Doose's Last Performance, Part 1

This is the next installment in The ShambElla Saga, the first of three parts which will cover Doose's last performance, which I will publish over the course of the next three days.

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Doose's Last Performance, Part 1: Wine and Woman

Doose knew that tonight would be his last performance.

The Turning would happen soon.

All the damned stars would align.

When he got dressed, he put on his favorite shirt and flannel, gifts from his mom.

For the first time, he was thankful she was no longer alive, though he had many regrets, both with her and his dad, about being a shitty son.

Of course, they’d both been proud that he was an involved and loving father, even if he wasn’t always the best role model, and never held his indiscretions and ineptitudes against him.

He supposed that’s what it was all about—paying it forward.

That’s what he would do for Pantima tonight, position himself to pay it forward.

He understood that the forces of good in this world were working on behalf of the betterment of all, even if they didn’t always get it right because, sometimes, in their attempts to influence people, they pushed them too hard, too soon, too much.

He’d spent the previous night recording the video for Becoming Nothing.

Recording wasn’t necessary, really. The magical device that would broadcast his hints and instructions to the future companions didn’t need digital technology; but he used the opportunity as an excuse to spend time with his daughter, Melody.

He was glad he wouldn’t be there when she turned. She would be on a trip with her friends, and her end would be quick.

It was a small mercy that she would not be conscious of the madness that overtook her. None of them would.

He also bought a bottle of his favorite wine, Gewurztraminer.

It’s the only wine I’ve had that actually tastes like grapes, Doose thought as he finished the last glass in one quick gulp. Its genetic history is complicated, but the Gewurztraminer grape creates a white wine sweeter than any pure fruit. I love the burn of a good bourbon, or the grainy fulness of an IPA, or the bitterness of dry red wine, but the Gewurztraminer just seems to represent the best result of the process of refinement, that intoxicant which loves you as it kills you rather than making you pay a price up front in exchange for the honor.

A toast to you, Pantima. Thank you for giving me a choice. I count that as a blessing.

He walked out of his front door without even bothering to lock it, guitar case in hand. The venue was just down the street, so he walked.

Ah, Pantima. If only her companion had been so congenial, so compassionate, so understanding.

Esmerelda visited him too, several days ago. He supposed because she couldn’t contain herself. She had to have the last word. He knew who she was and what she thought of him.

Pantima—bless her heart—really didn’t hide anything!

He even suspected she might have wanted her fellow Lady to eat a little crow, so in the vision she bestowed she gave Doose the whole lowdown, even on doings from the upper levels (so to speak).

As he neared the place where he would sing for the last time, he recalled criticizing Lady Esmerelda on her rigidity, her hubris; on the manner in which, he perceived, her sense of duty and her need for control got in the way of her better judgment.

“We conditioned you!” Esmerelda retorted. “Every step of the way, we conditioned you!”

“Did you?” Doose replied, holding her eyes with his own. Tears quivered and fell down his cheeks, but he did not blink, and Esmerelda, who could have killed him with a mere thought, shrank away instinctively nevertheless, for she saw something there she’d only ever seen once before, in a time when she was merely a thought herself. “Did you really?” Doose went on, “Or did I endure your attempt to do so in stoic silence?”

She had no answer, so she simply departed. It would be the last time she would encounter the man, but she would never again take for granted the strength of the human spirit, for she came to understand that dwelling therein was the very Divinity from which she sprang.

Even angels and deities, it seems, still have something to learn.

***** * *****

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