A GREEN LIGHT SIGNAL
It’s a clear night, even the city lights can’t dim completely the array of stars overhead, A blurb flashes on and off at the sixth floor apartment window. Spaceship511 catches the signal and coasts slowly by. No, nothing calling here. The flashes are only solar battery Christmas tree lights.
A white owl, also powered by the Arizona sun, perches on the wall of the patio. Suddenly a dazzling sparkle arrow darts from the eyes of the owl and points to the inside of the window. There is only an instant available for insight. That’s sufficient to catch the Kross-road stories.
An old lady is humped over the computer keyboard. Her back hurts. She has spent the hours of the afternoon struggling with the computer layout, pushing unknown html around to form a Descriptive Archives. Her efforts haven’t been productive. Three possible formats and none worked. The entire K-Log might have been destroyed. She will find out when the next K-Log is added.
The old woman’s computer has a file with the title of “K-Logs in progress.” These stories have come to her so that she might edit and return to the world.
An hour remains before she must push the keyboard away and prepare supper, returning to her evening duties, The computer screen shows the unfinished K-Logs and she looks quickly to decide which one to finish telling the story.
Maybe “Coming of age,” a teenager becomes a young man. No, not yet, the story awaits the ending, on its way from Indiana.
“The Report on the Mexican.” This story will hurt to get on paper. Too much blood, too much heartache to continue with this now.
A photo of Senator Ted Kennedy shows up under the papers by her keyboard and the old lady smiles as she remembers that afternoon.
The phone rings, the wrinkles crease on her face even further. A Kross-roads hasn’t shown up yet for grandson, medical help is needed and the old woman wants his ills handled, wants to hear hope.
There is one more picture laying on her desk that might be a mystery and might be an answer. June 1976. She knew the man, a methodical person, and he had set up his Canon on a tripod to take a series of pictures at an Indiana State Park. The day celebrated a 50th wedding anniversary, complete with speeches, good picnic food, beautiful warm June weather and happiness covering it all. The camera caught the mood and the photographer produced lovely scenes of trees bordering the rippling water. He used these scenes to make calling cards and gave them out for both business and social purposes.
Thirty years later, 2006, the photographer died. He had told his wife and a few close friends that he would try to find a way to contact from “the other side.”
2013, seven years have passed. Two of his calling cards show up unexpectedly, within a couple of days of each other, and from two different places. One came in the mail from a friend of a friend of a friend in New York state. The other showed up in a box of paperwork to be thrown away.
The widow doesn’t doubt that her husband is telling her that all is well with him. But what else? This comes at a time when she has a decision to make. Is her husband telling her that he accepts that she might love someone else? Or is he reminding her of pleasurable days they had together, that the time has not yet come to find another love.
A Kross-roads awaits in her life and she believes that a message has come from her love of forty-five years and he is telling her the path to take. She cannot read the signposts. She awaits, she wants further signals. Slightly exasperated with her message from ‘the other side,” she calls out, “Dear, be more clear and specific.” Many a time she has told him those very words and many a time he has told her, “I am clear and specific, you are not listening to me.”
Spaceship511 backs away from this scene. The window, the apartment, the owl are bookmarked. Kross-roads are waiting here. The old lady will return to her keyboard tomorrow and maybe the stories in this household will be ready for telling.
November 21, 2013