Ladyrebecca’s Musings and Ramblings

I’ve had serious writer’s block. Not really sure why but I’ve been feeling unmotivated in all areas of life so maybe it’s just a symptom of whatever else is going on (definitely the most likely scenario). So, in light of my block, I’m just going to run through the things that have happened in the last few days.

We had some friends over Sunday night. It was a ton of fun. One of the guys brought a bottle of white wine and a bottle of red. Both were hands down the best wines I’ve ever had.

Israel and I have been trying to find a wine we liked for a couple of years now but have not had any luck. I think we’ve finally gotten somewhere. Besides the wine, we had a riot. We told poop stories and laughed until we cried. Jael was wonderful. She allowed the adults to talk and would occasionally have interesting or funny things to add. She’s pretty much amazing.

We (all of us as Israel is working weekends right now) went over to a friend’s house for lunch on Tuesday and again, just had a riot. She has one daughter about a year younger than Jael but because neither Jael nor this little girl have not been peer stratified, they couldn’t care less about the age difference. They played beautifully together. Not tears, no yelling–well, not in anger at least. (For those of you that have met my daughter in person, you know that an afternoon with no yelling is an afternoon spent asleep.) I think we are going to get to be better friends with this gal and her husband. I’ve not met her husband but I think we are going to like him. So, as is usual, I think we are going to make some good friends six months before we leave a place. Don’t it figure?

Or, my friends leave me.

Tuesday night, I went out with some friends. Ana* is moving Sunday. She’s been a good friend, the one who introduced me to the mom’s group I’m a part of. Her son is my daughter’s best friend. They love each other. Jael doesn’t run up to hug other kids but she does this young boy. We were at the mall one day and Jael and Ana’s son are walking through the mall, holding hands, when we pass a jewelry store and they stop to look into the jewelry cases. It was a Kodak moment so of course no one had a camera ready. So, on top of me losing a good friend (okay, she’s only moving 12 hours away but that’s a long drive with a four year old), my daughter is losing her favorite friend.

Another mom from the mom’s group (actually the other administrator-we are loosing both of the ladies who started it so a time of readjustment is definitely on the horizon), is also moving but not until the end of the month. I’d just started to get to know her when we found out she was moving. I’m glad for her as the move is the result of a great job promotion for her husband but I’m going to miss her a lot.

Then we had a friend over last night and dropped the “we’re moving to Germany” bomb on her by accident. I was positive we’d told her we were leaving but I guess we didn’t. She was asking if we were going to go to the Renn Faire with her. I asked when it was, she said November and I said, nope, we’ll be in Germany by then. This was met by a blank stare. A sad blank stare. This sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me we had just pulled the rug out from under this friend. She’d just gone through a surprise break-up and had to move back in her disapproving parents. She incredibly smart and talented (her art is amazing). Basically, she doesn’t fit her in the Deep South. She belongs in a more enlightened place. Israel and I have been a breath of fresh air for her. She has many intelligent friends online but few she can get together with face to face. If the military hadn’t brought us here, we certainly wouldn’t have been the book store where we met. Every intelligent and/or truly enjoyable person I’ve met down here has not so much come here as been sent here or has had to come due to circumstances out of their control. Business, military, military contracting. That’s it. People who are from here (sans this friend) we don’t like. People who really like it here, we don’t like. People who don’t like it here but stay for family, we don’t like. People who are chomping at the bit to escape, we like.

We might have to get a larger house than we thought when we move to Germany. We already have one friend who is planning on coming for a six month stay (for a start; if we can, we’ll keep her in Germany much longer). We invited this other friend last night as well. She scoffed (it is about a thousand dollar ticket and that’s right now. Who knows what it’ll be in a year or so) at the idea but we planted it. After this next election, she might be a lot more motivated to emigrate. So anyway…that’s been the last few days.

*name changed for privacy–that and I’ve not asked permission to throw other people’s names and personal information around online. Seems like if they are actually my friends (as opposed to my apartment managers) I wouldn’t disrespect them that way.

I just started writing with no thought as to plot or characters or anything. I wrote the first line and then I wrote the second and so on and so forth. This is the little 600 words that happened…

I closed my eyes and wished I were in another place, another time, another body. Anything to escape this, to remove my friends from this. I heard the snapping of far off shots and held my breath, wondering if they would remain afar or if they would head our direction. Peter shifted and I felt his breath against my cheek. His arms around me were strong but I knew he must be tired. He was still weak from his own bought of illness and my weight, though less than before I got sick, would be wearing on him.

“I think they’re readying the next search. Are you ready to go again?” His voice was low, reaching only the ears of those huddled around him. Eric, a young farm boy from the next town over, watched Peter with eyes wide open. In the fading light of twilight, his eyes were the most prominent feature of his dark face. Fran, an orphan who, like me had gotten the sickness six weeks ago, lifted her face to look at Peter with dead eyes before lowering her head back onto her bony knees. She wrapped her lank arms, clad thinly in her hospital gown, around her legs, drawing them closer to her chest, squeezing into the smallest space possible. I knew she would not make it to the next stopping point without help, if at all. Gary, nodded solemnly from his position across from Peter. Gary was the only one of our group who had not been sick and I hoped he would be spared…at least until we were in a safe location. We would not be able to save him if his temperature sky rocketed in the first stage of the sickness.

I had heard talk of a few who were immune to the sickness and I hoped Gary was one of the lucky few. When I’d asked the nurse about it, her hands paused for just a moment from their massaging of my legs before she answered gruffly, “What you talking about, child? You running some more fever? You start talking craziness again, the doc, he’s gonna put you back on the drip.”

I had closed my lips tightly least I might say something which would result in being returned to the nightmare like landscape of the “drip” induced coma, or Dripma as it had been dubbed. I shuddered slightly in Peter’s arms, remembering the cold of the Dripma world. They said I was under for three weeks, longer than any other survivor, but I had years of memories from that place. Peter looked down at me, concern on his face.

“Do you need to rest longer, Janee?” His question was quieter than his last. I knew he worried about me more than the others but I, being carried, would not be the one to slow them down with requests to rest. I shook my head.

And that’s all, folks. This has been a free writing experience with Becky Walker. See you next time on, “No Planning Whatsoever.” Now, a word from our sponsor…