The Imposter

The Imposter

The cold wind had whipped a frenzy into the snow draped pines, making a sound of a fleeting yet aggressive sinister howl. Erica could not sleep as she knew the following day would be a multitude of tasks amid an environment of unruly snowmobilers. She loved her job, she loved to work, but sometimes one just needed that perfect environment and how she longed to find it one day. She had even liked her job at Home Station, a do it yourself supply store, the one with all of the nonexistent employees that everyone complained about. She didn’t even mind when she got moved to lumber as there was a shortage and she got to drive the forklift. Her coworkers were such fun, playing pranks on each other like putting spray foam in Matt’s locker, the who can split the smallest piece of wood on the panel say (Erica won), or watching the young kids try to light wheelbarrow wheels on fire to get them off. It was fun, but not challenging, of course, or even that eventful. What was she to do? Her marriage had failed, or was failing, she was working in an extreme environment, beautiful and friendly, provided there were no natural disasters, or any other sort. Erica just needed that break to get her writing career, not just off the ground, but well into space.

She was quite happy, in general, but sometime a bit morose because of the events of the past, but frankly, who wasn’t? Everyone had a bit of trauma or deception in their past, but you just had to make do. Just consider Leo Tolstoy, a highly successful 19th century author who had 13 children and was considered one of the best writers of his day. He may not have had past trauma as he was born an Aristocrat, but he certainly became unhinged later in life. How his wife dealt with his tendencies was beyond Erica.

So, if the history of Tolstoy could reap a dual life due to his imagination, and reclaim it as reality, surely, she could do the same, albeit in the manner of finding a productive career amid a happy environment. Although she most identified with the character in Little Woman, it was not quite enough to warrant a complete transformation of their ideals in the modern world. One could possibly see the resemblance in character and physical of Jo March in Erica, but one had to encompass something of all the sisters, and even “Marmee,” to fully accentuate and personify their world.

It occurred to Erica that in the 19th century, people were more polite and adept at listening to one another, which was less akin to today’s fast paced world in which one had to inhabit, and possibly thrive. The art of communication, as well as war may have evolved over the years, but its substance has entirely dwindled, she thought, as she started pouring over the manuscript she had outlined as she lay in bed, listening to the coffee machine belt out its familiar rhyme. Tolstoy’s wife, for instance learned about his extramarital pursuits as she spent years editing War and Peace, and reading his personal diary, which he insisted, probably to alleviate his guilt. This type of communication would not pass the muster in Jordan Peterson’s ideas of communication, but at least his wife somehow got around to the truth. It’s funny that people think men from certain backgrounds or religions have less respect for women, when in fact, it has been observed anywhere through. the ages. Behavior, including desire and persuasion has been, and always will represent a contentious barometer of civilized behavior.

Although she couldn’t resist stretching being lax to get up, even after the third alarm, she managed to pull herself out of the cozy duvet and stomp over to the kitchen to collect her most coveted item; coffee. She was keen to note that although she was off today, she had a multitude of things to achieve, including finishing the outline for her novel, a breakdown of her financial expenditures and also, to finish the last season of her favorite international spy type show.

Erica had an interesting past as she was quite the sensitive type, however, rooted with an adventurous streak. She was an avid gardener and loved animals and aesthetics, but was keen on understanding violence, which led to her studies of war and international affairs. She was just not enthralled with being just of one personality. She realized this at an early age, when she read an article in a teen magazine, entitled, “Would you rather be pretty or smart?” How was it not possible to be both, she had mused. It was difficult for everyone, of course, in life, to get their bearings and get along, but the manipulation brought on to women was of a different caliber. Erica loved men, of course. She loved their rough exterior, their ability to remain grounded, and their much better choice of sock designs.

Her career in teaching came a bit late in life, but she wasn’t sold on it, as the misery of the politics, coupled with behavioral issues quite turned her off. Although it was true she was quite good at it and the students loved her and vice versa, in the time of cholera it had become too difficult. So, she was back to working in service until it was sorted out. There was much to like in the everyday mundane repetitive task, she was not satisfied. Also, she just couldn’t understand some people’s behavior, even though they probably derived from the environment one grew up in. She was referring, emphatically to her absent husband, almost entirely. He was a kind soul, but awash in feelings of dissolution and the incorrect assumption that Erica had abandoned him. At any rate, she would return to Egypt in the spring and hopefully get one chapter sorted out.

Actually, a marriage was more of a novel than a chapter and her bewildering idea that one must pursue all avenues of reconciliation, as marriage was that important. Perhaps not to some, but to Erica it was. There were many things she had accomplished, but there were many that she hadn’t. When people say they have been to Europe, it can take on several distinctions. When rich people said they have been to Europe, it meant they have been to almost every country and stayed in 5 star hotels, whereas if one did not own a yacht and they said they have been to Europe, it meant they have been to three or four countries and stayed in a five star hotel once, and when other people say they have been to Europe, it means they might have hiked through trails and stayed in hostels. Erica was in the middle group, which suited her because she was the middle child. She had been on a Nile cruise, in what Egyptians considered a five-star cruise, but was alone, so it didn’t register on the romantic notions that Poirot had tried to capture, although a murder wasn’t far fetched with the group that Erica had encountered. She met her husband soon after and lived among the ruins in downtown Cairo for several years before the Troubles.

One could apply any literary or artistic endeavor to a situation and that was what seemed important amid the malignant decay of society. “Gosh,” she mused, she was beginning to sound like the early stages of Hitler, decrying every angle of humanity, just because it was not perfection. She really wasn’t a negative person, but the problematic environments sometimes maligned her mood, and her dissatisfaction with herself. Not to mention the family that eroded her trust in people. It is unfortunate that there aren’t more Currier & Ives moments in life, as everyone deserved and appreciated them, whether they realized it or not. At any rate, she sighed, in less than four months she would be in Greece with her best friend, hopefully her marriage would be repaired, and her self-confidence would soar again.

She knew that she was having problems with what was on her mind and coming out of her mouth, or not coming out of her mouth when she had the same dream, or nightmare, if you will three nights in a row, with each night evolving into something more sinister. The first night, coworkers were in her dream, but in the background, staging a possible event that involved a mad killer that no one would believe her about. The second night, the dream took action as he came after her, through the mysterious meanderings of an old estate, shooting one hero with a shotgun loaded with batteries (she was having trouble finding double AA batteries the previous week), and her and her cohort stealing a bookmobile to flee the killer. The last night, he appeared, but seemed lost, much like Erica at times, and then just faded away, like mist in the rainforest. As she wracked her brain the next day hovering over dream interpretations, she concluded that she was either being pursued by a killer, (better than a bull chasing her through a house, which meant she either watched too much of the western show Granite Ranch, or she was fleeing male domination), or that she had some part of her personality that was not coming through. Either way, she was looking forward to another interesting year, as New Year’s was fast approaching, and so would the reunion with her husband. To be continued in part two.