by Zac Funstein
Funstein seriously had co
LOST HIGHWAY
A BRITISH COLUMBIAN MYSTERY
Zac Funstein
1/14/2015
I dedicate this to my little friend Judo McKee. We wowed em eh kid? Never did anywhere shine than when we’d been round with the J-Cloth lol Zac Winter 2015
A
The trouble was an old one to Gladys M. Schreiber- just where to go on holiday-actually holiday wasn’t a very good piece of terminology ‘retreat’ would be better. This was what beset her anyway to the exclusion of everything else until it seemed unless this choice was made the one beset wouldn’t be happy. That was the difficulty in starting something one had to go on to the finish or better not to have begun even remotely. Like one of those retreats for women where they are ladies-of-ill-repute who need respite from the horrors of their trade or a battered child or battered wife refuge-that sort of thing-they had fancy titles but the purpose seemed to be the same. Somewhere to charge up the batteries rather than go wild. It wasn’t one of those pleasure trips where people say/do wild outrageous things then resume their usual routine having released pent up energies
Gladys father Douglas L. Schreiber- had lost his temper with his daughter almost from the moment his daughter could walk/talk for no reason that could be discerned. Some got more ill inclined as they got older Douglas was one of them no mistake. His perilous journey to the world of the drug/addiction-free living with lack of self-pity-that was both unflinching/searing- a dazzling account of a life destroyed/ reconstructed had but one casualty. The actual reason was often tenuous-but if his daughter was around then it was a fair bet that an outburst would follow. Her mother had tried to discern this in a vain attempt to save her daughter. Sure the teenagers usual outfit around the house was this rather well- worn pair of old trousers, some bargain-bin makeup, plus a rather frilly brassiere-but it wasn’t much to get worked up about. The teen wasn’t always dressed up to the very climax of the fashion, or possessed a great variety of rich bijouterie but very much like everyone else of her generation. A practical girl
Not so large that they were ungainly, but not so small that you would be suspicious of him Douglas had a rage which was indescribable. It seemed to come from no particular source or (on a bad day) have any end. His anger surpassed unimaginable borders. That meant almost daily beatings at its height-verbal belittling at its nadir. His violence was oppressive, pushing down on her like a weight. Like its meteorological counterpart one just had to wait until it was finished-pull down the hatches then take cover. Originally from Saskatchewan its twisted roots as a colony that never said goodbye to the Crown gave its denizens deep turmoil. It was as if the guilt they sensed at this loyalty to the crown drove them wild. It wasn’t just Douglas who worked himself up like this there were more-his family had said. They seemed to react to everything in the same style
The teens mother Ellen (formerly Ellen Bellino) as did her brother Virgil got some of this but the brunt of his contempt seemed to be reserved for his daughter especially. It wasn’t always daughters that got it-it could be sons there seemed to be no guiding principle. The tirades began then there was nothing to do but wait until the force had played out. Age did nothing to dim these nor did attempts at placating. Despite being called a misogynist as well as receiving approbation this showed no signs of abating however.
“The important thing is to decide on somewhere that suits your requirements,” said her friend Jacqueline S. Pierce.
Jacqueline was amusing in her own way, but quiet, always alone, except when her friend Vickie C. Schafer visited her once a year for a sabbatical. Then Jacqueline always dressed in pants/ man-shirt borrowed from her husband Stan for Vickie was recently married a teenage bride. After being released from the hospital, however Jacqueline dressed more shabbily in hideous fabric, sometimes wearing a striped top with a checked skirt.
It took a while to connect with what was meant then it was realised that it was the holiday that was being mentioned. Pierces were like that no one seemed to know just what was going on inside of them-they were very private individuals.
Jacqueline (so called ostensibly but her family had always called her Jack, for brevity, because, with her rough ways, their daughter resembled a boy more than a girl) was full of such homilies.
At least Jack tried anyway-there was no harm in so attempting when so many were ill-intent for free.
Jacqueline’s brother Julius weary of politics, and obeying a natural inclination to pleasure was similarly inclined to giving advice but had virtually abdicated the management of affairs, giving himself up to enjoyment, amusing himself with the adornment of his villa, near the Porta del Popolo, often so far neglecting the proprieties of his office as to participate in entertainments of a questionable character-so that now his view was ignored. Everyone liked Julius but it had to be admitted that the guy tended towards the flaky side. It wasn’t like a confessional or listening to a priest with Julius-you were probably better off doing the opposite of what was suggested whatever that is.
They had just been to Montreal Planetarium so everyone was very much into far away destinations, but Jack hadn’t liked it having visited the former McLaughlin Planetarium recently which was lonely deserted like some crematory relic. This had put her off ‘ceilings with stars on’ for good the pal had boasted who wasn’t always much of a scholar anyway. There had been much technology installed but still the visiting queue had dwindled. Eventually it had to be conceded it wasn’t so much the technology that was causing visitors to stay away but something which could not be accurately known. They probably built the building on top of some holy burial ground or something.
Someone had once taught them we must keep our girls from any contact with all that is coarse/ debasing; must teach them to behave properly at home/ abroad; not to lounge about or stand in ungainly attitudes; read books which serve only to refine, to improve manners, but now those lessons had been neglected.
“What about Manitoba-home of Carmela R. Pittman.”
The leaden poems of Pittman had won immortality as the world's worst poet now to be cast in bronze outside Manitoba Museum. They had touched upon Carmela in class. Some believed that the worst tag was unjustified.
“This isn’t that sort of vacation I need-but thanks for the input.”
A less driven woman might have been content with such generous helpings of advice but our concern was not that placid. Had her birth been in different circumstances then yes a visit to the almost-shrine of Carmela might have been suitable.
Slim, tall Mexican -almost flawless with perfect features Jacks advice was always tinged by her presence but it wasn’t what was needed at the moment
“Immortality is lovely, of course, it can be so ... enervating but I reserve admiring Pittman’s statue for another occasion.”
It wasn’t wanted to discourage those who might be of assistance however.
Time moves on its magic with an epic sweep, for the gods offer cosmic justice/victory on earth, immortality to come, aid when in trouble. G wished this was a perfect, flawlessly planned executed operation, from start to finish, using all the tools of the modern age, but the fact is it was proving difficult. Such is existence ready-made solutions are rarely provided. There is no climbing of a mountain that doesn’t have a slope before the summit might be a cliché but it still held true.
A video of some gladiator chariot racing was playing unobserved in the corner of where they were. The shaft which was fitted with small bits of steel / iron, so it could glance off other things without being split or cut-had broken so the chariot was sent crashing into the primitive chicane. The crowd was cheering wildly for their favourite.
It seemed to betoken the tension that often existed between them. Not many kne
w of this tension that existed but it was almost palpable to those who dared to get close as if the sensation could be physically touched. Least that is how it was described by those foolhardy enough to try to give this expression.
The assistant of the specialist of the ‘Return to Nature’ travel-agency that was visited next was equally helpful as The youngster flicked through their brochure. They had watched her for a while before moving in.
“This is but a brief glance into how we managed to live without electricity or many of the mod cons we have today. Critics abounded at the outset-they accused of making a racist version of the past- but contractors in retrospect confessed how meeting the standard was economical, profitable easier than expected.”
The teen flicked through the online pages of the brochure distractedly-the ones that moved like conventional pages used to do. These seemed more reassuring somehow-something tangible that could be experienced rather than just the virtual. There was so much choice that the danger was in being swamped by it all. If you had a taste for going away then it was catered for-if there was enough of you then if it wasn’t there then it probably soon would be because this was a lucrative racket.
“It certainly seems interesting a little like camping or summer-camp-very fundamental facilities.”
“I suppose at pinch-you could put that but that has a lot of very negative associations for some-a creepshow like taint does sometimes adhere.”
To be honest This peruser wasn’t sure if this staff was hiding a secret cache of vacations somewhere. Most just got the repartee like now but if someone came in that was liked then they got the excelsior treatment with a corpulence of exciting destinations-like spaceflight or where not many had been before. The hidden contrast with this A list-real or not- was sensed very keenly. Maybe that was being unfair it really wasn’t like that remotely. G always told herself that everyone always came to miss their original routine eventually however exciting this new set of circumstances might be. You never really knew what went on-take for Yugoslavia seemingly idyllic there were in reality deep buried factions that never surfaced.
“If you like you can go away then turn this over-maybe take in the online brochure there isn’t any hurry. We get quite a few testimonials which are positive-this isn’t just sediment that has been lying around settling for lack of interest.”
“Thank you I’ll do that-I sense the resonance of what you’re coming out with is genuine. When its bona fide then there is always a certain ambiance-no question.”
The one trying to paint this so wonderfully seemed average enough-one of those ne’er the twain shall meet people that we all bump into once in a while. They seemed reasonable enough although being marooned on some desert island with them might not necessarily be a good option.
The travel-agency was underlain with a general unpleasant mustiness plus the whiff of tobacco even though a sign said in large letters proclaimed. SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. The enquirer found herself upon leaving asking just what would be found here if a return visit was ever made-probably a different shop entirely-a dry cleaners or DIY store.
Upon her arrival at base camp (home) a friend from school Kathleen D. Felix who had arranged to meet her confidante was able to give her reasoned opinion on this matter. Kathleen had been calling a lot as of recently-though what made here so fascinating no one knew. Maybe it was her pleasure celebrating the marriage of her Giddi (female doll) with the Geedda (male doll) of her friend, Rihimoo—a daughter of their next door neighbour.
The latter as always full of diversity of expression underlain by a thrill of eagerness brought out with a dash of terrible truth was always keen to put her unique jaundiced veneer no more than now. There was something open about Kathleen that attracted people to her-not always for the correct reasons. After listening respectfully the bespectacled adviser perched on the Disney character eiderdown said:
“One thing comforts us: effort has motivated every great work until that work was completed then has compassed its end. Now you won’t be happy until you’ve finally decided where to go.”
Kathleen was having trouble herself with being stationary coming as her family did where there was a lot of earthquake activity recently. They had moved several times from where they lived but her father especially seemed to believe that seismic attacks followed them-as incredible as this might seem.
‘We see no correlation between natural gas production wells/earthquakes, but we haven't ruled out injection wells,’ a spokesman had said trying to be reassuring, adding that if production wells were the cause, the earthquakes would be scattered all over the region not in just in Arkansas where they had lived before. Now they had moved to N America but rather like those hit by similar natural phenomena.
“They watched the online vid that the travel agency had recommended. It was okay but not HD for some that was the problem-they wanted more in not less.”
A button was pressed, so the video monitor froze frame.
“In terms of picture quality, broadcast video beats streaming video in most cases I believe you’ll agree Kathleen.”
The landscape was as if frozen-if they had all died from some mysterious ailment so that everything was the same. Douglas had this running gag that if they were put into suspended animation then even when they woke up it would still be here exactly the same.
“Yeh but it still isn’t my idea of a groovy hols-no way. I don’t sense this designed for those of my age-group-this is for older people. Boomers who want to relive their youth. I’m too young for a bucket-list.”
The ill fated one wrote in her diary that evening as was her ritual:
‘I met an old very good friend today, they sat on my eiderdown as I am doing now dear diary.I have not had a chance to draw a sketch or I would. It was as it is with those one is close to as if no time had passed at all-like Proust tried to capture in his lucid prose. We are always sad when they have to leave. I apologised to Kathleen (that’s the pal who was here just now) for being what they disparagingly call a ‘fairweather friend’ only invoking her when something nice has happened or using her as a sounding board when something unseemly or negative needs to be sorted out. It wasn’t meant to go like that-this was just how it seemed to work out. As always Kathleen just smiled then listened, that was what friends were for was her reply-being someone who had an answer for everything (this was what I might expect her to say). There was never anyone it seemed that they were in a hurry to meet. I could always go on as much as necessary.
Then dear diary (I’m pleased that there are few other than you who know this) I broke down then like I had never done before. A truly embarrassing spectacle. I’m glad that there was only ourselves to witness the dramatics. I never like it at these cringing moments. You have always been there never asking for anything in return Kathleen, how is it that you never seem to falter in your purpose-always you seem there for the other person-never deviating in your support, never dinting in trying to make the problem unravel itself rather than pushing yourself forward as the active agent. If anyone was a candidate for sainthood like those free bracelets that they send through the post from the Sisters of Little Mercies that had paintings of each saint Kathleen was it. K replied that it was really easy-that if you knew that it was what God wanted you to do-to give aid without a sense of personal gain-then drawing strength was no problem because you knew that a source was inexhaustible. It never ran or needed topping up that was for sure. Just when you believed that the luck had run out it popped up anew.
Moreover K (that’s my pen-name for her when we communicate by twitter) said that we had grown very close recently. When you truly knew someone understood their difficulties as my problems were then they naturally followed a pattern. It was easy to discern what worried them especially if they had been close as we were. When you have walked the same path from adolescence to maturity then the path begets the present.
The diaries composer signed off with a flourish never knowing that K would go on to be a ‘serial-dater', a
woman obsessed with love-never able to hold a man down or settle in a relationship. ‘My friend, my friend, my friend I call upon thee’ was scrawled in the next entry which must have been written earlier, but this was to be the last diary entry that was to be made.
“Decide what really turns you on,” was another acquaintances contribution who decided to pop in just as Kathleen was about to leave, they were all wearing the same bobby-sox had the same cashmere cardigan on-all in effect out of the same mould-if one wanted to be unkind. They wouldn’t join an army because ‘they all dressed the same’ but conversely seemed like one themselves with their conservative taste in garb.
Renee J. Boles was one of those- well how could you put it- shots just seem to bounce off her - not known for her skill but for her ruggedness/ almost aggression, Boles was always searching for an exciting fight; the ambient air, (rather than mechanically cooled) that kept the monitor from overheating hummed as Renee exclaimed:
“If you like adventure or adrenaline pumping activitie that is what you’ve got to ask yourself. Decide what you really want if its thrills/spills or something quieter.”
“I’ve never really been one for excitement this definitely falls into the latter category. This is more a commune with something private within.”
No one could never hear or see Renee without picturing the actress of the same Christian-name who had had plastic surgery which made her seem like someone totally different but worse.
Tribal success story Dakota Technologies, which had attracted aboriginal call-center staff- had trained many young people such as this making Renee sound like someone older on the phone but in her private-life into the bargain; but as this was being turned over Glady’s older brother Amos chose this instance to pop in stared at them with his small, observant gaze-(it seemed to all as if the sibling was reliving some experience of his with his mother constantly) exclaiming.
