Karate Blossoms Part 3.

I’m no longer a fan of sun rises. The night goes by as quick as the autumn sun falls. My only light was the kitchen’s dome.

“The past. The present. The Future- and?” I spoke softly. An open dry eraser tapping the extent of my temple, leaving unsuspected red ink blotches. “What am I missing?”

Hours later, at Franks office, I kept rambling the same question so much I disregarded his casual greeting.

“Well well well. Good morning-“

“What do you know about parallel realms and lucid experiences within a REM state? Is there a way we can see things that are not here but somewhere else? Like not not real, but- like.” I stumbled over my own words, tossing my backpack on the velvet red therapist couch. Rambling to make meaning of my broken thoughts. Essentially turning the tables on this session. I became the questioner; he and his knowledge were the ones in question.

Bewilderment caused him to mutter to himself in a sweat inducing self-questioning. A flushing of contorting faces mangled his plump, reddish caramel skin. Like he was a misfiring engine. This had to go on for about an hour or so. Our back and forth of failed conclusions. Every now and then he would stop, an arm around his gut, other arm held his elbow on the curve of his forearm so his hand can hold his head up. Scratching his chin as I ran the last three days by him in as much chronological detail as possible. As truthfully as I could, like a bedtime story, I gave him place, time, people, a beginning, and the end which would be up until now.

“And now, I’m here.” I spoke.

He leaned against his desk, he would sometimes catch direct eye contact, questioning my question. Finally, he broke into a dialogue.

“How?”

“You tell me,” Slightly annoyed, I swiveled my head to gaze at his wall of degrees “doc.”

He shrugged with defeat. Him, the helper, helpless himself.

“I wouldn’t do myself justice or you a service by-“ he conjured the next word slowly, unsure, as if it was damaging to admit “guessing. I just don’t know this. I don’t get it. I’ve never learned that in school.”

“Ah!” I sat up, swinging my backpack in front of me. I unzipped, sifting through which book to give him first. I smiled when I found the blank black leather faced book. Arm extended, I shook the it and nodded with double raised eyebrows. He just stood there. “Take it idiot.”

“What is it?” He slugged to grasp the other side.

“Your new assignment.” The clock struck 12. We unconsciously took a slow and a half to come to a reasonable place to stop. After the hand off I scurried out, down through the lobby, grabbing a yellow painted hotdog from the dog man on 3rd. Lemon lime fizz today.

As I arrived at the library, skipping stairs on the way up, catching a closing door, I dropped a backpack full of books on the service desk.

“Who was on shift last Friday around this time?” It was bad enough to startle this frail worker, I’ve thrown her off by the question as well.

“We’re-“ She fixed her glasses, closing her sweater tighter in discomfort. “We can’t just give out employee information.”

“I’m a relative. I-“ Now I have to conjure some excuse that doesn’t involve me saying his name. “have a surprise for him. Our grandparents are- in town?” I held the question out. Stupid. It just sounds fake. I kept at it.

“Yes, they are coming into town this Friday and want to surprise him at work but-“ Screw it I thought.

“Listen, you seem reasonable. There’s a lanky, my complexion, clean shaven, shrunk fro, glasses, super articulate dude who doesn’t like sunsets here. What’s his name?!”

“Isaiah.” Two voices mangled. Slightly startled I spun around in joy. Recognizing the voices pitch. Unexpectedly I grasped him in an embrace. I don’t even like physical contact but he’s my representation of sanity. He can make Frank see that I wasn’t just making stuff up. Now, how do I get him to see Frank?

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“No.” He demanded. “No and no. Absoluetly not. That’s a bad idea.” Isaiah scorned lightly.

We debated heavily on the proposition in the back alley of the library.

“You selfish bastard! Do you know how crazy I look?!” I threw back at him.

“You trusted a mere mortal with these perspectives?!”

“That’s his job vampire boy!” Then I thought for a second. Bringing my loud whispering yell to a regular, collected talk. “It’s during the day, its confidential, I can’t look crazy here. That’s how you easily go to the padded wall house.”

“Isn’t that why you attend those sessions?”

He has a point.

“Well,” I hesitated “technically to figure out why I feel crazy. I’m not crazy.”

“That sounds crazy to normal people.” He replied.

“What’s normal then?” I went back at him.

“Not talking to a person in hopes they help normalize your compulsion or neurosis so you can perform micro or dose-based adjustments to calm ‘out of order’ unconscious actions that are estimated by just as crazy people who don’t get overlooked when they exhibit signed of hysteria.”

I couldn’t disagree. I mean, what do you even say to that? We stood in a soft ambiance of city life. Distant talking, gurgling of alleyway sewers, beeps and screeches from cars, thousands of passing by footsteps, bustling air traffic.

“30 minutes. That’s it. Just walk in and sit.” I requested.

“Then what?” He asked with a tinge of annoyance. “You present a piece of the puzzle to a predetermined board. What’s your next move?”

“I-“ Holy shit. “I don’t know.”

“When you figure out the rest of your battle strategy, come find me. But for now, use that sporadic energy to look inward. Not around. And remember-“ and I did, because as he said “a new perspective creates a new interpretation. Even in an old painting.”

Then he left. Leaving me at the crack of the back entrance of the public library. The garbage ridden alley with multiple nomads tucked by the bins. I bid him a good day with a hat tip and returned to my violently messy apartment.

I sunk into an indescribable rut. I don’t know what comes next. How would I know?

Sleep was hard to stay within. Even for a reasonable amount. It was nauseating.

I became acquainted with mint dominated tar sticks. And literature. Timely literature. My body rang with anxious routinely. I fought though it. Forcing myself to speak to myself to calm myself. A weird thing I picked up from Frank. A simple act self-reassurance.

I spoke to myself more and more. Criticism and aggression for the sake of self-collection were my main concerns. Of course, my ego would reject this helpfulness. I burrowed myself from unnecessary interactions as much as I could while having this self-provoked battle.

I began listening way more. I ran the deli like clockwork. I was even pushed up the latter. Assistant floor manager. I should be proud, right? It meant nothing to me. I had other more important things to look forward to.

Voice mails from Frank stacked. I found my phone very unnecessary.

What the hell is next? And how the hell am I really supposed to know that? This question will be the death of me. It’s been weeks. I can’t know what’s next I thought. I can only be ready. Ready for what? I don’t know.

It was then. Right there. That thought. The search. This adventure. The responsibility of figuring out my own issue. It was there.

“I figured out the next step!” I yelled to myself, jumping about my apartment tidy living room.

“Choose, your, battles. Prepare, for, war.” A short hand note scribbled on a corner ripped piece of a pizza box. The next step was, be ready for anything and keep going.

For the remainder of the night, I listened to this voice in my head over seeing thought upon thought. Like an overlapping roll of credits. I tried to capture them all in hopes for some sort of comprehension. Isaiah said a new perspective. Don’t ignore the thoughts, watch them. I need to go back to basics. Where it all started.

The following morning, I took the day off. I waited in front of the library shivering as the morning workers unlocked the doors. I told myself I wouldn’t leave until I found something of value.

“Have you figured it out?” A voice asked from my blind spot.

“I think so.” I replied to Isaiah. “But ultimately I’m not here for that.”

He looked questionable as he took the seat opposing mine.

“What are you here for?”

“Well,” I replied a little unsure. “We have a similar interest, and you don’t seem to be in a rush.” I pulled out some prints acquired from my hours of deep research. As his eyes waved over the documents, a flushing of excitement caused him to grin. “In the last couple of months there has been an extreme push to record ancient literature, digitally upload said compilations and then store or destroy the originals. The works get loaded into a safe data bunker. But” This is where I felt confident in my exploration. “they only store or destroy when every connecting volume of said book is uploaded.

“So, steal the books?” He replied unsure.

“No no. Misplace the volumes. To buy time. If this book you offered me has scriptures for realm travel and shape shifting, then image what else is hidden.”

“Then what?”

“I’m convinced that’s the extent of your questioning. You don’t need to really know what’s next. You just know how it could end. How it could be. And you’re here off a hunch of a failed mission. But the mission as I see it is going well. But this is the reason I said you don’t seem to be in a rush. We can’t rush it, but we can’t wait to figure it out. How do we get you back and me forward?”

He looked at me with lines of worry across his face, slightly resentful.

“Well-“

“Great!” I cut him off. “I already have a plan but I’m going to need your full cooperation. I disclosed a blueprint that hide under all the print outs and books that cluttered the tables surface. A map of the library, floor by floor. We scanned the floor plan, using a pencil to create a route to the 4th floor. “Bring a bottle of glue to 6pm shift.” Was the last thing I said to him before he agreed and disappeared into the library. As for me, I packed up, checking out a plethora of new books and DVDs.

The city seems to slow down and speed up with dusk is near. I arrived at the nomad ridden alleyway behind the library at the agreed time. Isaiah flung the back door open, placing a half-filled green trash bag against the building wall. I stepped in as he closed the door.

“The service elevator is down the hall. But it asks for an ID to open. Getting out may not be the problem, getting back in will be. You’ll need an ID badge. The floor plan may be correct, but the protocols won’t work with your initial plan.”

“Give me yours!” I whispered sternly.

“Then what will I do?!”

“Get me one then! We’re so close!”

He looked down the extent of the hallway. I was covered within the back entrance’s door divot.

“I have a better idea.” Interested and powerless, I nodded. Following his lead. He explained a new beginning to my sneak and snatch plan. We would meet on the 4th floor. I would give him a 5-minute head start, utilizing the coming and going workers, making use of the commotion my job was to make it into the elevator. “Not bad right?”

“It’s not like we have a plan C.” I replied.

“The trash bag outside is plan C Flora. Anything happens, get yourself to this back door, grab that bag, dress yourself in the oversized dingy clothing and blend in with the nomads.”

I breathed heavily in disgust at the escape plan.

“Okay.” I agreed flatly.

“Great!” I kept his plan in my head as he walked into the hallways distance. I stood for the required time before moving.

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Step 1 follow the rule of traffic. Flora hid under a bent brim. Passing hallways filled with carted books. She would snatch a lightly piled one, maneuvering it into the back sorting room. Casually greeting wandering workers, she took it open herself to grab more pieces of work from the ‘to be organized’ pit that sat in the corner of the conveyer belted room. Filling her car with her back towards the open floor. She would sneak her sights left and right, looking for the service elevator. As she crouched to place a piling of books on the bottom self of her cart a loud ding rang from the neighboring room.

There it is! She thought to herself joyfully. Without hesitation she sprung up, cashing the closing metal doors, throwing her arm in between the tightening gap. The shaft opened back up to an over illuminated elevator car. She took notice of the corner embedded camera. She forced the door closed and the demanded the 4th floor. To her acknowledgement she swiped the second-floor button as well. She was taken back when the elevator stops, opening its doors.

“Hey!” A voice strikes a crack of shock that ripples her spine. Frozen, she doesn’t reply. Smushed next to the wide cart, half her body shown, she demands the door to close. The incoming worker fails to catch the car, she stands before it, watching the numbers illuminate from two to three to four. She pages on her walkie talkie to the surrounding workers. “Who’s supposed to be restocking level two? We have a worker approaching four. Isaiah-“

Within the dimmed fourth floor, Isaiah fumbles his walkie as he tries to answer. “Yes?”

“Redirect that worker, we need two restocked.” She closes the channel, scurrying to her rounds.

“Okay, got it.” He paced the floor entrance. Waiting for the surfacing car to ring its incoming bell. “Come on…” Tapping a restless foot, he squeezes into the bright tight space, resealing the door. “Already?! It’s been 8 minutes!”

They both acted as they were organizing volumes, screaming with debating whispers, making sure not to project too loud or look directly up.

“It’s not my fault! It’s not like I could actually leave the elevator, how would I get back?! Or up here?1 I got here so what now!”

“Relax!” He took a second to exam the books on the deep shelves. “You will go to the furthest table. The one against the two-way wall. I’ve grouped two stack of books. One on the ancient shifters, the others are frequency portals. You’re going to restock some shelves, right? Look.” He waved her over, showing her how he organized the top shelf of books. “By author, then title. That’s how we organize. So, take these book covers and wrap them around those. Put these on the shelf bare but make sure to scatter them. Don’t make a shelf of flat colored book spines, that’s easily noticeable. Empty your cart as much as possible. Dump the cart next to the emergency stairs. Accidently open the door, trigger the alarm. Let the floor manager come to the rescue. Have a pile of books in your arms, say you wanted to walk the books down, she will look at you odd and open the elevator for you. Get to the back entrance, dress as discussed, use the bag for the books, walk home. Got it?”

“Then what?” Flora questioned.

“We don’t really need to know what’s next. We just gotta get there, to the bottom of this.”