Callahan: A Gothic Tale

A Marriage of Fernweh and Kinafew (1989)

35 A Marriage of Fernweh and Kinafew (1989)

"Maybe I'm just a fool/I still belong with you/Anywhere you, anywhere you are..." -Faouzia and John Legend, "Minefields" song

9:30 pm, One Week Later, Mid-November 1994, Ambient Lounge

Scythe is immortal.

Dima has a cloud—a macrophage cloud.

To knock Scythe into an alternate dimension—

An outward manifestation of corruption and societal ills.

Vaccine testing by candlelight wasn't how Macy typically operated, but she knew she and Harry needed to press forward, as she popped a kinafew capsule in Harry's mouth, notebook in hand, waiting for any and all potential side effects...

Flashback, 11 pm, January 1989, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan

Marisol tore open the cream-colored envelope, revealing the epistolary renderings within.

-----------------------------

Dear Soley-my-sunshine,

Listening to your cassette tape of "Passionate Kisses" stirs up a foment of cataclysmic ardor, for which I was nearly written up at work. You would've laughed—my supervisor entered, as I was humming along, altogether oblivious to his repeated knockings and "Dex, I need this on my desk in an hour!" until I turned around mid-head bop, waiting for the bass notes to drop, and found myself face-to-face with a stack of unreviewed audit papers.

You turn heads, and drive me to distraction to no end, my dear...

I've thought about things more since our last visit. Vera Manor could use extra company. Patience—all I ask is patience—and soon, I will be yours, morning, noon, and night—instead of those fleeting hours, those transitory love-lorn liaisings, separated by forest and fernweh highways, with preternatural hours to go before I slumber, absorbing the ethereality of traveling past each glimmering, dabbled streetlight—to you. For I am homesick and hungering—for you and all that you are—the very nature and act of that which constitutes carnal cohabitation and connubial bliss. And whatever results, come what may. I know you want more. And I do as well. I don't want to tell you more in case I disappoint, but there is a plan in place...and I intend to see it through.

Until we meet again, my dear. Love you always and forevermore.

Your Dex

10 pm, Same Evening, Mid-November 1994, Ambient Lounge

"Harry? You notice anything?"

"Well—" Harry's hand traced the outline of her melanin visage as they faced the frost-glass cubic window, pools of moonlight streaming through, alongside the speckles of nearby lamplight. "I notice you're the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and I want to touch you everywhere—and have many children with you—" he all but growled, pulling her closer in one fell swoop.

"Uh—" Macy gasped, reaching out to stroke his chestnut hair. "I notice the kinafew capsule's got a few side effects—" as she reached for her own capsule, satisfied that any such side effects were of a rather intriguing, and not-at-all dangerous, life-threatening nature. I really must investigate this further, she thought to herself as she swallowed the dosage, her insides suddenly glowing with festive spices, hygge, and sensual fervor, her tongue loosening despite herself.

"Harry," she murmured after a moment's pause. "Marry me."

Flashback, 7 pm, Mid-February 1989, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan

She reread his latest letter, tears falling upon its surface before dabbing them away with tissue. How was it possible to miss a mortal man so much?

You put a spell on me, Dex.

And now, I'm yours—

But who was she kidding? He lived over eleven hours away—and what did he mean by "be patient?" She checked her watch. It was almost time to fix herself a salad—chopped Romaine and vinaigrette—and maybe some store-bought Rotisserie chicken if she felt up to it. Dex wasn't fond of her reliance on ready-made microwave dinners, even if low sodium, and urged her time and again toward self-care through cooking nutritious, satisfying meals, having sufficient amounts of sleep, and drinking more than the occasional glass of water. Up to 60% of the human body is composed of water, she recalled him saying. The more water you drink, the more your skin will glow, and the more you glow, well—his hand made its way through her wavy tresses, tracing the outline of her spine to its base and for that matter—

I know what "connubial bliss" means. Matrimony. Someday. But how will this ever work? We live so far apart—

As she heard a knock and the faint melody of—she paused, mid-stride. Was that—"Ain't No Mountain High Enough?"

She threw open the front door, revealing none other than Dex—her Dex, a boombox beside him belting out the lyrics, as he handed her a bouquet of deep crimson roses. "I got a job transfer to Hilltowne, and there's a woman I know I'd like to room with—her name's Soley, think she'd mind?"

Marisol grinned. "Not in the slightest." The music faded; before she could allow herself to think through the implications—or kiss him—hug him even—he knelt on one knee as he opened a tiny square box.

"Dr. Marisol Sanchez, or otherwise known as Soley-my-sunshine," he began, his voice shaking slightly, "you bring joy to my life that I had scarcely known prior. You make my heart sing in ways I never knew possible, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life discovering the celestial mystery of you." Quoting John Keats, he continued. "'Three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.' Our time may be limited, as your prophecy suggests, but I walk toward you with my eyes wide open, my arms craving your embrace, my ears your song, for a moment with you far surpasses a lifetime of not knowing the beauty of your existence. Will you marry me?" He paused. "Tomorrow?"

Dropping the bouquet, she leapt toward him, her arms 'round his neck, as their lips met, kissing furiously, headlong, uninhibited, neither worrying whether anyone saw, for in their universe, they were but two solitary comets in parallel orbit, without a care in the world. "Yes—" she whispered, continuing to kiss his visage, his cheeks, neck, shoulders, as they stumbled forward together past the threshold, slamming the door behind them, the boombox, now quiet, alone on the patio.

Flashback, 8 am, Two Mornings Later, Mid-February 1989, Vera Manor, Hilltowne, Michigan

Yesterday afternoon's ceremony at the Justice of the Peace had been a quick one, rather to-the-point, with no witnesses save an off-duty officer named Choochi they'd convinced to show up as a gesture of goodwill. There were no living relations on either side, due to a combination of unspeakable tragedy, illness, and old age. But in the end, it didn't matter. The most important thing being—they were married.

Marisol turned her left hand over repeatedly, savoring by sight the shimmers of the diamond's freckled reflection upon the adjoining wall, sunlight streaming through her bedroom—no, wait—their bedroom.

"I like this connubial bliss," she spoke aloud, as she felt a familiar form stroke her wavy tresses.

"Me too," he murmured as she shivered delightedly.