The Key Between Stranger Realms - Day Three

On this ordinary morning, 110°F, I’m lost in traffic, daydreaming about swimming in the ocean. A young woman straddles her Schwinn bicycle at the crosswalk nearby. Her appearance is entirely uncoordinated—hyacinth high-tops, striped cargo pants, a black and crimson baseball jersey, and a floral bucket hat. Despite her general disarray, she harbors a determined look on her face. With purpose and the little flashing man, she coasts by, catches my eyes through the windshield.

There, I discover her secret life: a knight and her noble steed from a queendom that is falling to ruin.

“Where is he?” she demands.

We are on a grassy headland, unbothered sheep grazing. The breeze is salty. Distant waves are crashing. I look beside me, and the king is gone.

Turning away from the cliffside, I gaze down into the foothill brambles. Is he down there? I do not know. Did he ever make it out of the forest? Not sure. It is the unfortunate nature of this melding between realms.

I imagine this disgruntled knight does not simply wish to catch up over ale. She wants his head for the same reason everyone in her queendom might; She thinks he killed the Queen. Yet, it seems I am the only one convinced of his innocence. I cannot let her find him. Then again, do I even know where he is? I stifle laughter over the helpful predicament of this interloping existence.

“Pardon me, I cannot help you,” I shrug.

It is absolute truth because all that comes to mind when I think of the last time I saw the runaway king is the stingray we discovered at the pond buried in the wooded valley.

“Do not take me for a fool,” the knight warns, drawing her sabre.

Her calm steed approaches, and she hosts the same look of determination as her stranger self. I am not certain she will believe me if I tell her the truth that I am mostly an imposter in this world.

“I have trailed you with that murderer for weeks. Just when I catch up to you, he disappears? No, he must be somewhere around here. So, where is he hiding?”

She does not need to make demands. The sharp end of her tapered blade is sufficient to make anyone question their loyalties.

“How do you know it was me?” I ask.

Damn, that stubborn curiosity will get me killed one day, maybe this day.

“The lyre,” she thrusts her sabre toward my leather belt where it hangs. “I would recognize it anywhere. I know you got it from the Oracle.”

This useless thing was from the barista? That I do not recall. I scour my patchwork memories to bring back anything about its story, why I carry it. Something comes to me like a dream, calluses, guitar, screeching cat. Maybe I can play it?

“If you do not reveal yourself, I will kill her,” the knight announces.

Her voice echoes through the foothills, the brambles down below, to the woodlands where Tamri once splashed in the spring water. The king does not answer. I do not know if he is there. A once unbothered sheep stops ruminating and looks up at the knight as if to say, “Rude.”

“You cannot kill me! I am …” I sigh, realizing how preposterous my next words will sound, “the key between realms.”

“The what?” she questions, urging her steed to halt.

“I have journeyed to another more ordinary realm,” I begin to explain, fingers reaching for the instrument’s metallic strings.

“What is ordinary?” the knight asks, puzzlement seizing her face.

“Good point,” I exhale. “Well, another realm, where people are entirely different yet also the same,” I try to explain.

“Enough of this folly,” the knight exclaims, rolling her gaze. “I know you must be important to him if he has kept you alive for so long. I do not need you and your silly key, whatever that may be. Killing you would not be too burdensome if the traitor does not comply,” she decides.

“I wonder,” I begin, trying to calm the tremors in my voice and fingers, “Have you ever met a bard?”

I thrum the lyre on my belt. A wild assortment of notes blurts out then stops abruptly. An awkward, heavy silence permeates the air.

“You do not know how to use it?” the knight howls in amusement.

Panicked, I turn my wrist to inspect my fingertips. No calluses, not in this realm. I question if this is the moment I will melt back into the simpler life of strangers. Yet, I have an inkling that is not exactly how this works.

My fingers hold a different memory than calluses — the softness of a stingray slipping out of my hands off the cliffside. I recall the ache in my calves from the lonesome journey to the edge. Then, I smile, turning to face the precipice, hoping I can at least remember how to swim. I do not know where the king is, and I am not ready to test this knight’s bluff. So, I run.

The knight’s shambolic armor clangs rhythmically as she spurs her steed forward. Would she really trample me? I do not know. And I am not certain how close the ocean is, if the rocks at the bottom will be forgiving. Yet, as the distant lull of lo-fi radio resonates in my ears, I jump, hoping there is something other than bad luck waiting for me below.

***

Hello, wanderer!

Day Four can be found here:

Thanks for reading. I appreciate it, really!

xoxo,

for now,

-your friend, lost in thought