Rosalind thought that her world needed a little something extra. And who could blame her? Two kids, in an ongoing recession was bad enough. To top that living in her parent’s basement with them was no picnic. And most debilitating of all, having an ex-husband that sat in the catbird seat moving forward in the same career that she herself had started felt humiliating as she had to take a job as a clerk nearby in the general neighborhood so that her hours were convenient enough to deal with her two pre-adolescent beloved brats. She might have thrown herself under that metaphorical ever running midnight freight of despair that ran straight through her dreams every night. This routine was grinding and though the other gals at work weren’t too bad to work with she daydreamed a plot that she would return to her high paying slot in manufacture sales that had for a while brought her more than a good living but a sense of greater worth. The two little rascals though endearing providing a constant narrative of incessant monetary indenture that her ex who seemed more financially endowed was ever reluctant to lawfully provide as per the writ of law concerning the touchy topic of monthly support. It didn’t help the ego that between work and child rearing and fending off a well-fixed but self-righteously Liberal-minded younger sister who felt no compunctions about dumping her own kids off to suit the convenience offered by a steady income afforded by a dull but accommodating husband. Those inner yearnings for the one element of life that had gotten her into this mess were left short on the sidelines indefinitely. Eligible men with romantic intentions were posed as a danger not from any latent hostility on her part in terms of her past failings but as a practical necessity to a life that had little if any extra moments to spare.
Harold lived in a world of past tensed achievement confused by the misapprehension that the best of live must somehow be just ahead in terms of success. What success meant was often anybody’s guess as the number of decades that stared back at him when he bothered to look in the mirror showed a man that a man that was dangerously close to being past it. How anyone who had been up to bat as many times as he had could be in a state of such misappropriation of some simple facts as the present sense of a world that looked at men like him as fatherly and not as robust and daring in their idea’s of self was indicative of another sort of fast freight running towards a rickety canyon overpass somewhere waiting to soon collapse. His Harry could not find a way past the much more youthfully energetic Tom’s and Dick’s. He had found himself caught short on an insufficient monthly stipend afforded by the political largess of Uncle Sam who fast was becoming an Indian giver. Though he constantly honed his skills and sent out piles of resumes he still found life a constant balancing between economizing and selling off the old treasures of his own family legacy. Buried within that pile of silver plate and old VHS’s was the misnomer of the whisper of a clean start. So many bits and pieces of the continuum of a lifestyle that was now out of date. Who would think to conjure on pen and paper when a high tech tablet was easily in reach as an incentive offered in the upcoming contract period of theta local Internet service provider? What he really lacked was some form of palpable reality to those ever-simmering romantic notions of reinstating the rusting wreck of past notions of marital felicity. He had the motivation to want to spawn but the mental burden that the equipment that he had to offer that was necessary was no longer necessarily in the best working order.
The sheltering element of the small ecologically ‘green‘ grocery that served as common ground for both of them was a safe outlet for the appearance of a growing attractant that both could pick up in the respective privacy of their own overwrought existences and point to as some form of common attraction. Harold had been coming to the store now for almost a year on a daily basis becoming a fixture for the staff as vital and absurdly endearing as the Kambucha. An extended interaction at the checkout lane had grown into a few ‘here and there’ brief seance’s shared infrequently in common at local coffee shops and daytime eateries. The slow incremental meander of a meeting this week for an hour after a quick visit home then an abstinence by her occasioned by yet another minor crisis from the unsteady playbook single parenthood left the unlikely growth of feelings at a standstill. He did not seem overly anxious about this ongoing scenario of potentials nipped short though in the real world so many would have kept their wagons hitched up and long ago departed for more fertile fields to settle. A gap in their ages did not add promise to either both pro and con. Still in the face of what was respectively and state of constant chaos their association remained the next best thing to the absolute zero of nothing but empty intentions. It was maddening to both of them. He played perpetually patient to an ever mounting series of broken appointments for dates that never got off the ground. She played stoically persistent in navigating short periods of what seemed like his indifference after her deliver of yet another last minted refusal of affording some small measure of shared time from her part. The lack of immediate prospects goading her to accept what she might have hoped in normal circumstance to be a fiercer sense of male ardor that might have stoked her own now much diminished emotional furnace for a more demonstrative form of loving. Neither were bereft of a mutual desire for an inadvertent circumstance arising that might throw the two of them into each other’s arms at some point down the road.
The irresolution of the two spiraling around each other so significant of the helical corollary of modern existence. If dreams and good intentions could build a house then that collective good intentions would have already conjured a palace. The specter of ‘too late’s‘ a ranging wolf ever-present waiting just beyond the treelike. How long could this random frequency maintain itself above and beyond its current humdrum was anyone’s guess? That first kiss and unexpected embrace a carrot on the end of a very long stick. As fellow voyeurs on the trail of life one might have felt this osmosis to be equally in danger of falling flat by the unexpected introduction of an infrequent old acquaintance showing up unexpected or a cousin of the opposite sex to strain to a breaking point these insubstantial moorings? And in point of fact as these situations arose as one might have normally expected the brief hiatus of more singular relations was kept in hibernation by daily necessities of commercial interactions by the register. Had the hand scanner possessed the facility of reading actual possibilities resting behind that mutually indulged repetitive facade of conviviality its continuation would have been anybody’s guess as to a final definitive outcome? That chariot of life that stirred the cycle of the heavens dragging along so dramatically having no apparent cache in terms of ultimate resolution her. However strong the actual intentions of either in their off moments locked in the manifestations of a waning Sisyphus each was found short of sufficient motivation to remove an obvious sense of blunted promise from their lives in order to move on. It was better to keep their own menacing barriers at bay with continued fantasies of an imminent climax that rested in the not too far distant future ‘somewhere out there‘ like the adult version of childhood fantasy. A virtual BluRay of contemporary existence, of good intentions safely stored on a top shelf. One that could always count upon in the pinch of an emergency at some time?