Chapter 1: Time is Taffy

Hey everyone!

I will be writing parts of the manuscript as I make my reverse migration. I will be posting snippets. Consider them as movie trailers for the final product. This is chapter 1. Enjoy!

Remy
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Time is Taffy

I take a seat on the stoop of my pastel Victorian apartment building. My shirtless neighbor gives me a perplexed look over his Anchor Steam. “What’s in the suitcase?”

Warm weather, or mid-60s in the Bay Area, calls for two things: the shedding of clothes and the consumption of San Francisco brews.

“Headed to Columbia?” He laughs at my oversized valise.

It’s the same maroon hardshell that Johnny Depp had in Fear and Loathing, only with less nefarious contents: A tape recorder, a journal, The Grapes of Wrath, Bound for Glory and a book on Native Americans.

“I’m going to Oklahoma,” I proclaim. His face screws up in the midday sunlight. “Why the hell are you going there?” He takes a swig of his beer. I smile and consider his question.

The eucalyptus of Golden Gate Park rise above the spiracle rooftops on my street. A cool breeze rustles their twisty tops in late afternoon. Everyone in San Francisco is a refugee, even the trees transplanted from Australia,. I’ve lived here less than a year, but, like many others, consider it my home. Why would I want to leave this?

“I’m retracing my grandpa’s footsteps along the Dust Bowl Trail. There’s an old rumor in our family that we’ve got some Native American blood and I’m going to go find out if it’s true.”

He kills the last in the bottle and discards it in a growing cemetery of others. “Good luck, man.”
______

One of the many benefits of working at a Hippy Hotel on Haight Street (aside from alliteration) is the ability to hitch a ride with almost every guest headed down the coast of California. My saving grace came in the form of a co-worker and a Turkish couple.

As I wait in the hotel lobby for our departure, I notice a man slowly drawing on a napkin. What’s left of his thin white hair is pulled into a ponytail, revealing his shiny forehead. He lifts his cup of black coffee to his lips. As if aware of my gaze, he peers at me through the steam.

“Going somewhere?” His voice is from a different time, eerie and mythical. “Yeah, I’m leaving town for a month.”

I talk with Felix (not his real name) at least once a week, but I never like to tell him too much. It ruins his fun.

“Ahhh,” he continues. “Time is but taffy for you.” He takes another drink and chuckles to himself.

“I guess so,” I say as I take a seat.

“Where’s my hat?” His wild white eyebrows narrow and his gaze intensifies. “Here,” he says. He puts the coffee cup on his head.

“My name is Madame Roberta,” he tells me. “I’m here to read your fortune.” His smile is maniacal.

My heart starts to race. Felix has talked to me about everything. Once, for two hours, he talked about homoerotic undertones between Jesus and the disciples. But he’s never given me an astrological reading.

“When’s your birthday?” he says, lowering his wizard headdress.

“September 26.”

His eyes become crescents and he begins to whisper. “Uranus is going to be here for a good month and a half; it doesn’t turn retrograde until the 8th or 10th of next month.” His aura is captivating. I lean in until I’m halfway out of my seat.

He mutters something about The Charts, and The Tables, and then his eyes disappear entirely. “There’s going to be a new moon around your birthday,” he says.

“Oh, yeah?” I try to contain my enthusiasm.

Eyes still closed, he continues, “Uranus is in opposition to your sun right now.” A boy with asymmetrical blonde bangs and a rainbow painted across the bridge of his nose overhears and giggles. He blows two kisses at me. During Pride in San Francisco, a planetary double entendre is too good to pass up.

I refocus on Felix. “Umm, my sun?”

“Well, you see, the sun is you,” he says. His eyes slowly open. His gaze is magnetic. “This could mean some sort of shock or challenge to your self-definition, your foundation. A change in how you define yourself.”

I shake my head in disbelief. It’s exactly what my journey is about. How could he possibly know this?

“I’m doing the reverse Dust Bowl migration to Oklahoma,” I explain. “It’s where my grandfather came from. I’m going to find out if there really is Native American blood in our family.” I’m out of breath, like I’ve just ran a marathon.

He leans back in his chair and looks at me like he’s known all along. “There is one thing the Uranus does,” he continues. “Uranus frees us--no, forces us to let go of the things that have served their purpose.”

“You mean like old habits?”

“Dead weight. Baggage. But that’s a little colloquial. I mean structures. They are in your way. They are yours, but they are in your way.”

“Sounds like this is going to be a life-changing trip,” I say cynically, but I’m salivating to hear more.

“You could have surprises out there in Okie Land,” he says ominously. “There could be shock from the Other.”

I’m confused. “Wait, other, as in another person?”

He’s giddy with excitement. “Other, yes. The Other is opposite you. It’s very abstract. ” He squishes and stretches an invisible blob of Play-Doh with both hands. “It’s just, Other.”

A smoky Cherokee babe? I like where Felix is going. But she vanishes as he continues. “This energy is coming from the Other. And keep in mind that this is an opposition, not a harmonic tie. There is an element of challenge with your own self-definition. You may fight it or force it off. It may be kind of tough, but you may look back and see the change was for the better.”

He crosses his arms and then changes his mind, as if unblocking a dam. “Letting go of that baggage. There could be some things revealed. You are in a time of discovering how you define yourself.”

His words are coming faster now and my head is spinning. Who is the Other? What is this baggage? How far can I suspend disbelief for this guy?

But I feel the atmosphere change. Swiftly. Merlin, my wise counsel, has turned into the grim medieval executioner. He leans in. I see the dark decay between his teeth, the result of years of black-coffee prophecies.

“Ahhhh,” he continues. “Now is not a time to go pushing the limits.” His breath shakes like a bag of rattlesnakes. “With Uranus, you think everything is cool and then surprise! Uranus is the lightning bolt, the upset. The Sudden.” His face looks sallow and grim.

“Don’t take shortcuts,” he warns. “That can be for other times. Right now, stick with the established order. In some respects, playing it kind of, kind of conservative. I don’t want to say, ‘Stay away unfamiliar territory.’ But just knowing, knowing where you are. Know your situation. Know where your place is, in your situation. Not necessarily a good time for stepping out. You don’t want to cause problems with others. Now, now is a time to be conscientious about creating problems for yourself.”

The room is silent, as if someone extinguished the chatter and creaks of the hundred year old hotel lobby. The vertebrae in my neck feel like scorching coals.

A co-worker told me that Felix came in one day in March 2010 and casually announced that the Giants would win the World Series eight months later. I’m not a sports fan, but it was impossible to miss the ecstatic orange revelers of San Francisco in November, when the Giants closed out the Texas Rangers in five games. His prediction was right. This guy was able to channel some serious star wisdom, and now I’m in the hot seat. My mouth goes dry.

“And especially,” he says pounding his fist on the table, “don’t play games with legality.”

“Wait, like what? What could I possibly do?”

He leans his head back and gives a deep staccato laugh. “Be respectful to the good old boys, and the lard-belly sheriff that you run into there in one of those counties!” At that, he loses it.

I lose it, too. We laugh until our sides hurt. Was he just kidding? Have I been listening to a nutcase, or just someone who likes to spin a good yarn?

“I’ll see you in August,” he says as I head out the door. His words roll over and over in my head as I make my way down the Pacific Coast Highway. The Other. Old Structures. Uranus.