Four Paths with Bigfoot

Chapter 8 Physically Bound but Emotionally Un-Housed

Nicey and Barin watch the session from a distance.

Face down on the wooden surface of the table, heat  burning her face, she could get face splinters, but at this moment she does not care, with the arrival of her period, she is sweaty, bloated, cramping and  prone to overshare.

She needs to stop.

This is how she stops.

Feeling like trash and looking disgusting, she sits up to adjust her dry breaking hair into a bun.

Viviali decided to go for a walk, just needed to be alone for awhile.

He was on the phone with his children most of the early morning.

"Daddy is so happy you and Christoph are having a good time...Wow! You saw sharks at the aquarium? Big sharks? So cool! Yeah... Aha...oh dear! That was so nice of grandma, I hope you remembered to say 'thank you.'..You did? Good...oh you have to go? Yes...Daddy is having fun with Uncle Reston...Love you too...Kiss Christoph for me...bye bye..."

After the call, he was emotional, Nicey could tell. 

Staring  off, eyes wet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He does not engage the other two meditation slackers feet away from him, the forest calls, Viviali  rushes off to answer it.

Barin waits to check on his stew for lunch.

Spicy red curry, with chicken.

Nicey decides, it is best to liberate her guitar from the car trunk, slink off into some trees. Choose somewhere close enough to alert the others, in case of trouble. Far away enough to play the instrument lightly and sing out of the hearing range of the others.

She had been playing for a year, knew she was terrible sounding still and did not want to embarrass herself more than she already had.

The pond around the corner of the farthest path use to be her favorite spot to play, until Fort warned her that bears may be near.

She chooses the non forested path leading to the entrance. 

The field stretches between two sections of ancient trees, this way she only has to look left and right, in case something moves in the bush.

Her chronic stress keeps her on guard , not fully comfortable.

Looking around to see the eyes on her.

Seated in the middle of the field, she strums her royal blue Ibanez AEG50 IBH guitar.

Chords B minor, D major, E minor, G major.

"Hitchhiker, hitchhiker or driver, who will win who will lose, who will be the last survivor. Some say it's a test of will...the choice between...kill or be killed. Others claim some do it for the thrill, while some argue others are just morally ill...illness sometimes kills..."

Branches break in the distance.

Nicey looks around wildly. Nothing for miles. Nothing coming out of the trees.

Why is she so paranoid?

Torn, not wanting to return to the table or stay to find out the source of the breaking  branches.

Hugging her knees.

She is paralysis.

These sessions where pointless.

Spirituality, mantras...all mean nothing once she returned to the condo.

Burying her head into her knees, she weeps.