The Call. Part Two.

Dreams.... of flying through the treetops, of the woods behind my aunt's house. The old fig tree in her back yard that me and two of my cousins could not wrap our arms around the trunk. Of the little crook in that fig tree where I used to climb with a book and eat figs and read... and would throughly irritate my parents because I could walk out the back door and vanish.

Dreams of seeing a woman who I recognize as my mother, but much younger than I can remember holding a tiny red haired baby... and thinking to myself she is so beautiful.. so much potential. I want to BE her. Late late at night, stealing into the house through an open window and slipping in through those innocent blue eyes. I open my... OUR .. mouth for a gasp....

..... and am startled into consciousness by loud, high pitched beeping next to my head. Fahk.

Wait... I seem to remember other things happening last night. What happened??? How did I get back?? And where are my pants! Growling, I reach for the offending technological "wonder" and after fumbling for a bit, I finally get enough brain cells functioning to silence the irritating object and start dragging myself back towards consciousness.

Dragging on some clothes, I make my way to the ranger station to check in and apologetically explain my unannounced arrival to the park rangers. They're fine with it, and the system shows I was here before, so after paying the fee for my campsite, I start asking for some of that sweetest nectar of the gods.. the only thing that makes mornings tolerable... coffee.. and find they have none. After asking around, I am directed to a cafe in town, where I can find coffee... and, glories of all glories, breakfast tacos.

Pulling up to the cafe around 10ish, I'm delighted by yet another find. Well, it sure looks authentic! Old building, many many things hanging from the ceiling.. anything from pinatas, dollar bills, sparkly bits of stuff, an indescribable collection of various bits and pieces. A jungle of plant life all over the front of the store giving the light a greenish tint, and making the inside even more humid than the outside. I make my way to the counter, find the lady there BARELY speaks any english, but together with my broken spanish, her broken english, two barbacoa breakast tacos and coffee are aquired and I settle down at a table next to the window to eat my breakfast and contemplate the night's events.

Did anything really happen? How did I get back to the tent?

Just be you. You know your own soul. Remember me. Remember your own skin.

My rational mind wants to explain it all away. It was a dream. Nothing more.... and yet. I don't know. I've dreamed for so long. My life has been spent trying to discount the things I've seen. I slept for years. Watched others, when I did finally open up and start talking about what I had seen, either say I'm crazy, or ... worse yet.. start wrapping it into some stupid fantasy... of elves, and being a "princess of the fae". Bullshit. My life, my beliefs, my very being are not some child's fantasy... an escape from reality to be played with. I've hidden for so long. Can it be real? Is there even the slightest chance that it could be? Images from the night before flash through my mind... of an endless sea of stars overhead, of a crystal clear pool, of a curtain of deepest green with motes of reflected starlight from night jasmine.... and of golden eyes out of an inky black face.

Maybe. Just maybe. But tell no one.



Flying down the road again, this time I'm headed for Galveston. The gulf. Salt spray on the wind. The land of proper seafood! Oh I love seafood... and I grabbed an empty cooler to bring back some of the good stuff. Dallas is great, and there's glorious variety, but there's a difference between the good stuff down here and what you get at home. I remember when I was a child, and we would come down to visit my aunt in League City, that there were places in Kemah where you could stop and get a 5 gallon bucket of shrimp right off the boat for 20$... bring your own bucket. Last time I was in Kemah, I discovered "The Boardwalk" where the boats used to be. The shrimpers are gone, and this loud, garish, crowded tourist trap is in its place. Progress... Bah. After poking around for some time, I heard that there's a place in Galveston where the shrimpers park now, and I will be stopping there to check it out.

Calling ahead, and Lady Luck has definately smiled on me, and there is a campsite available in the state park. No water or electric, but I don't need any. Its just me and I'm not going to be cooking... although I may grab a bag of marshmallows and some grahan crackers and chocolate. ;) You've gotta forgive a lady her indulgences sometimes. On the bay side... away from the strongest winds off the gulf. Those have always bothered me, and I can't sleep well with them buffeting the tent. Something to do with growing up in tornado alley and hearing the gale outside and wanting to dive for the storm cellar. Eventually I make my way to the park, set up my sleeping quarters during the daylight... one of the few times I've done that. I'm usually pulling in well after dark and have become quite adept at setting things up with no light. , and head off in search of supper.

Cheap or exquisite. That is the biggest question on my mind. I have heard of a place that serves excellent, authentic shrimp poboys, and while I'm in the mood for seafood, I'm also in the mood for lots of it. My fish craving has kicked into overdrive and I head to a rather expensive, but awe inspiring place that I know I can get all I want.

Sitting at a window seat, overlooking the bay, the Elissa parked next door, I curl up with a book written by a fellow traveller. His journeys and exploits what kept that hope alive during those dark years. Hearing of how he had always been free, how he was taking off to hither and yon, seeing... feeling... experiencing. Actively writing the book that was his life.. and it was a page turner indeed.

Making my way back to the park.. its still early, but the lack of sleep and a full belly of fish is catching up with me. I decide the hell with it, its my vacation, and I can nap if I want to... and turn in before the sun has set.

Wind.
Angry. Violent. Caving in the side of the tent. The sun had set long ago and its late enough, there is no sound from other people... at least none that I can hear over the wind.

... and then I smell it.

The scent of salt and metals on the air. Blood. Sickeningly sweet rotten meat.

Oh god. Not here. There's noplace to run to. No place to hide. No one to protect me. To hide behind.

I've spoken to a couple people who know that scent... and the thing that reeks of it. I always wait for them to talk, but all who have admitted to it, have that fear. That haunted, hunted look in their eyes, only whisper of their existance, and always while watching over their shoulder. I knew it well in Oklahoma... and I refuse to set my foot in that place again because of it. I remember as a child, watching them reveling in the moonlight on the far side of the garden outside my window... and cowering in abject fear. Praying for god, jesus, or whatever was out there, to protect me. I knew better than to run to my parents, as they had already gotten to my father, and my mother did not believe in them.

Not here. I am alone. Oh god... please.

SNAP OUT OF IT. YOU ARE NEVER ALONE!

A memory of golden eyes in the starlight. Of the scent of pine and jasmine. Of the taste of pure, cold, sweet water.

But I'm small, squishy, and helpless! I can't do anything! I can't stop them!

BULLSHIT. Stop listening to them, to the people who tried to tame you. To break you and mold you into some mindless creature. You're better than that. You're STRONGER than that. Stop cowering and FIGHT!

Howls in the wind... not of earthly voices. Evil laughter echoing in that wind. They can smell me... and others. I grab my hiking staff from beside me and step outside... quaking in fear. The wind almost blowing me back inside the tent, I struggle to zip up the door.. and strain my eyes along the beachfront.

Three humanoid shapes stand out against the cloudy night sky... reflecting the sickly yellow of the city lights. About child height, with thin arms and legs, but bloated bodies.... and teeth. Rows and rows of gleaming, pointed teeth.

Okay, now what? Every time I've ever been in a fight, I've always gotten my ass handed to me. I'm no fighter.

You know your own soul. Remember your own skin.

Closing my eyes, I remember wings. Covering me when I was afraid as a child. A strong hand in the darkness, cradling me in saftey. I remember music... an ancient gypsy tune.. older than time... spiraling to the stars. And then the stars themselves. Vast beyond measure. I remember laughter in the light of two moons. I remember the floating trees of a poision planet.. above the noxious layer of gases, with giant mosquito like sap suckers flitting from tree to tree for the next life giving sip. I remember fields of black and purple flowers, trees taller than any I've ever seen... and laughter. Looking over by my side, running at full speed, long black locks... dark eyes... thin frame.

Not every time does shaking mean fear... and just because I am showing my teeth doesn't mean I'm smiling.

Come and get some... if you dare.

The howls change tone and retreat. The forms vanish... the scent fades... the wind calms

.. and I crawl back into the tent for more much needed rest. Knowing that I am safe.. for now.

Tomorrow a full day awaits, and then the drive home.