Welcome to the intro video
and an excerpt from the thirteenth post of my weekly serial, “Sketches from the
Café Confictura.” If you’d like to share a comment, please use the comment option at the end of this excerpt. To follow the mystery of Applewood, and get
recipes from Mrs. Creaverton, writing advice from Roscoe Belesprit, and fashion
tips from the Fastionista, please visit www.ClarissaJeanne.com for new posts
every Tuesday at 2:30 p.m. EST.
One of the biggest shards of
asphalt that pushed up after the 11/5 quake is located right in front of Our
Lord of the Ascension church, which the crooked Pastor Sweeney runs. The shard
comes up to Wilhelmina’s waist, and it’s surrounded by a whole lotta other
shards of street that are still tall enough to hide her legs. Violet and I,
both a good half-foot shorter than Wilhelmina, could’ve hidden in there for
weeks. Orange cones and various construction barricades with reflectors
encircle the whole area to try keeping people away from the perilous mess.
Well, there are fewer orange cones now. Pranks by a few mischievous teenagers
have been on the rise since the quake, too. I’m fairly sure that, somewhere in
this town, someone’s got an inordinate amount of orange traffic cones in their
closet.
The three of us walked over
to that biggest shard, skirting barricades and stepping carefully over smaller
debris. Loose pebbles and dirt right around that shard were relatively
undisturbed; even the pranksters really had no reason to be this far into the rubble.
We stood around the shard in
a little triangle. Wilhelmina gently scraped her palm over its peak, back and
forth, as though she were drawing her hand over a candle’s dainty flame. Violet
asked her, “Is anything coming back to you?”
“Something about sinking
down into the street,” Wilhelmina mumbled, confusion on her face. “But
obviously that must have been a dream. Either that or my imagination is on
overdrive.”
Violet said, “Do not be so
dismissive of your imagination. The subconscious talks to us mainly in dreams,
yes, but it can still whisper through our imaginations. Like we do with your
dress: try to see it in a different way. Maybe you did not literally sink into
the street. Be open to what your memory may be trying to tell you.”
Wilhelmina nodded. “I’ll
try.” For a while, she stared at the shard, her head cocked. Then she put her
hand out to touch it again. This time, she said, “It’s warm now. Yes. It was
warm the other night, too.”
Violet and I glanced at each
other. The street’s temperature was spontaneously spiking now? We both stepped
forward and touched the shard. I didn’t feel anything warmer than the humid
air. Judging by Violet’s bewildered expression, she didn’t either. We didn’t
have a chance to question this, though, as Wilhelmina was already moving away
from us.
She peered at the ground as
she walked. “There,” she said, pointing.
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