairing two gowns, l’ll deck him. I fumed to myself. Still, it was a gorgeous outfit. I tried not to gawk.
All topped off with a top hat, naturally. Nice, very nice, indeed.
The jerk looked dashing. The doctor was similarly outfitted but not nearly as scrumptious.
“Excuse me, Madam, but I don’t know of what you are speaking. Perhaps you are out of sorts now you have been struck by the carriage-“
“Carriage? Carriage?”
“Yes. Carriage.”
“Is that what you people call them?” I snorted.
We looked at each other as if neither one of us spoke the other’s language.
“Yes, ma’am, it is,” he said slowly so I could follow. “As I was saying, perhaps you are out of sorts since your…er…accident.”
“Don’t get condescending with me, Langdon,” I pointed at him and frowned at the doctor who forced me to look up and down, side to side, following his gloved finger.
“What is your name, madam?” The doctor asked warmly.
“Maisie Reynolds.”
“Miss Reynolds, can you tell me today’s date, with the year included, if you please?” The doctor winked conspiratorially at Langdon, as if he were on the precipice of curing me. Knowing the date was not going to help fix my arm. And even if I had a concussion, I wasn’t suffering from amnesia. I wished someone would call an ambulance for goodness sake.
“It’s August 12th, ’05.” I answered drolly. Duh.
“Ah, ha! There is the problem, my dear!” The doctor exclaimed.
“It’s August 12th, yes, but the year isn’t ’05, it’s 1904.”
Langdon said smugly, apparently overjoyed that he could break this news to me.
I did a double-take right there on the ground. And then I laughed and laughed. I wiped my eyes as the tears streamed down.
“Nick you really got me with this, I’ll hand it to you. 1904.
Carriages. Top hats and Morning suits. What a hoot! And look, you even got Doc here to participate in your theatrics. And that woman over there…look at her gown! Isn’t it fabulous—” My voice trailed off.
I glanced around me as quickly as I could with a pounding headache and noticed then that the entire street was authentically 1904-ish.
There were old cars, cobbled streets, finely dressed ladies and gentlemen mingling with the poorest, grimiest-looking of the poor. There were cozy storefronts, an open market, and a very real stench of coal.
“Amazing, just amazing. Nick, this is one hell of a recreation.
Is this all for the grand opening?” I looked up at him with wide eyes, completely convinced he was a genius – a sexist pig genius.
Nick shared a look of concern with the doctor who was rummaging through his black bag for something to wrap my elbow with.
“Er-” Nick waffled.
“What?” I felt a sense of foreboding all of the sudden, like I had entered the Twilight Zone.
Nick crouched down and took my left hand gently. His eyes were mesmerizing and so kind. Okay, I thought, now I know I have a concussion.
“Mrs. Reynolds-“
I shook my head. “No. Not ‘Mrs., “Miss. Doc was right the first time when he addressed me as ‘Miss. Mrs. Reynolds is my mother.”
Nick gasped slightly. “And you travel alone, without a chaperone?”
I scrunched my face up in confusion. “Huh? Why would ! need a chaperone? I’m thirty, for God’s sake!”
“I see…” A look of amusement passed over his face, but just as quickly, Nick put his business face back on. “Miss Reynolds, I am Nicholas Langdon—”
“YEAH, I knoooow… What is going on Langdon?” I frowned at his latest Captain Obvious act; he could do so much better.
“Ahh, I do not know how you know my name, as it is quite apparent by your manner of speech and dress that you are not from London nor from England, and you must have only arrived here very recently judging from this unusual bag which you carry.” He pointed to my bag as it lay in the muddy puddles of the cobblestone street. How’d they get the streets from tar to cobblestone that quicky?
“Great. So we’ve gone from Captain Obvious to Sherlock Holmes,” I said dryly. “And you’re the one with memory loss if you don’t remember me at all, Nick.”
He jerked his hand away. “I am called Cole by my friends.”
He buffed an already pristine-looking button on his coat. “As I was saying, you have suffered a head injury of some kind-” They nodded in agreement, over eagerly, I might add. “—As a result of the carriage impacting you as you attempted to navigate the street here.” He gestured with his big hat head toward the street I was currently residing on. The doctor finished his examination and declared me “confused.” I rolled my eyes as I sat there contemplating the obvious decline in the state of health care.
He knelt down to my level again, bringing those eyes back in full view. Be still my racing heart! “You need rest. You will feel better tomorrow, the doctor has assured me. He could find nothing wrong with you—”
“Yeah, I guess he couldn’t out here in the middle of the street instead of in a hospital with diagnostic tests and modern equipment…”
Nick sighed. “Where are you staying? Please allow me to escort you there,” he said with genuine chivalry. Hmm… I think I like this 1904 Nick much better. Can we keep him after the grand opening has ended?
But it was all an illusion-some kind of cruel game. It slowly, fully registered that Nick Langdon was beyond mean and nasty. He was leading me to believe I was going crazy. An elaborate hoax was underway to trip me into insanity, and all because he didn’t trust in my abilities. His sisters told me the whole story of how furious he was when his father chose to go with my employer rather than a British company. So this was his attempt at forcing me off of the assignment; he assumed he could convince his father to accept the bid from the other company once he had proven me unstable, and my employer incompetent. Well, I had news for Langdon-I wasn’t going anywhere but back to my hotel room to rest up for tomorrow’s work.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t need your assistance, Cole. I can find my way back to my hotel unaided, thank you. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow, and I fully expect to be at work.”
“Work?” His luxurious eyes were as wide as half-dollars.
“Oh, come on now. Enough with the act-you know exactly what I’m talking about!” I stood slowly, picked up my bags with my good arm and took a deep breath. I looked Nick/Cole over one last time to fully appreciate his fine masculinity dressed up in an early 20th century day suit once more; that is, before this hoax was revealed. Such a shame it would all be over when the ruse was lifted. I sighed and turned to go, but I didn’t get far.
Cole grabbed my arm gently and turned me to face him.
“You know, madam, it is not safe to… work…the streets…do you need money? I can help you to find a respectable home to lodge in, I’m sure…” he whispered. His eyes and lips so close to my face mesmerized me for a time, so that I didn’t register what he said-at first.
“What?! You think I’m a prostitute?” This had to be the worst insult he had slung at me yet. And I made quite a scene about it, too. For all his attempts at discretion, I was yelling at the top of my lungs. “That’s right, when I’m not working ninety hours a week as a Costume Historian and Photographer, I’m a street walker! Is that what you truly believe about me?” People were stopping and staring by this point and Cole shared conspiratorial looks with Doc before gently nudging me toward what I assumed was his car. I plopped down hard on the seat and he gracefully sat across from me. “I’m sorry, Miss Reynolds, I misunderstood your words a moment ago. Forgive me. Please allow me to escort you to your dwellings.”
He looked so damned sincere and I was tired of arguing with him. Plus, my arm and head hurt. “OK, fine. It’s only four blocks from here.” He told the driver where to go and we were off. I was certain the scenery would change back to modern day once we reached my hotel and that cool Cole would morph back into nasty Nick. We jiggled and bumbled along in the car, with an awkward silence between us. I felt my expression of awe turn into a frown as we reached the end of the third block and there was no change in scenery. To be honest, I was more than a little concerned for my mental state.
“Umm, Cole? This…this is my hotel here,” I lied. I took a quick, desperate survey of the street and saw a quaint establishment with vacancies. The rising panic in my gut made me want to bolt out of the car and run as far as I could, to anywhere that would lead me back to 2005.
Cole peered up at the two-story building just ahead on the right and called for his man to stop the carriage. “Are you certain this is the correct place?” He sounded concerned, but it looked fine to me. Besides, I had to remind myself, this is all an illusion, anyway.
“Miss Reynolds, this establishment doesn’t seem proper somehow. Why don’t you let me arrange a lodging for you-” Cole grimaced up at the shutters, that, upon closer inspection, were in obvious need of repair. The one on the left looked as if it would fall at any second and crush both of us flat like pancakes. The front door was a tattered, peeling shade of faded cobalt blue and the ground floor window was so grimy I couldn’t see through it. “Uhhh-” I hesitated. Even in make-believe land I did NOT want to lodge there.
Cole nodded and seemed to understand my reticence immediately. He called to his driver at once and we drove off. “I cannot allow you to stay here. We will call on someone whom I think will have plenty of space for you to stay until you decide otherwise.” Chivalrous Cole was a welcome relief and soothed me a bit, although the fact that the scenery did not change from 1905 to 2005 at all in the course of driving to his friend’s house was worrisome. About ten minutes into the uncomfortably silent journey, and after much thoughtful deliberation with myself, I decided that I would go with the flow and accept it all as a reality.
If I did have a concussion, there wasn’t anything I could do about it, anyway. Maybe I’d have to wait until the swelling in my brain went down and I suddenly snapped out of it. Or maybe it was all a dream and I’d wake up at any minute. Regardless, I couldn’t think about it anymore. I was in 1904 and I would savor the experience as if it were real, until it was not real.
And, if I were truly dancing gaily around in the fields of madness, then, hey, being crazy was looking as promising as the huge stone mansion we were approaching after twenty-five minutes of bumping along in the car, both of us ignoring the amazing zing in the air when our knees bumped as we rolled to a halt.
“It's Amy,” I said. 