VIN (a.k.a. "Untitled") PT 8

When I began writing this story, I thought that I knew what the end of it would look like. Writers always do. We all think that we are the captain of our ships. Mighty creators. Not usually.

Usually we are the pale, tired, slobs that get to run around behind those characters and write down what they do.

As it turns out, Vin had her own story to tell and Earnest who was supposed to have the equivalent of a walk-on in a film kept popping up. I would say like a bad penny but Earnest is not a bad penny. He never has been one so saying that would not only be untrue but be decidedly unladylike. Mom really emphasized the being a lady thing and the independence thing and the encouragement of intellectual thought thing. We didn’t talk about run on sentences enough apparently or it never sunk in. Take your pick.

At the end of the day, this was Vin’s story and I was just the pale slob following her. She is a character that I cannot ever imagine forgetting. I wish her and Earnest all the best. They deserve it.

--Most Sincerely HR Apostos

                                         For Vin and Earnest

“It sounds like a warning.”

“It does.” Hardy responds without looking up from his book.

“When did I write it?”

“Last week. Your husband had died, you were having a bad day.”

“I had a husband?” I ask.

“You did.”
 I study the antique clock that sits on the desk for a moment. “How old was I?”

“When?”

“When I wrote this?”

“I’m not the best judge of a woman’s age.”

I stare at Hardy until he looks up from his book.

“You are a handsome woman in your golden years. Cranky at times, but quite handsome.”

I look around. “Time isn’t continuous here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You’ll have to use it in a story some day that way you can figure it out.” He says with a grin.

“What do I do now that I’ve seen the warning?” I ask.

“Whatever you like. It is all in your head, my dear.”

“That isn’t the most helpful answer.”

“I know.” Hardy admits and returns to his novel.

“What happens if I heed my warning?” I ask. “To my body? To my stuff?”

“I should think that someone will find you. You will be taken where you can be cared for.” Hardy suggests.

“I’ll be put away.” I have a strong urge to push myself out of the chair and run through the door as fast as my legs will carry me. That would be an immediate response. An emotional one. My warning was so...I sit back in the chair and think, swiveling back and forth. Back and forth.

After several minutes Hardy looks up from his book, “Are you staying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Are you going?”

“No.”

He looks at me. I can tell that he doesn’t quite know how to respond to my ambiguity.

“Annoying, isn’t it?” I ask.

“It is.” He admits with a smile.

After I pass several minutes in my anxiety and on the fringes of borderline panic, he speaks. “You know Vin, every point of view has at least one, if not several other angles.”

“Because any one life can take several different paths.” I continue. “I take it we’re talking destiny as opposed to free will?”

“It is true,” Hardy says, “that there are many ways to look at the path that one’s future can take...and the free will thing.”

“So the Vin that wrote this may not be the Vin that I become?”

As usual Hardy does not give me a definitive answer. “It will be a culmination of your choices that will lead you to your future.”

“There are no guarantees?”

“Very good.” He says.

I watch the fire for a bit. “Hardy...did I leave any others?”

He looks up from Don Quixote.

“Notes? In this room?”

“This is your room. Only you would know my dear.”

I begin searching the desk for more notes. Another clue. Another bread crumb something that will help propel me forward, back to Earnest, the gazebo, the difficult changes that lay before me.

“Nothing?” Hardy asks after I make disagreeable noises. As well as muttering, opening, and closing drawers. I check the clocks, a box on the fireplace mantel, the piled up newspapers from years past. There is only one place left to look. The bookshelf.

“A daunting task.” Hardy says from his seat.

I turn and look at him. “Unless there’s something else that I don’t know I’ve got nothing but time.” I return to the books and the hunt for a glimmer of hope among the stacks. “Washington, Wells, Wilde.” My finger slows at Oscar Wilde. There’s something here...then I see it. The Importance of Being Ernest. “Does Earnest have anything to do with this?” I call behind me.

“I cannot divulge the future.”

“Don’t tell me there are inter-dimensional rules or something.”

“No, you made me promise not to.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides it’s fun watching you look.”

I glare at Hardy.

“I made a promise.” He says.

I continue glaring. He returns to his book.

“If you wanted to know these things you wouldn’t have made me promise.”

“What about free will?”

“This is your journey. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Deciding against checking The Importance of Being Ernest, I run my fingers along the top of each page feeling for an irregularity, before I move on. About twenty pages before the back cover, I feel something. It’s thicker than the rest of the surface, stiffer too. My hand stops moving and I lift the book from its place on the shelf. There it is. An old note card with a picture of Earnest Hemingway on it. There’s a quote that reads, “Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you.” – A Farewell To Arms. I turn it over. A note is written on the back:

Yes, a life of chasing material possessions, living for accomplishments, waiting for things or people that never come will ruin your life because needing that next thing to complete your life becomes a way of life. You break your own heart over and over again. Not all of reality is bad. - – Lve Earnest P.S. I’ll be right back.

I return to the fireside and the leather chairs with the card in my hand. “It’s Earnest.” I say handing the note card to Hardy.

“Well what do you know?” He says with a smile. “How about that.”

“You knew the whole time.”

“If I gave you the answer that wouldn’t have been much fun.” He says.

“Why does he keep disappearing?” I ask.

“You’re never going to find out hanging around here.”

I smile and head for the doorway. I see the desk. The parchment sitting on the desk. The warning note. I stop and look at Hardy. “I’m going to lose him aren’t I?”

“You might.”

I try to toss the feeling away but I can’t seem to take the next step.

“Don’t.” Hardy says. “Don’t give up a lifetime of good times to avoid a single bad one. You will never forgive yourself.”

“You’ve seen what happens if I stay.”

“I’ve been here for a while my dear. This future that you’re headed for...it’s my favorite.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I look at Hardy. “This had better be a good one.”

“It is my dear. It is.”

“Here goes nothing.” I exit the room and open my eyes to find Earnest staring at me. His face is pale.

“Vin?”

It takes me a minute to find my voice, “Yeah.”

“You’re back?”

“I’m back.”

Earnest smiles.

Sirens are going off in the distance. “What’s that sound?” I ask.

“An ambulance. Your roommate Kelly called a couple of minutes ago. She freaked out when I told her why you weren’t answering your own phone.”

“She called an ambulance?”

“I’m surprised she didn’t call a S.W.A.T. team.”

I look around.

“Tulio should be here any second to kill me.”

I smile.

“Tulio wouldn’t harm a fly. He might muss your hair while trying to kick your ass but only because Kelly would kick his ass if he didn’t at least rough you up a little bit.”

“Oh. That’s good to know.”

“You were gone a long time.” Earnest says. “What brought you back?”

“You. I found a note in the room from you.”

“From me?”

I recited the note to him.

“I began talking to you when I started to get worried. Those were almost my exact words.”

“It helped. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Voices are coming closer to the gazebo at an alarming rate. Earnest and I both watch as ambulance attendants and a stretcher race towards us.

“Shall we let these gentlemen know that you’re okay?” He asks.

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

“I hope that you have a good story for them.” Earnest says.

“I don’t know what to tell them. I’ve been a little bit busy. You’re the mysterious stranger shouldn’t you be able to come up with something quickly?”

“You’re the writer.”

I look at Earnest. “Mysterious stranger.”

“Not a Spaniard.” He counters.

“Are you going to use that excuse for everything?”