I'm coming home darling.

I'd come to be in a state of bugaboo in my bucolic hometown.

I will not bloviate on my diffident character at this time; but acting dyslogistic towards my family should not be a matter of surprise, but understanding for those bereft of comprehension concerning my upbringing.

A "normal" and socially standardized family such as my own embellish themselves in the 'norm of normality', and as the afternoon passed on, I suppose lounging on the increasingly dim olive-tinted front porch wasn't too pathetic for someone such as myself: talentless, disoriented of meaning and plainly un-interesting. Of course my mother would harshly contradict this statement at first, simply for the reason to appear like the type of person who cares what her children think of themselves, gradually though, fake interest couldn't mask the growing disdain of past decisions to have children or the stagnant resentment and contempt towards her own rural childhood.

"Call everyone for dinner!"

Being engrossed in a past thought, I actively chose not to hear her daily demand.

'naughty nun touched my bum', that was the incessantly amusing thought that owed to my inattentiveness. I planned to proudly present it at the dinner table.

"I'm going" I replied two minutes late.

I started, "Mom, I'm killing myself laughing at this hysterical thing I heard. Look, liste-"

"Wait darling, did you call everyone?"

Fuck me, why can she never listen! I ask myself why the necessity to repeatedly converse about meaningless crap. Do you see anyone? No! I didn't call shit mom.

I turned on my heel and contemplated the meaning of life. 'I will walk out the front door', yes, very well indeed...walk out.

"What are you doing?" demanded Charlie; my half-sibling. Notice I said half-sibling, they identify as a they you see. 'Well at least they found their thing' I thought.

Oh God, that's terribly insulting isn't it?

"I'm just walking"

"Aren't we having dinner now?"

'Well' I thought, if everyone fucking knows we are eating then why do I have to do this shit?

"Yup, can you call everyone? Okay, thanks...bye"

I continued once more towards the front porch. What now? 

My innocuous presence will not be sorely missed will it?

And what meaning does it have to live such a shallow life?

Do I even love my family?

Dignifying my decision to abruptly retire from my biologically selected group of evolved monkeys, I observed the homogenous setting where my yearly accommodation occurred. And didn't regret a single fucking step I took out of this hellacious shithole.

***

You might believe me as a haughty human being. But leaving was the most halcyon decision I'd ever taken. With my pert nose, upswept yet low set eyebrows, full and sensuous mouth and bright eyes, coquetting and gorgonizing my way into the train was effortless.

But beauty is not a talent, and though it can be convenient for everyday needs and in the presence of THE haut monde, life and its essence are bereft of meaning still.

Even though I had come to the conclusion that life doesn't need reasons as a basis or motive to exist, a self-identified heretic such as myself required a significant or revealing objective to spiritually and philosophically continue my burgeon journey, towards a life of absolute beatitude.

But currently I've developed into a reformed entity of lost hope.

I've conformed into my worst nightmare; a physical energy swarming with resentment in regards to my former exploits.

It can't be recognized as regret I suppose, but exuberance is not it.

'I should travel to Nepal. Stay at the Lumbini temple, learn the way of the Buddha, and ultimately unearth the source of my dissatisfaction'

I had become quite poetic after all, the following excerpt was read aloud in the, well, you should call it a tavern really... full of philosophers, common harlots and feminists... god, what great company!

We are taught to think analytically and critically

And maybe if we didn't perceive existence as

Beginnings or Endings

or as a goddam

circle

we would understand ourselves as mere

solid energy

with no end except your own

demise

and no beginning except your

essence

the world is what you make of it

without conscience

how can you analyze...

I've fooled myself!

HAHA!

A goddam fucking gyration

***

I had grown accustomed to fulsome people, and the fungible exchange of literacy and ideas was so germane and welcoming enough that I felt furtive and frenetic at the wasted time spent with such gelid beings back home.

After all, my gamine demeanor attracted people, and the germinal phase of my poetry soon vanished to a genteel and refined glean of the world.

Grousing about my current situation in a granular manner can be gratuitous, but being in a state of gregariousness guarantees satisfaction. I suppose that's what was missing...

'people of my people'.

***

"I should get my carcass out of your way soon", said Charlie, "I have to catch my flight"

I chuckled. The sunlit room offered a soothing ambience for the grueling conversation we'd just had. So bizarre that such a tranquil and harmonious place could endure the atrocious events I'd just recounted.

The ivory and orange colored floor cushions comforted our increasingly frail bones while we observed the picturesque jungle from the ivy covered pillars that supported my high-set balcony. After sixty-two years, conversing with them was still amusing.

"It's been a long time since we've seen each other" I added.

"Well, last time I visited you, I concluded we'd never see each other again"

After refusing to meet their gaze for the past two hours, I ultimately met their stare after peering so intently at the Bengal Florican bird as a coward's excuse to not face them.

A single tear escaped out of my eye, "I'm sorry"

I still recalled Charlie's first visit following my departure from "home". It was after I'd suffered a self-imposed miscarriage, subsequently falling into a depressive reflection of all that occurred prior to those dispiriting months...

***

-sixty years before-

I met his gaze as I read aloud yet again one of my bildungsroman poems. I quickly glanced away as a rosy blush crept over my overheated face. I'd stayed at La Petite Folie these past months, paying the rent with the colossal tips given after my readings. I suppose I'd become a philosophical poet and entertainer for the tavern of good company.

Halfhearted claps echoed off the wall in the capacious room that smelled faintly of coffee, worn clothes and cheap cigarettes.

I'd started smoking two months after arriving to ignore the building ache of my stomach due to hunger. Mainly I'd steal the scraps and remnants of the egoistical guests that would come and dine while I "performed". I'd never thought such enlightened people could be so... impertinent. And I'd convinced myself that luxurious accommodation was by FAR more crucial than food.

For God's sake I had guests to entertain!

Besides, these self-absorbed people didn't bother consuming anything other than Whiskey or a Doppio.

I descended the stage to find the man holding out his hand, it was the man who was staring so attentively at me, maybe even in a studious manner. As if I were... new, an unknown entity of fresh ideas.

Hmmm.

"Care for a discussion over a Ristretto?"

Oh c'mon! Another one of these idiots?

I have to admit, after my so called epiphany where I'd speculated I'd encountered the people who I had so proudly fastened myself to, it was disheartening to learn they were all so narcissistic.

I laid my hand atop his. Sturdy, with calluses that were most likely caused from holding a pencil too forcefully, or carrying some heavy material.

I wonder.

I stared up at his hazel eyes. "Enjoyed my excerpt?"

"Rather so. Wonderfully written, with a provocative objective and a stimulating proposal"

I grinned as wide as a hyena. God, what a fool. But it was hard not to be pleased at the first meaningful compliment I'd received.

He observed my mouth as it parted into the grin, and he just as quickly had started beaming. I guess he understood my satisfaction with his comment.

"How old are you?" he questioned curiously.

"How come it matters?" I replied sarcastically.

He smiled again and looked towards the curtained booth at the back of the tavern.

"After you" he supplied.

I strode ahead as gracefully as I could, managing my way around the packed tables facing the stage up front. I pushed aside the red-velvet curtain, and stepped nimbly inside the booth. The drinks were already on the table. As well as two powdered scones with a miniscule glass container holding a citrus flavored marmalade.

"Interesting" I murmured.

The attractive stranger sat down on the seat opposite me, and extracted a pack of cigars from the inside pocket of his fine made suit-coat. He mindlessly passed me one, and lit it patiently, as if he liked having the presence of his hand near my mouth.

I inhaled the smoke impassively.

"How is it someone as young as yourself comprehends and so eloquently describes the sentiments of an existential crisis?" he demanded.

"Well", I said, "you would think someone who is so experienced with the notion of an existential crisis would gleam that maturity does not come with age, but understanding."

"But wouldn't you say time grants you the opportunity to reflect on morality, on understanding?"

"Time is mostly ill-spent. Insinuating that a young person wouldn't comprehend morality is ill-thought. Morality comes from societal norms, and sometimes from animal emotion. But what purpose does it serve after all? If-"

"Athene! My God! Marcia! Come! Come! Come Look!" cried a man who must have crept up on cat feet.

He looked completely mesmerized and in pure awe to be standing in front of...of... actually, I don't know who.

The stranger just looked up to the man merrily and responded simply; "Hello".

"Oh my God!", the man's knees looked as if they'd give up from shaking so vigorously, and after a few moments, he was on his knees.

Appearing to mumble some prayer before the stranger who was looking at me from across the table. Somehow supplicating me to do something, anything.

"Ahem" I interrupted his theatrical mumbling.

"Visitors who'd like to speak to-", oh god, what was his name? "to speak to his gloriousness" I supplied rather sheepishly. "Should wait in line behind the stage, he will acknowledge your requests, as I said, backstage".

The man nodded astonishingly, in wonderment at the request I just declared. He stood up nervously, and walked facing the stranger the entire backwards walk to the stage. Finally, he turned around and escalated to the stage, disappearing behind the stage curtains.

I looked back at the man in front of me, to once again, find a beaming smile, and this time, it was accompanied with roaring laughter.

I joined myself after a few seconds at the realization of what just happened.

"He'll be waiting there all night!" I gasped out.

He nodded joyfully yet regretfully at the same time.

"We better head out" I added.

With that said, we both stepped out of the booth, and slightly drew back the heavy curtains as we slammed head first against each other.

"AHAHA. Ouch!" I cried.

He massaged his temple with a dissatisfied look, and I merely chuckled at the stupidity of this entire evening.

"It's funny if it's you. But hilarious if its someone else" he said.

"Quite so" I responded. "Especially if they drink a Risretto after sundown".

He gazed reproachfully.

I didn't realize what I'd done until after it occurred. Whatever caused this sudden thrill of emotion, but my lips found his as we embraced each other passionately in our deepening kiss.

That was the inception, or emergence of our companionship.

I was instructed in the way of philosophy as taught by Nietzsche, and Camus. And soon began writing my interpretation of their works.

After time, our intimacy generated into a physical...entity. And recalling my past family, I'd decided long ago that children deprived people of a certain way of freedom. And only the highest spiritualized beings could undergo and tolerate such needy and clueless people. While learning to appreciate their existence simultaneously.

Children also seemed to cause a departure of logical reasoning between parents. Even with Athene, withdrawal of communication happened monthly to promote Soren Kierkegaard's philosophy; true affection matures into pure disdain after extensive time shared.

True love should be let go of for loving someone to your full capacity.

Knowing what happened and remembering the events thereto, currently now, while sitting yet again in the same cushion I've been planted on for the past fifty years. The haze of memories that recollected my incident, and Athene meeting his self-inflicted demise after I was installed in this mental institution still seemed like a long lost nightmare.

I suppose its ironic that I ended up in the place I'd once longed to visit for training of the mind.

The electric shock therapy doesn't seem to be too effective, since regret hasn't even entered my conscious.

A pretty young woman entered the room, "Are you ready for your treatment miss?"

For the first time in all the fucking centuries of being here, I felt overwhelmed with joy. I got up, and walked limply into the awaiting chair. As I sat down and was carried out the hall, at the end of the passage, I saw Athene. Holding out his hand as he did the first time we met.

I wept contently and whispered:

"I'm coming home darling".