Post by goldenmyst on Feb 23, 2020 10:51:27 GMT -6
Wherefore Love to Grow
The land is pockmarked in trees ripped from their roots and tangled in clumps. If there is a future it has to be somewhere further down the wasteland of what once was America. No crops can be grown to sustain us in the plutonium tilled land which greets us ahead.
But appearances can be deceiving. I aim my pocket particle beam projector at the contorted earth and voila a beautiful lake appears. The cloaked land reveals itself as an oasis of water out here in this radioactive wasteland. The holo fields which carpet the surviving bodies of water and forest are designed to keep the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow out of reach. Hence, the deception would cause us to give up on the ark called earth. This would drive the last nail in the coffin of the extinction of the lost tribe of America.
Low and behold running up the lakeshore are two young people in blue jeans. Not only had the cloak obscured the lake but also a young man and woman who apparently had hidden in this remnant of the earth’s once verdant country. They join me and my new wife up on the hillside.
The woman’s fluttering eyelids are that of my Rowena having tricked Charon with the ruse of her being a deliverer of souls instead of a passenger to Hades. The maiden embraces me with the words, “Daddy, father time has been good to you. You still look young.”
I replied, “God, you smile like your mother did as a young woman. Fatherhood eluded me since your Mom and I were separated. What happened to your Mom? I am dying to know.”
“Dad you found her. She is the very same belle by your side. She wears the same clashing colors as she did when I was growing up. You see both you and Mom were bipolar. When the calamity rained fire from the sky your moods swung wildly. The elders gave you both insulin shock therapy to calm you down as a last kindness. This erased your memories so that your reunion was as strangers.”
Rowena asks, “Then how come we haven’t flipped our wigs since?”
I tell my love, “I suspect we had a brief reactive psychosis due to the stress of the war. Going off our rocker was a once in a lifetime episode.”
“We were like astronauts on a moonshot never to be repeated,” Rowena replies.
I reply, “We were psychonauts exploring our inner space.”
Rowena says, “Twilight Zone meets Star Trek. Are you sure your condition is in remission?”
I say, “My mind is fit as a fiddle. But this is why I recognized your mannerisms but not what you looked like.”
“When the guardians of the state scattered Mom took me with her looking for you. She couldn’t keep pace with me and told me to go ahead. My last memory of her is that she made me promise to seek you out. Now I’ve found you both.”
Rowena says, “Samantha now that John and I are already married I don’t need a wedding dress or a parson both of which would be impossible to find.”
I reply, “Now that you mention it I recall getting hitched just can’t put a face on her.”
Samantha adds, “She even holds her hands in the same pose she did when I was a kid. Look at how she makes circles using her thumb and index fingers and holds them by her hips.”
My wife, Rowena, replies, “You people are giving me a major case of déjà vu.”
I tell her, “You also button your blouse up to your collar as I remember.”
Rowena says, “Please stop.”
I say, “I loved your shy nature. But your witticisms make life bearable in this wasteland.”
“Finally there is something different about me from your foggy impressions! Praise the Lord and pass the wine.”
We are too old to have babies. But our daughter and her boyfriend are just the right age at the springtime of their lives.
But the couple bickers and argues like spouses in a marriage on the verge of divorce. How can they procreate with such animosity toward each other? So I put on the new hat of couple’s counselor. But my tact is to explain to them what is at stake for humanity and why they have to at least feign getting along. If there is to be a new generation they will be the progenitors. For God sake, make love, not discord. My wife and I may not survive to parent your children so you two are in it for the long haul I admonish them.
So our motley crew heads out into the ruins of a city. There I come upon the broken-down house in which I’d lived with my wife before the calamity. The photo albums from our trips are there mostly intact. There is a picture of us bathing in a hot spring in British Columbia. Then there is my LP collection. A Japanese jazz record catches my eye and excites me with nostalgia. But sadly this is the past and we have to move on to our future wherever that may lie.
We take to the open horizon and highway. We plot a course through the ruins of small-town America some of which may have been spared the fire from the sky and search for a place where the blush of my daughter’s youth can welcome her boyfriend to her bosom wherefore love to grow.
The land is pockmarked in trees ripped from their roots and tangled in clumps. If there is a future it has to be somewhere further down the wasteland of what once was America. No crops can be grown to sustain us in the plutonium tilled land which greets us ahead.
But appearances can be deceiving. I aim my pocket particle beam projector at the contorted earth and voila a beautiful lake appears. The cloaked land reveals itself as an oasis of water out here in this radioactive wasteland. The holo fields which carpet the surviving bodies of water and forest are designed to keep the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow out of reach. Hence, the deception would cause us to give up on the ark called earth. This would drive the last nail in the coffin of the extinction of the lost tribe of America.
Low and behold running up the lakeshore are two young people in blue jeans. Not only had the cloak obscured the lake but also a young man and woman who apparently had hidden in this remnant of the earth’s once verdant country. They join me and my new wife up on the hillside.
The woman’s fluttering eyelids are that of my Rowena having tricked Charon with the ruse of her being a deliverer of souls instead of a passenger to Hades. The maiden embraces me with the words, “Daddy, father time has been good to you. You still look young.”
I replied, “God, you smile like your mother did as a young woman. Fatherhood eluded me since your Mom and I were separated. What happened to your Mom? I am dying to know.”
“Dad you found her. She is the very same belle by your side. She wears the same clashing colors as she did when I was growing up. You see both you and Mom were bipolar. When the calamity rained fire from the sky your moods swung wildly. The elders gave you both insulin shock therapy to calm you down as a last kindness. This erased your memories so that your reunion was as strangers.”
Rowena asks, “Then how come we haven’t flipped our wigs since?”
I tell my love, “I suspect we had a brief reactive psychosis due to the stress of the war. Going off our rocker was a once in a lifetime episode.”
“We were like astronauts on a moonshot never to be repeated,” Rowena replies.
I reply, “We were psychonauts exploring our inner space.”
Rowena says, “Twilight Zone meets Star Trek. Are you sure your condition is in remission?”
I say, “My mind is fit as a fiddle. But this is why I recognized your mannerisms but not what you looked like.”
“When the guardians of the state scattered Mom took me with her looking for you. She couldn’t keep pace with me and told me to go ahead. My last memory of her is that she made me promise to seek you out. Now I’ve found you both.”
Rowena says, “Samantha now that John and I are already married I don’t need a wedding dress or a parson both of which would be impossible to find.”
I reply, “Now that you mention it I recall getting hitched just can’t put a face on her.”
Samantha adds, “She even holds her hands in the same pose she did when I was a kid. Look at how she makes circles using her thumb and index fingers and holds them by her hips.”
My wife, Rowena, replies, “You people are giving me a major case of déjà vu.”
I tell her, “You also button your blouse up to your collar as I remember.”
Rowena says, “Please stop.”
I say, “I loved your shy nature. But your witticisms make life bearable in this wasteland.”
“Finally there is something different about me from your foggy impressions! Praise the Lord and pass the wine.”
We are too old to have babies. But our daughter and her boyfriend are just the right age at the springtime of their lives.
But the couple bickers and argues like spouses in a marriage on the verge of divorce. How can they procreate with such animosity toward each other? So I put on the new hat of couple’s counselor. But my tact is to explain to them what is at stake for humanity and why they have to at least feign getting along. If there is to be a new generation they will be the progenitors. For God sake, make love, not discord. My wife and I may not survive to parent your children so you two are in it for the long haul I admonish them.
So our motley crew heads out into the ruins of a city. There I come upon the broken-down house in which I’d lived with my wife before the calamity. The photo albums from our trips are there mostly intact. There is a picture of us bathing in a hot spring in British Columbia. Then there is my LP collection. A Japanese jazz record catches my eye and excites me with nostalgia. But sadly this is the past and we have to move on to our future wherever that may lie.
We take to the open horizon and highway. We plot a course through the ruins of small-town America some of which may have been spared the fire from the sky and search for a place where the blush of my daughter’s youth can welcome her boyfriend to her bosom wherefore love to grow.
