I loved to travel. A visit to the beaches, a hike in the mountains, mild contemplation in the view of deserts. It gave me a sense of freedom. It flipped itself thoroughly and now leans toward a sense of necessity. It feels like a chore.
This laptop ... LOL ... I remember that day, curiously perusing the contents when some strange noise "clicked" from within. I wouldn't recall it for several days until I found my image in some local newspaper. Not the best picture, but still ... enough.
Someone had found me using technology I was unfamiliar with. I assumed a family member tried their luck at detective work. It's always the family members that refuse to let things go. When something is taken from you, that wake to victimization, it does something to people. Even a midnight knock at the door where feet scamper away in laughter ... it makes the mind spin with questions. The search for answers & justice are often one in the same.
27 was the college youth I stole ...hmm... borrowed is a good word. I borrowed it from 27 ... the brown eyes. Like the stare of an expensive doll, painted in autumn flare, so wide and filled with innocence. I'm near certain it relates to some childhood imagery. I ponder the universe that led us to such a rural location in coincidence. A simple moment where one pumps fuel while another longed for coffee. For anybody else, it would have been forgotten. But here I am tracing my memory upon the same computer that connects us still.
Rain poured. The heavy weight of it rattled across my hood. Thin lines of wet creased along the edges carefully. It was nature's camouflage and I was more than used to manipulating it. People pay little attention to their surroundings in such moments. No one cared or wavered when I opened the door of a car that was not mine.
The trample of footsteps and the body in motion, cutting through the pour were easy to detect. No one really wants to soak their clothes and I always felt that running in the rain somehow made that worse. My young brown eyed 27 did not weigh such thought, I assumed, as legs rushed for the compact shelter of warmth inside the vehicle ... fumbled with dollars into some duct taped wallet ... those surroundings were of no concern. There was never a glance for the laptop removed from the passenger seat.
The car started; heat flowed from the vents to counter clouded windows. More camouflage. Music opened, continued a favored song perhaps, lyrics clearer as it's sound was lowered ... "Into the flood again" I heard, "Same old trip it was back then". A growl of words. They spoke to me. "Am I wrong? Have I run too far to get home" ... it was a pause for me to wonder.
I reared from the backseat, a shadow in the still auto ... the cocoon. I was greeted briefly by those eyes again in mirror. Wider then ... innocence lost in confusion. I reacted as I always have. 27 had no common response. It was okay, not many do ... I prefer it that way.
Need I reminisce? The details of hands gripped in hair, the leverage of my mass or the ease which turned necks crack? Would it be for my own fondness, maybe an offer of clues or clearly for some apathetic low grade entertainment? I am new to the blogosphere, Detective Brooks. I imagine you ignore most of these words in favor of IP addresses & wi-fi locations ... a shame, really. But just stay with me, Brooks ...I don't know what I would do without you.
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