sandy beach

14 August 2015 – The end of the month looms. Was hoping to visit mom but she hasn’t returned any of my calls. So agreed to work an extra week. Wishing now I hadn’t. Time running short. Too much on plate. All the little things to tend to. Been edgy and nervous. Excited, yes. But also mildly anxious. Not having a job lined up is new for me. Shouldn’t bother me but it does. Don’t know why. It’s not like I’m leaping into an abyss of unknowns. Guess it’s just how I’m wired.

16 August 2015 – Lunch with Clara. Her wondering what she’s going to do with herself once I’m gone. Told her she’ll have to come out and visit. Simple as that. She tapped her head and said it’s in there for cogitation. Right beside her chief curiosity of the moment. Adulterers. And their not so anonymous online hookup club. She’d like to know if prospective clients have to prove they’re married to join.

Told her about my pet project. The woman and the minivan on the gravel road. She seemed more interested in my dabbling in stories than the idea itself. While describing scene to her Tom Jones song came on. Delilah. Think I have a name for my heroine. Ine?

18 August 2015 – Listed car for sale. Perused job listings. Got to pondering Delilah.

She’s retreated to her minivan. Sitting in driver seat with door open. Blank expression on her face. Hands loosely gripping the wheel. Through windshield she sees cloud of dust coming up road slowly. A tractor materializes. Shimmering in late morning heat. Delilah gets up. Stands behind open door. As the tractor nears she starts hailing it with jumping-jack arms and sidles to middle of road. The driver of the tractor waves. Hear the engine’s heavy roar shift to a low grumble. Tractor stops. The driver, salt of the earth farmer, tips brim of greasy ball cap in greeting.

G ecstatic. Told me he’s kissing my temples in celebration. I told him I don’t think I’m getting very far with it. He asked how far I want to go.

A good question.

Clouds this evening like a beach of rippling sand. Days getting shorter already.

19 August 2015 – Started file on laptop. To keep notes on Delilah. Got down some ideas about what’s going to happen (the arc, G calls it) and scratching surface of what’s put her on the road (back story)—the more I ponder the former, the more relevant seems the latter.

Forwards and back. Ain’t that just the way.

Possible exchange between Delilah and farmer:

‘You’ve the look of lost about you,’ says the farmer.

‘I am, I think.’

‘Where you after?’

‘Well…. Here. I thought. I mean, I thought there was a road around here. With a house on the corner? Yellow one.’

‘That were the Livingst’ns. Just up from where you come. Half mile or so. Gone now. Sold up some 2-3 years back. Nasty bit of business that. Took down the house. Dozed the road. Upset more than few in these parts I’ll say. Rightly so. The Livingst’ns though. Fine folk. They who you after finding?’

‘No. I’m trying to…. Do you know the Bridges?’

‘Peter and Mary, like?’


‘That where you headed?’


The farmer scratches at his stubbled jaw.

‘Terrible run they’ve had.’

20 August 2015 – Dad’s gone fishing. House feels like it’s readying itself to return to housing a middle-aged bachelor.

22 August 2015 – Finally a call from mom. Really should go see her. Timing’s tricky though. Marcus died on Tuesday. No getting around that. On Tuesday Marcus died. Still chills me. Doesn’t feel right not to be here. With dad. And I’m not sure being with mom on that of all days will do either of us any good. Plane’s on Friday. Christ. Too much to think about at the moment. Must to work. One more shift to get through. Then it’s dinner drinks dancing with Clara. C&W DDD.


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