Josh: The Orchard

Deep breaths, Yoshida. Deep breaths. I never thought I'd be able to say this, but you've done a good job. If I had said before I read your last post that I was entirely sure of my mom's mental state I would have been lying. Now... well it's a big relief, not only to me but I'm certain also to her. The fact that the two of you agree that somehow, someway two very important historical dates have been changed is a lot easier to live with than if it was just her. Oh, and even though us mere, pathetic, knuckle-dragging ape-creatures could never hope to comprehend your precious math, send it along privately anyway, I want to see it. God, even when you have me feeling sorry for you, you still manage to go out of your way to be a douchebag.

I wish I could say where Mary and I are, but if we did Agent Pierce would just rat us out again, so we'll have to go with "an undisclosed location". We decided that we'd had enough of motels and now that I'm rolling in dough we rented a couple of rooms at a bed & breakfast in a rural setting. After all the madness and violence of the past couple of weeks, I can't tell you how good it felt just to get out of bed this morning and wander through the apple orchard that abuts the b&b property.

Of course, with my attention span my little walk lasted all of five minutes before I felt the biological urge to play a video game, but it was pleasant all the same. While Mary slept in I dashed out to a nearby small town, miraculously found a Radio Shack and went on a spending spree picking up two laptops and every possible accessory for them. I then spent the rest of the day reading up on the Napoleonic wars, Belgium, Abba and whether or not Georgia has the death penalty (they do. Ouch).

That night Mary and I took a walk behind the bed & breakfast up to the top of the hill overlooking the orchard. A gentle breeze drifted through the trees below, wafting the sweet scent of rotting apples over us. From a tall oak tree at the top of the hill someone had suspended a bench swing from a low branch, and Mary and I sat and rocked, my side arcing out farther and tilting us a bit sideways before she'd had enough and pulled her feet up to rest on the wooden seat next to her, leaving the pushing to me. Occasionally I'd get a whiff of her hair. It smelled like hotel shampoo: a combination of cheap chemicals and adventure. With all we'd been through, it was a lovely, peaceful moment and I succeeded in not ruining it by talking, at least for a good thirty seconds or so.

"It was nice when we were in the car that time with your head on my shoulder."

Mary recoiled and stared at me with a combination of amazement and disgust. "When I was sobbing and covered in blood and centipede guts? That time?"

I shrugged. "We were in our underwear. As a guy you do whatever mental editing is necessary to make a moment like that a good memory. Never mind, forget I said anything." I tried to keep my gaze on the trees below in a vain attempt to recapture the quiet mood, but I could feel her disbelieving stare bore into the side of my head.

"We had just had the most horrifying night of our lives, we were bitten and terrified and running like hell, and that was 'nice'?" She looked at me like I was a failed science experiment.

I ran my hand through my hair, remembered that we had just cut almost all of it off as part of my disguise and let my hand drop to my lap. "No one ever leaned on my like that before. No one..." I sighed, for once unable to find the right word. "No one ever needed me like that before. Can we just forget it? I know it's weird." I turned away, just wanting to not be stared at like that. I planted my hands on the bench, getting ready to push up and go back to my room, but then I felt Mary rest her head gently on my shoulder. We swung there silently for a long time, just staring out into the night at the few tiny stars not obscured by the evening's clouds.

For the first time she spoke before I did, her voice just above a whisper. "What other 'mental editing' have you done from that night?"

"Well, there was no blood, of course. And we weren't on the side of a highway, we were at a drive-in movie, like the one they used to have in Hales Corners back in Wisconsin." I carefully moved my arm, draping it softly over her shoulder. She didn't lean into me, but she didn't pull away, either. "We sat and watched a romantic comedy, probably something with Hugh Grant, but made in Britain, not here. We had a big tub of popcorn with extra butter, Dove bars, large soda and we were in our underwear."

She sighed. "It's been forever since I had a Dove bar."

"Your bra and panties were pink instead of white."

"Oh, my. Go on. What else?"

"I was Wolverine."

She slapped her forehead dramatically. "You can stop talking now."

I leaned back and looked up through the dark branches of the oak tree at the cloudy night sky, rocking the swing back and forth. I chuckled. "Now who's dreaming?"