been buried, when actually you've been planted
— Christine Caine
It’s been three years and I’ve been clean, dry and sober—not that I entered a program or attended a group, but it was more an elective sobriety where I had to decide between drinking or shipwreck.
I was drowning in more ways than one and needed to be rescued from a disastrous relationship—not that the Siren wasn’t lovely—if that were all I would have stayed.
No, it was more precipitous than that—you see, this Siren had been dead 80 years and I’m not a necrophiliac—just a shmuck who found a portal back to the Jazz Age and was seduced by a nymph and almsot perished on those rocks.
I’d like to say sanity intervened, but that was more a consummation to be wished than possessing a dream.
I dried out simply from self-preservation and the realization that boredom is not a reason to ressurect the dead…
No, if I were going to make a life it would have to be in this century playing with the hand I’ve been dealt.
Having decided to inhabit the present and make peace with contemporary society, I’ve returned to writing both as a livelihood and diversion from the tedium of being walled off in the Arts and Crafts house I purchased because it was once owned by my silver screen idol, Blythe Summers.
She was a movie actress back in the 1920’s and I was obsessed with her.
But as is typical of me I went too far in my pursuit of the lovely lady and my downfall came when I discovered a portal in her house that transported me back to the Jazz Age where I met her and we fell in love…
Or, so I thought.
Maybe it was all a grand illusion—a psychotic break or just an alcohol-induced fantasy but I realized I had to pull back or lose myself completely, so I walled up the entrance to that wing of the house and haven’t ventured back since then.
Maybe I should amend that last statement and add a qualifier—I haven’t ventured back until now.
So, why now? Yes, that’s the question. What’s changed in my life to prompt such an impulsive reconsideration?
I’d like to say boredom or the tedium of merely existing is driving me, but truthfully, most people would say my life is going well.
My latest novel is riding high on the New York Times bestseller list and I’ve women enough in my social circle to distract me, including Stella, my real estate rep, who helped me find Blythe’s house and is an enchantress in her own right.
As Elias my shrink tells me, I should press into a relationship with Stella who checks all the boxes for Everyman’s dream….
Except, for me—I’m not the common man—not that I think too highly of myself, but I’m realistic enough to accept there are some among us for whom settling for second is not enough and yeah, I’m one of that breed.
Elias is also concerned I might backslide into familiar habits—too much booze, too little sleep and flights of fictional fantasy typical ot writers—a veritable inferno I’ve visited before and might not easily escape a second time.
He’s right—twice in a lifetime is pushing my luck, but then, Stella is a Siren and Blythe a goddess and in this mythic quest who can say what’s an excess or simply part of the journey...
Only time will tell.