Hi Friend,
Thank you for showing up like you always do. I have a fun Passing Strangers entry for you this week— a little snack. To be honest, I’ve been struggling of late. This whole Substack dance often makes me wonder if the juice is worth the squeeze, but then I remember you and I get off my ass and publish something.
The new novel, Daedalia is progressing. The themes I’ve been pulling on are starting to weave together into an endgame that feels earned and satisfying. I can’t wait to start sharing it with you. If you missed the little sneak-peak live reading I did last month, you can check it out here.
This week I’ve been grateful for the delicious autumnal light that gilds everything it touches on my early morning walks in the park. I see Darren, the man I wrote about two weeks back, most every day and try to bring him something— leftovers from dinner last night, or a new book to read. Speaking of books, I just finished The Antidote by Karen Russell and was blown away. She’s a masterful storyteller and does all the things with speculative, magical realism I aspire to and often fall short of achieving.
I hope you’re peaceful and enjoying the Fall. I’d love to hear what you’re up to. Please stop and say hi in the comments.
Peace and music,
Ben
Passing Strangers is a series of fictional portraits— keyhole views into the lives and inner worlds of other humans. These are standalone pieces but if you look carefully, you might begin to see a how they’re all brush strokes in a broader landscape. Visit the table of contents to find all the portraits.
“Can I just say your energy is like a supernova, like you’re sucking all of the light out of this festive gathering, friend.”
She was just dancing with the spirit, riding the righteous wave of love these young ones were pouring out of their thundering hearts.
“Ma’am, you need to put your pants back on and come with me.”
The security guard gave an exasperated sigh that ruffled his mustache. He reminded Alice of her Teddy. A frowny little boy in a big man’s body with his meaty hand clamped around her upper arm.
“I didn’t wear pants.”
She bent over and started pawing through a dirty, quilted purse that was large enough to carry a sleeping bag and a camp stove. She rummaged around, spilling items onto the grass. The lawn was packed with people half her age. A couple of girls rolled their eyes as they gaped at the belongings being pulled from her bag like an infinite string of kerchiefs tugged from a magician’s hat. Eventually she found a rumpled peasant’s skirt, stepped into it and pulled it up in the single fluid motion of someone who’s had a lot of practice dressing in front of strangers.
She shoved everything back into her bag, then tilted her smiling face to the security guard and hooked her arm in his as if he was her escort. She hated to miss the music. She felt a spiritual connection with the bass player. The big round tones his fingers coaxed from the instrument vibrated through her, activating her heart chakra.
At the back gate, past the centipede of porta potties, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Teddy on the cheek before turning to exit. “Be careful, lady,” he called after her. She was a little rainbow trout swimming against the current of late-comers. She read their auras as they passed— gold and amber, indigo and violet. She greeted them all with an open smile and some with namaste hands. The gorgeous tree-beings that lined the path absorbed the music, dampening it from something heard to something felt. She was following the path as it crested the hill, still moving against the flow when she felt a cold current, like ice water poured into a warm bath. It made her shudder and slow to a stop.
She closed her eyes. People flowed around her, and the coldness seeped into her bones. She made an animal, whimpering sound. When she opened her eyes, it was somehow darker. How could an aura emit darkness? This one did. The young man loping toward her was at the center of it. His eyes, below the bill of the cap, were coal-black and grew larger as he approached.
Her body took over and she stepped into his path, reaching out as she did. She grasped his wrists, slick with sweat and sinewy. A violent flash of red coursed through her. A silent scream lodged in her throat. He was little more than a boy, but filled with a humming tower of rage that made her teeth hurt. She didn’t let go of his wrists. She drew a shuddering breath and peered into his narrow face. For some reason, he didn’t fight her.
He didn’t know how to respond to being seen.
This is great Ben. So vivid I had a moment where I thought this wasn’t fiction and you were at the outdoor festival too, dancing, with pants on. :) Love that last line. I’ve often wondered how I’d meet an assailant (knocking on wood I won’t have to find out) but in my imagination I’d like to believe that seeing past their hurt and offering love instead could disarm. Don’t worry. I also took some self defense classes!
I remember that man. Seeing the threads weaving together now. Well done, friend. 🥂💜