Chance had, figuring her big Give Away was also her Welcome Party to the world of subatomic relationships, sat on her sofa, still in shock, and greeted all comers. Had it been anyone else experiencing her misfortune, she would have raged over the injustice of it all, but Chance in the world of subatomic particles felt her place was to sit and learn about how they behaved, their rules, their etiquette, their conception of things. Some subatomic particles simply thanked her. Other subatomic particles asked her what had happened and said that was terrible. They seemed sincere. Maybe it was terrible, maybe not, Chance said, wondering if they were testing her, wondering if they were instead letting her know that the subatomic particles were not all of one view. When they asked if she was sure she wanted to give all this away, she shrugged her shoulders, not knowing yet how to converse on their level. Ultimately, she considered that there were no right or wrong answers to give, that the process at work just wanted her attention. She could probably kick and scream and it would be all right, as long as she had an eye open for the lesson the subatomic particles were trying to teach about themselves and her, their relationship. As the pieces of her former spartan life departed, she'd waved goodbye.

RESEARCH

An excerpt from the "One Thing that Doesn't Fall Apart in the Wash" chapter.

"Find me! Find me! Look at me! I'm here!" is what an inestimable but probable better portion of human beings are thinking daily in a vague, don't know who I'm even looking for to be looking for me way, when they're not beckoning respective omniscient personal gods to give a hint of recognition they'd been born, damn it, however it happened that I became a conscious being I can't begin to imagine, I don't think I asked for this, but now that I'm here I'm assuming that one day it's going to be explained to me. "Find me! Look at me!" they broadcast to their real self, the complete self, the one that knew what the fuck was going on, that felt at one with, well, themselves. The self that would know exactly what it was supposed to be doing here on earth and would do it and know why and what for without things fucking up which must be why things fuck up is because you're somehow not doing it right. "Find me!" maybe this time the magic book will make me right, or the magic shoes, the magic hair, the magic teeth, the magic place, the magic whatever, didn't matter, much of every day being a stage where damn it the match is going to light, fire is going to happen, the magic switch will be thrown that makes everything sensible and right from that moment on.

Adonis had come to Psyche in the dark, hadn't he, had found her, and said don't turn on the light because I'll disappear, so is it any wonder it was natural to so many to broadcast through the dark of their heads, "Find me! Look at me!" Maybe that was the problem, the look at me part. OK, so don't look at me?? But I want to see you. I want to see you looking at me. Wouldn't hurt if I cut on the light just once to make certain I'm not with a monster, would it?

The magic of the everyday attempt to make a mark by which to be found not working, Robinson Crusoe still sitting on the beach next to the big SOS, build a bigger temple, make it a place to go on Sunday, god will have a better chance of finding you then, he'll know the day he's supposed to show up, know the place, and won't be pissed off with you wanting him at hand every second to tell you "Why?" and help things go your way.

Can't find me yet? Apparently I'm not doing just the right thing to help you find me yet? Haven't discovered the right mark to make. Guess I better keep making marks and in the meanwhile maybe one of those marks will attract lesser beings to take notice. Or maybe if I keep looking at the right spot in the sky I'll discover god. If god isn't going to discover me, looks like I've got to discover god. If god isn't going to discover me, looks like I've got to discover whatever it is that will lead me to god. Omniscient deity having made the world, certainly that deity left his mark somewhere. That's what I need to do, but man isn't it like looking for a needle in a haystack, having to sort out all the false marks, the discoveries that lead nowhere.

Seems if Chance and Faith were not being sought out then they were going to have to make a mark which had some possibility of being discovered and leading a researcher to its cause. It would probably have to be a mark other than the type Faith had been scribbling on bathroom walls at every stop.

This would be difficult as they had never been accused of brilliance; their light did not shine. They had no advocate screaming out for Horton the elephant to hear, "We are here! We are here! We are here!"

   

On the Author

The author has a metal fly ash tray.

The author has been on trips.

The author was a northern transplant to the South as a child.

The author has been around bands all her adult life.

The author, as a semi-observant member of the human race, feels vaguely qualified to write about life.

The author once went in search of a Great Penguin she had seen, as a child, with her very own eyes.

One may contact the author at idyllopuspress @ gmail.com