Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 5

She focused on the stone itself. It was dark gray, weathered by time, covered with lichens. The lantern section of a church steeple came to mind. A solid base with those few letters and the date. There were four columns. ‘How weird.’ She thought. The top of the columns looked like spears. Or those wrought iron fence posts fancy houses had. Spikes. Suddenly there was a sharp pain under her chin. The columns supported a solid top, adorned with a cross. This cross was slightly different from the Christian crosses she knew. Instead of one bar at the top, there were two. The very top one shorter than the one below it. At some point there had been something in the center of the stone. Time had eroded it or someone had stolen it.

She sat on the ground near the stone. Letting her eyes trail up the vine work coming out from the center up the pillars to the cross.

Something was happening to her. Anger overtook her. An anger not at the world but more of a self loathing. Anger at being found out? Struggling, fighting, anger because….. Maybe not. Self loathing turned to delight. More on point, freedom. Anger at freedom? Anger at the feeling of joy? She hugged up her knees. Her body felt like it was going to fly apart. Maybe if she hugged her knees as tightly as she could, there may come some control over this feeling. Suddenly, she was tired. Every muscle ached. She felt freedom, release. Release from what?

Something wet and a little coarse. Was she dreaming? What was wet and a little coarse? Something was rubbing against her cheek? Warm puffs. As she pulled her hand to her face, it touched something soft and furry. “You’re soft.” She muttered unable to open her eyes.

There was noise. Sound. Screaming? “Chico!” It had to be screaming. “Chico!” The voice sounded desperate. “Chico!”

As she opened her eyes, a beagle came into view. She patted its head “Hi there.”

“Chico!” The voice was a little closer but still desperate. The beagle started howling.

“Are you Chico?” Bo smiled continuing to rub its head. The dog licked again at her cheek.

“Chico!”

He howled again.

More sounds filled her ears. Foot steps crunching pine needles. Chico bounced off her. “Good boy.”

“Are you okay?” It was her breakfast companion.

“She okay, Chad?”

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Winter Season

Esther

Esther observed her guest. His head was much closer to the ceiling than hers. She knew her house was small. It was a guess on her part that she had 7 foot ceilings.

It was really hard to tell what build he had under his coat. But she was assuming he was slender. The coat was narrow. From what she could tell, he had light skin and sandy brown hair and a large nose. Not so large that he looked deformed but his nose was the second feature she noticed. His face was incredibly thin. Interesting things could be done with a large nose. She smiled to herself. Then, she reminded herself about how big of a freak magnet she was. And here’s another one she suspected. She told herself people just don’t offer to help you anymore. Even before she left New York, the landlord already had her apartment rented. He had even offered her $500.00 if she would leave a week early. Plus she could keep the van as long as she needed. Out of the kindness of your heart just didn’t exist anymore. He had an angle; she just hadn’t had time to figure it out.

“Oh,” she gasped pulling his attention back toward her. She extended her hand toward him. “Esther Morrison.” When she got close to him, she could smell Old Spice. She loved Old Spice. It was a rustic manly scent that put her senses on alert. “Old Spice?”

He blushed, “yeah. Oscar Patterson.” He accepted her handshake. Her hands weren’t soft or rough but they were strong. He felt something strange in her touch, something he couldn’t define.

He noticed her looking at him. “How tall are you?”

“6’2”, why?”

“You look so much taller.” He blushed slightly. She cleared her throat, “well Oscar, I haven’t decided what I want to do yet. I just have so much going on up here,” she moved her hands around her head in a circular pattern. “I don’t know if I want to unload the truck or sit on the steps and cry.”

“Sit on the steps and cry.”

“Because I’m an emotional girl?” She scolded.

Wow, he thought. She really is wrapped tightly. “No, to clear the mind. Get it out, start fresh.”

She studied his face for a moment. He was being sincere. What a change? Someone being sincere. “If it wasn’t for the fact that crying makes your eyes red, your face puffy, and makes me physically sick, that would be a good plan.” She took a deep breath and they walked outside.

“If I may ask, how does crying make you sick?”

She turned on the sidewalk to face him. “It makes me heave. Sometimes I throw up, other times I just heave so much it hurts. A little cry is okay.”

“You have different stages of crying?”

She smiled, “well yeah,” she said as if he was a bloomin’ idiot. “There is the fighting back the tears cry where you might shed a tear or you might not. Then we have the light cry when something great happens to you; say you got flowers when you weren’t expecting them. The medium cry is when you watch a sad movie. The big sobbing, throwing up cry is when you have to move to Kentucky in December starting your life over and you’re terrified inside.”

“You don’t seem terrified to me.”

“Thanks. I’ve already had that cry.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “what can I help you with?”  

“I guess the first order of business will be unhooking my jeep.” There it set like a cold gray beast parked in the way of a lot of work. She just stood there staring at it. “You know what I want to do?” She remained in the yard with her hands on her hips.

“What?” Should he even ask? To him, a woman with her hands on her hips meant danger.

“I think I want to buy cleaning supplies and clean the house before I unpack a thing.” Keep the truck forever, she thought wickedly to herself.

Oscar just shrugged his shoulders. Say something stupid. But what?! He wasn’t good around women. That could explain why he was fifty and still single. 50% of his students thought he was gay; 30% thought he was metro-sexual, and the other 18% didn’t care. Oh, but 2% wanted to have sex with him. How did he know this? They laid their survey on his desk one day during study hall.

“Show me around town.”

She snapped Oscar back into reality. “Shouldn’t you shut your front door?’

She just stared at the door as she thought about his question.

Winter Season

My last weight loss journey: the chart

114 – 149: talk about overwhelming. This is what the chart says I should weigh. 😳

How about healthy? Are you at a healthy weight? Does weighting between these two numbers mean I’m healthy? No cholesterol issues. No high blood pressure. No diabetes (sugar). How did these become the magic numbers? I know, I’m asking a lot of questions in this post.

My cholesterol is a little wonky. Not enough that I need to take meds. God has blessed me with high good cholesterol. Doc told me this was hereditary. But my bad cholesterol is high, making my average high. 😢

I’ve mentioned in my earlier post that my acid reflux has gone haywire.

Update: since I started my adventure, I’ve lost a total of 7 pounds. 🎉

My last weight loss journey; feel the burn?

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 4

A young man stuck his head out of a door, “thanks boss.” If the look on his face was an indicator, Mini might be on the menu.

“Are you the only game in town?”

They started walking away from the garage around the hotel, toward what might be Main Street. “No, my former brother-in-law owns one on the other end of town. He doesn’t have a rollback yet. He says he’s working on it.”

“Friendly competition?”

He held the door of the diner open for her. “No.” The answer to the question was forceful.

‘Dangerous territory’, she thought to herself.

“What’s the story behind 2 diners?”

He blushed slightly, “two sisters.”

“Why not work together?”

“I’m afraid that’s one for the history books.”

Her mind went wild, ‘or for my pen’, she thought.

The waitress came; while she studied the menu, he ordered the pancake platter for Jack. The young lady giggled. “Sure.” Bo only half paid attention to what she ordered; an omelette and grits.

“What is there to do in this town?” She asked as the waitress left.

“Not much. We have a very old cemetery, library.” He seemed to be deep in thought, “not much.”

The conversation died. It wasn’t an awkward silence. More like, ‘I’m comfortable in your presents. We don’t really need to talk’, kinda silence.

After breakfast, Bo decided to go to the cemetery. Maybe it would inspire her. It was old and huge. The entrance was an old wrought iron gate with moss growing on it. It was propped open. She carefully walked through. There was a light breeze blowing. She had never been on a cemetery in her life that there wasn’t a breeze blowing. Even the small one where her dad was buried.

Though the cemetery was old, it was well maintained. There was a stone from 1897. ‘Wow!’ She muttered. This stone was beautiful. It was chest high. 1897 was easy to read. She couldn’t tell if it was the birth or death date. Only a few letters of the name were still left. An A, maybe or it could have been an E. D or it could have been an L. P and S. Not really enough to give any indication of a name or gender.

This gravestone was breathtaking. It filled her mind with …. Nothing!

What came first, the grave or the pine tree? It was massive. Its branches hung low toward the grave. Shading it from the sun, covering it with brown needles and random cones.

There were no other graves close by. Which Bo thought odd for such a large old cemetery.

Far off, she could hear birds. Nothing close.

https://byjolenerice.wordpress.com/2023/10/14/draculas-summer-home-rushsylvania-4/

Winter Season

Inside

The wind whipped down the street in cold December fashion. The first day of the month was turning out to be a bear. He snuggled a little tighter in his coat. He did love winter but could do without the wind unless he was all snuggled into his blanket on the couch. This wind was a knife that cut through his clothes and ate at his bones. It didn’t care if you had on one layer or five; it was going to get you. It was winds mission to bring you down. As he walked toward the moving van he asked himself why on Earth anyone would want to move in the dead of winter.

Oscar walked up the cracked walk way; up the shaky steps and into the cold house. The front door was open. “Hello!” he called.

A female scream came from inside the house. He ran in to find her holding her chest.

When she saw him, she smiled pointing her finger at him. “You scared me to death. I was so intent lookin’ for the mouse I thought I saw in the closet. But gee whiz brother. You scared the life out of me.”

“I’m so sorry. I meant no harm. I,” he pointed out the door. “I live across the street. I thought you might need some help unloading the truck.”

“Shoo,” she panted. “Give me a minute to find my heart.”

Good going Oscar, he told himself. Scare her half to death. Fool! He took in the small kitchen were they stood. It had yellow butterfly paper on the walls. The red and green checkered rug had holes worn in it down to the hard wood floor. There was an old sink up against the left wall and one old cabinet on the back wall. She was standing in what must have been a pantry. That currently she was calling a closet. It was apparent no one had been here for years. A fact he knew. Everything smelt of must and mold.

His new neighbor seemed to be wound a little tight. To get this worked up over a mouse was a bit much. But she didn’t curse him out for scaring her. That was a plus. Her light blonde hair was cut really short. She had plenty of curves. Curves for days, he told himself. Curves a man could get lost in. He didn’t like skinny women. The only thought process he could come up with was because he was so skinny and had spent the last ten years so sick. He smiled despite himself.

Chet’s only charge as far as the house was concerned was to mow the grass, put on a fresh coat of paint every now and then, and fix any storm damage that might occur.

Suddenly it dawned on him, seeing the inside of this house wouldn’t spoil the romance he felt toward it. To the contrary, it fueled his imagination. “I always wanted to know what the inside of this house looked like.” He smiled, not at her but at the house.

Winter Season

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?

Part 3

Dracula always fascinated Bo. The intrigue. The mystery. The underlying tension caused her mind to race. She fell asleep with Dracula dancing through her dreams.

A lengthy stretch was followed by rolling over to check the time, 9 am on Saturday. This was the best nights sleep she’d had in a long time. The sun was shining brightly. She saw from her doorway, the large canopy that protected her last night from the rain. Through an open garage door, she thought she saw her car jacked up in the air.

A brief walk was all it took for her to be at the garage. That was her car; that she saw from her hotel door, jacked up. Black boots and jean clad legs was all she could see in the sea of auto parts. She didn’t want to make a noise, who ever this was might get hurt. So, she waited. It was only a minute before he ducked down and locked eyes with her. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with Teenzy?”

The look on his face was priceless and it caused her to laugh. “Oh, that’s the cars name.” He answered her question as he moved from under her car. “You need a new alternator. I can’t get one til Tuesday. Supply chain issues. Blah, blah.”

“Got ja.” She smiled.

“I feel really bad about this. There is a room above the shop. You can stay there for free if you’d like.”

“Did you blow up the train tracks?”

“What?!” He was shocked and appalled. She could tell by the tone of his voice. “No.”

“It’s not your responsibility to provide me with a place to sleep. I appreciate the offer.” She smiled.

He laughed. “breakfast?”

“Yes. What’s good in this town?”

“We have 2 diners. One for breakfast and one for dinner. Sue closes at 2:30 and Pat opens at 3.”

“So I guess you’re screwed if you get here at 2:35.”

All he did was raise an eyebrow. With the flick of his wrist, he threw the oily towel on top of a tool box. “Going to breakfast Jack. I’ll have Mini bring you a pancake platter.”

Dracula’s Summer Home: Rushsylvania?