A Book of Verses

A Morgan(James) and Carolina(Jose) Story

The barking of a neighborhood dog came through the open bathroom window and woke James from a pleasant dream. The calm smile on his face faded and was replaced by a nervous tension as he remembered his plan for the day. He briefly considered postponing the excursion, but he remembered his therapist’s advice that he needed to give the girl some space to breathe.

So, he left the things he had slept in on the bed and went to the bathroom to start the shower. The warm water eased the tension a bit and he took a few minutes to enjoy the lavender scent of the conditioner he applied after his shampoo. Then he rinsed thoroughly and wrapped a towel around his shoulder length blonde hair before drying the rest of his body and applying a generous amount of lotion to restore moisture and soothe the lingering effects of a visit to the wax salon the night before.

He left the towel on and stepped over to the sink for a careful shave to begin the transformation. This was going to be her day, Morgan’s day.

And he didn’t want a careless nick to give the game away. She swapped the damp towel for a dry one and patted away some of the remaining moisture before turning on the hair dryer. Dryer in one hand and brush in the other gradually added volume and curl to the normal straight back ponytail.

Taking a nail file from the small drawer, she gently smoothed the ends of her fingernails, watching for any accidental chips in the raspberry polish she had applied the night before. Then, she combed her hair back and restrained it with a hairband and a couple of clips and started applying moisturizer to her face. Then it was on to the serious work. A light layer of concealer was followed with a sunblock foundation to protect against the east mountain sun. Then she carefully lined the eyes, stroked on mascara and blended a couple colors of eye shadow that were supposed to give them a Taylor Swift look. She finished with lipstick that was just a shade darker than the raspberry of her nails, looked in the mirror and smiled. This, at least, she had practiced many times. And she thought the results were starting to look OK.
She skipped over a camo print shirt and matching cargo pants and instead chose a floral print camp shirt and the olive green skort she had spotted on the sale rack during a recent excursion. Morgan looking longingly at some open-toed, low-heeled sandals. But she decided for practical and pulled on some hiking shoes.

Then, she slipped into the study to check the options on her wine rack. She skipped over 14 Hands, 19 Crimes and Menage a Trois. Instead, she pulled out the bottle of Jemez Red from Ponderosa Valley Vineyards. She remembered stopping there after a campout on the Jemez Pueblo and having a nice chat with the owner. She headed to the kitchen and wrapped it in a towel for some protection before adding a sliced loaf of French bread, a plastic box of Swiss cheese slices and another for salami. She took a small Rubbermaid container with a screw on lid and poured in about half a cup of olive oil, added a tablespoon of Italian seasoning mix, swirled that around with a whisk, and screwed on the lid.

She added all of these to the wine in her crocheted bag and checked the contents of her day pack. Her worn copy of Six Centuries of Great Poetry was essential. Old scout training and news stories of unlucky campers were reason enough to bring a few things she hoped not to need. After a brief mental checklist, she added her point-and-shoot camera to the outside pocket along with a new scarf, picked up both bags and started to the door.

The moment of truth had arrived.

Today was the first day of Spring. And it was a Saturday, a perfect day for something new. And she needed it to be more than just a quick step outside the car at a gas station. Morgan placed her bag and pack in the right front seat of her car, walked around and slipped inside. She drove over to the McDonald’s to buy a Coke at the drive-thru, then drove south to the Rose Garden, her first destination.

She took the book out of her pack and carried it as she walked around the paths viewing the flowers in their spring beauty. One large pink rose especially caught her eye.

For the moment it seemed she had the garden all to herself. So she sat on a bench, opened the book and turned to a poem by William Blake.

Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.

There had been many times when James had felt that despair. But now Morgan was going to seek her own Heaven.
A car pulled up and the woman driving it opened the back door and let a small boy out of his safety seat. She held his hand carefully with one hand while the other carried a bag of supplies. And they walked towards the garden. Morgan gave a soft quiet hum, trying to key her voice to a higher pitch.

She smiled and nodded as the mother came closer. The mother sat on a nearby bench.

“Ball” the boy called out.

“It’s coming, Joey.” The mother answered as she dug into the bag and pulled out a medium sized ball about 6 inches in diameter. She handed it to the boy who started bouncing it on the bricks of the walkway and followed its progress around the garden. Morgan and the mother both watched closely. It went smoothly for a few bounces but then the ball hit a slightly raised brick and skittered over to Morgan. She reached down, picked it up and held it out.

“Here’s your ball, Joey.” She said in a soft alto voice.

“Tell the lady thank you,” the mother said.

“Tank oo!” he called, looked up at Morgan and then scampered over to his mother.

The mother gave him a hug and then turned him to face Morgan.

“It’s all right, Joey. This nice lady won’t hurt you. And Mommy is here anyway.”

“You have a cute little boy,” Morgan stated.

“Thank you,” the mother said. “I’m Stacy.”

“That’s a nice name. I’m Morgan. Pleased to meet you.
”
“Pleased to meet you too.”

“What brings you to the Rose Garden on a Saturday morning?”

“I need to do some shopping. But Joey needs to burn off some energy, or he’ll be all over the place when we get to the store. And if I took him to a park, I’d never get him loaded back in the car.”

“I know how that can work!” Morgan replied and chuckled.

“And what about you? Just here to smell the roses?”

“No. Actually, I’m going up to the mountains for a little picnic. I just wanted to stop by here and admire the flowers.”

“Good idea,” Stacy answered. Then she called, “Come on Joey. Let’s get in the car. Mommy needs to get us some food for dinner!”

Then she turned. “Have a nice day, Morgan.”

“The same to you, Stacy.”

Stacy led Joey to her car and Morgan just rested for a bit. She had passed her first test.

She closed her eyes, bent her head slightly, and let the song run through her mind, “It’s a beautiful day In the neighborhood …” She couldn’t remember very much more, so she stood up and headed for her car. She popped up Google Maps and found a picnic spot on the east side of the Sandia Mountains. Selecting it for her destination, she pulled onto the street, turned right to head south. When she reached the freeway, she took the on ramp to drive east towards Santa Rosa. After climbing through the pass, she got off at Tijeras and drove under the freeway and north through Cedar Crest. Another turn took her up the backside toward the crest with the ski slopes and tramway. But she watched carefully and soon turned into the picnic grounds on the left.

The trees were starting to show their fall foliage, but the sun from the east was warming the slope. It was a beautiful day for a picnic. She set out her food items, used a corkscrew to open the wine and poured herself a glass. She inhaled the fragrance and raised the glass to salute the sun in the east and the mountains to the west. Then she took a sip, swirled it in her mouth to savor the flavor, and swallowed it. It was good.
She dribbled some of the oil and herbs on a paper plate, took a slice of the bread, dipped it and took a bite. Then she opened the book to the section for Emily Dickinson and began to read.

I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!

She let her voice make a musical tone and run it up and down in pitch to test her vocal chords. Then she read it aloud, testing the female voice she had been working to develop. At the end she was surprised by clapping.

“Brava!
Beautifully spoken!”

“Thank you, kind sir!” She replied with a bit of a grin. She handed him the book and suggested, “perhaps you’d like to read one yourself?”

While he thumbed through it, she looked at him. He was tall but lean, like a runner or a bike rider. He had sandy blonde hair, cut short but not a military fade. His lips flickered above a dimpled chin as he skipped over pages. An occasional almost grin hinted at his appraisal.
“I think this will do,” he said. And he began reading.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.”

She clapped and smiled and he nodded his head. Then he asked, “prithee, fair maiden. Mayest I tarry with thee for a nonce?”

“Certainly, gentle sir,” she replied, and gestured to the other side of the table. As he slipped his legs over the bench, she asked, “Wouldst thou sample some bread?"

“Ah, that would be a fair repast indeed!” he replied and smiled.

She looked into her bag and found an extra paper plate and a napkin and handed them to him. And he continued, “Pray, mistress, whose table do I have the pleasure of sharing?”

‘Is this for a penny or a pound?’ she wondered to herself and then spoke. “My name is Morgan. And yours, sir?”

“My name is Garret, but my friends all call me Guy.”

“Quite nice, Sir Guy,” she replied and extended the container of oil. “Would you like some dip for your bread? Or perhaps some meat and cheese?” And she pulled those out and used another fork to spread a few slices of each on another plate.

She placed a slice of each on her bread and glanced at her cup of wine. “I’d gladly offer you some wine, but I only brought one cup,” she stated with a soft frown.

“I think I might have a solution,” he replied, stood up and walked toward the road where his car was parked. He leaned in and pulled something out. Then he chucked some liquid out onto the ground and returned to the table. “Not exactly leaded French crystal, but it will do!” And he smiled as he looked at a plastic drink cup. Then he held it over the table.

Morgan poured about 4 or 5 ounces of wine into the cup, then set the bottle in the middle of the table. He swirled the cup, gave it a sniff and took a sip.
“Quite good! I commend your taste.” He smiled and she nodded in reply. “And what brings a lovely lady like yourself up to the mountains on a day like this?”

“The call of the wild, perhaps?” She answered. “I work all week in a call center and fancied some open air and less bustle. How about you?”

“I moved here a few months ago and a co-worker told me how beautiful it was up here. He mentioned flowers and trees and birds and mountains. But he neglected to mention other fair sights!” And he paused and gazed at her eyes.

Morgan felt a warmth come to her face and glanced down at the table, trying to figure out a reply. “Thank you!” was all she could say. “I answer calls and try to help people get their cell phones working again. What do you do when you’re not free to roam the mountains?”

He hesitated a moment, twisted his mouth and then spoke. “That’s a bit tricky because a lot of it is classified. But I play with lasers.”

“Oh. Are you working on a Buck Rogers ray-gun?”

This time he chuckled. “Not exactly. We don’t have a power source light enough for hand carrying. Although some of the appointees the administration has sicced on us seem to think so. It’s a long, slow process. You solve one problem and then another pops up. But our friends over at Sandia are having some success with their fusion work. So, it’s not quite a waste. But what do you like to do for fun?”

Morgan was careful with her voice pitching. “As you can see, I like to read. Besides poems, I read a lot of fantasy and science fiction. Nowadays, it’s sometimes hard to distinguish them! And I love music.”

“Oh. What kinds?”

“Mainly jazz and classical. And a lot of classic rock. But not the new stuff.”

“Why not?”

“It’s practically all formulaic junk written by a committee. Then they patch together synthesized parts and autotune all the life out of the singer. A lot of people are still trying to make good music. But the system doesn’t let them go anywhere. They don’t want to pay people to go into a studio.”

“I agree. I like to see people who have worked to develop their skills and put that love into their sound.”

“Absolutely! I’ve got a good friend who does that. Sometimes she just does a duet with a friend. And other times they bring two more and go electric for a good rock sound. But she’s got to work as an electrician all week to pay the bills.”

“I definitely get that!” Guy said.

But then the sky darkened and they felt a few drops of rain.

“The heavens do conspire against us!” Guy spoke. “Tell me, fair maiden. Wouldst thou accompany me to a more protected venue? The Greenside is just down the hill.”

“A most excellent proposal, Sir Guy!” she said with a grin. “Let us gather this repast and we shall meet down there.”

Guy and Morgan gathered the food items back into their containers and placed them in her bag. Guy carried the bag as they scampered over to her car and the rain gradually increased. She climbed into her car and Guy handed her the bag. Then he returned to his own car and they drove downhill to the highway, then turned right and went north until they turned into a big parking lot for the Greenside Café and an adjoining gas station.

As she drove, Morgan thought to herself. ‘Wow! That was fun. But why did it seem so natural? And what if he figures me out?’ She had no answers when she pulled into a parking spot.

A hostess welcomed them and led them to a table, then handed them menus and took orders for drinks and chips and dip. They scanned the menus and then Guy asked Morgan, “what looks good to you?”

“The Korean Fried Chicken Sandwich looks interesting. But that’s a bit much. I think I’ll just have the Caesar-Prese Salad. What about you?”

“I think I’ll pick the Taco Trio Plate. Maybe one of each. Veggie, brisket and chicken all sound good!”

The waitress took their orders and returned to the kitchen.

“Do you like Korean food?” he continued.

“I like lots of different foods,” she replied. “But I do like Korean. I haven’t tried the more upscale places, but Kokio is a nice little spot. A-Ri-Rang is mainly a market, but they cook up a very good bibimbap. That’s where I found gochujang sauce when I wanted to try a recipe.”

“Wow!” Guy reacted. “So, you cook too?”

“I’d say of course.” Morgan replied. “But it’s not so common a skill these days. Too many people just have time for microwave or fast food. How about you? Do you like to cook?”

“Sometimes. But not like you. I mainly stick to hamburgers and grilled steaks. But I try to squeeze in some frozen vegetables as well.”

“As long as you balance it out,” she replied. And then the waitress arrived with their meals.

The table grew quiet as they focused on their food. And the shade from the mountains was nearing the parking lot when they paid their bills.
He handed her a slip of paper with a number on it. “This has been a most pleasant and felicitous afternoon, fair Morgan. Drive safely and have a good evening.”

“And you also, Sir Guy!” Morgan answered and they both went to their vehicles.

Morgan started the engine, locked the doors, and just paused. ‘What had just happened? Was it real? Could anything come of it?’ she thought. But she had food for thought as she pulled out onto the highway and drove back to her house.

A book of verses underneath the bough
A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and thou
Beside me singing in the wilderness
Oh, wilderness were paradise enow!

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, as Translated by Edward Fitzgerald

Afterthoughts:

I conceived the idea for this story about 12 years ago, not long after I started following BC:TS. I took a picture at that time to use for a title photo. But my photo storage apps have buried it somewhere. When it pops up again, I’ll upload and add it.

The Greenside is temporarily (I hope) closed now. But they did have good food. I talked a friend into driving up with me to take the enclosed photos recently after we dined at a nice little hamburger place nearby.