A Brilliant Ride

by Mitchell, Lisa J.

  The speedometer spun around again.

  “I seem to affect electronics.” He smiled.

  As I stared into his glistening eyes, he began to fade. I struggled to focus and reached out for him, but he quickly vanished. I shook my head and widened my eyes, staring at the passenger seat in disbelief. “Gone…what the...?”

  Looking around, I was shocked to see my car back on the road…right where it all started, on Willow Avenue. I looked at my watch, 11:30am. “That’s impossible. I left the house at, what? 11:25am? I must have been talking to Brilliant for hours. Brilliant! Where did he go?”

  I sat for what seemed ages holding my head. Oddly, I felt strangely wonderful for someone who was in the middle of a complete nervous breakdown. Note to me: find a therapist.

  I wrung my hands and contemplated my next move.

  I pulled the car out and decided to go directly to St. Christopher’s, a favorite spot of mine.

  St. Christopher’s Chapel, a little white storybook building with a tall steeple, was just a few blocks away. It was the perfect spot for me to gather my thoughts and pull myself together. I parked in front and hurried in. Breathless and shaky, I sat in the first pew and unbuttoned my jacket.

  The church was filled with flowers and the smell of incense still hung in the air. I felt the peacefulness of the place and took a deep breath. I looked up at the colorful stained glass window to the right and smiled at the image of an angel flying high above fluffy clouds. At closer examination, I noted the angel looked a lot like Brilliant. I then turned my attention to the statue of Mary. Adorned with baby roses, she had a serene, all knowing smile that comforted me. Her pale eyes seemed to say, “Tell me your troubles.”

  Taking it all in, I was suddenly jarred by the entrance of the Parish Priest. He was dressed in long robes and was carrying a golden bowl. I offered him a smile and glanced back at Mary.

  “Excuse me,” the priest said in a soft voice, “you have a bewildered look, my child.” He walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “May I be of service? It’s often helpful to unburden ourselves. It frees the heart and allows the mind room for more positive thoughts.” He smiled.

  “Um...it's just. Well, I've been under a lot of stress lately, Father. I'm feeling a bit out of sorts.” My eye twitched.

  The priest nodded his head. “Yes, the world can be a very hectic place, indeed, my child. I suggest you contemplate peace and pray for guidance.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something you’d like to discuss, perhaps...something in particular?” he asked.

  “Well...Father....I think I need to, um, contemplate more,” I whimpered and wrung my hands, wondering how in the world I would ever explain my Brilliant encounter.

  “I see.” He looked at me sideways, obviously wondering if I was unstable. “Very well, my child…but before you continue your quiet contemplation, allow me to bless you.”

  Before I could reply, he took out something that looked like a giant wand, dipped it into the golden bowl, and splashed me with a great deal of water.

  “Holy water, my child, to bless and cleanse,” he boomed. “Now, I suggest you recite 47 Hail Mary’s and 52 Our Father’s. I leave you in peace.” He nodded his head and turned, making his way back to the inner chambers of the chapel.

  Soaking wet, I fumbled in my handbag for a handkerchief. “What next,” I sighed, mopping my face and jacket. Feeling blessed, and definitely cleansed, I decided it was a good time to say a little prayer. I closed my eyes tightly and mumbled, “Please, God, please give me a sign. Am I losing it? Am I nuts? Er, sorry…I mean, have I suffered some kind of a mental collapse? Did you send me an angel?” I looked around nervously. “If you could just give me some kind of sign - so I know for sure - I would really appreciate it.” I made the sign of the cross several times, thinking that would help matters along. “You see, I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, with my marriage, and the murders and everything, and well, er, if it’s not too much…I’d really like to know if I saw a ghost or an angel or… something.” I made the sign of the cross a few more times and surveyed the chapel, but nothing. No sign.

  I decided to stay a while. Taking in the quiet calm of the peaceful chapel, I felt my shoulders relax and closed my eyes in silent meditation. I was jarred, however, when the chapel door creaked open and someone entered. I sunk down and secured my scarf around my head, pulling it down low. Glancing up, I saw a man enter the pew just across from me. I tried to get a better look.

  He was very tall and dressed in a brown trench coat. He had a rolled up newspaper in his left hand. As he settled into the pew, he turned to me and smiled broadly. Flustered, I shifted in my seat and blushed.

  “Have you heard the good news?” he boomed, holding the paper out to me.

  “Um, no, sorry…I’m in a rush,” I stammered and stumbled out of the pew. “Have a nice day.” I gathered myself and sprinted for the door.

  “You glow girl,” he sang out. “Have a brilliant day!”

  I stopped, frozen, my hand paralyzed on the heavy oak door.

  “You asked for a sign, didn’t you?”

  I pushed the door open and raced for my car. “Brilliant!”

  PEEK-A-BOO, I SEE YOU

  Back at home, Blossom reminded me that the Regal Rock Costume Ball was coming up. “You didn’t even get your costume yet. Whatcha gonna be this year, Ms. Penelope?”

  “Er, I don’t know.” My face was hot, my hands were sweaty, and I was still rattled from the angel thing.

  “Aha, you better think fast. Mr. Sam is going as Caesar; I picked up his costume yesterday. Wasn’t he Caesar last year, Ms. Penelope?”

  “Isn’t he always?” I shot back.

  “Ha, ha, ha - big man - that be true, true, true.” Blossom laughed hard.

  “I think I’ll go as a mermaid this year.” Huh? I have no idea what made me say that.

  Blossom looked at me funny. “A mermaid…? How you gonna do that? How you gonna dance with a big ole tail?” She laughed again, shaking her head.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” I said quickly, rubbing my head.

  I walked into the family room and kissed the girls. They were busy coloring.

  “Hi there girlies; what are you two up to?”

  “Oh, hi Mommy; Sarah and I are drawing pictures. Come and see.”

  I peered over Jill and looked down at her colorful drawing - fish, seashells and a huge yellow sun with tendrils reaching down to stick figures dancing on a beach.

  Sarah held her picture up. “Look, Mommy, mine is a mermaid!”

  “A mermaid..? Well, well, look at that. That’s funny, Sarah. I just told Blossom I was going to dress up as a mermaid for the costume ball.”

  “I know, Mommy.” She smiled brightly.

  “You know? Come here you little fishy; what do you mean you know? I didn’t even know ‘til just a few minutes ago.” I smothered her with kisses and inhaled her enchanting scent.

  “Oh Mommy, don’t be so silly,” Sarah sang. “He told us.”

  “He? Who?”

  “The nice man with the kind eyes…the one from my dream.” She continued drawing and singing, as I stood motionless.

  “Huh? I thought it was Jill who had a dream about a kind man.”

  “We both did Mommy. Oh, we talk to him all the time. He’s nice and funny.”

  “Yeah, funny,” squealed Jill.

  “Let me get this straight, both of you talk to a kind man in your dreams?” I asked shakily.

  “Yes Mommy, don’t you? He said he knows you. He said you’re a very good mommy and you love the seashore.” I felt like I was going to pass out and plopped myself into the club chair next to the large bay window.

  “Um, did he tell you two little fish anything else?” I asked, pulling at my hair.

  “Oh, you’re silly Mommy…he tells us loads of things.” Jill’s face brightened.

  “Yeah, too many to talk about now,” said Sarah dancing around.

&nbs
p; “Well, give Mommy a little hint. Just tell some of the things you talk about. Will you please, please tell me? Pretty please with whip cream and sprinkles on top…”

  “Ha, ha, ha, and a cherry, Mommy,” giggled Jill.

  “Yes and a cherry. Come on, pleeeeeeez.”

  “Well, he talks about the stars and the animals… and he talks about the flowers in the garden. He says if you put your ear up to them, you can hear them sing!” Jill’s face looked so angelic; it melted me. “Oh, and he told us that humming birds aren’t really birds at all.” She flapped her arms around. “They’re really little fairies. They fly around spreading love to all the creatures in the gardens," she sang. “Oh, and you can ask the sun for things! Isn’t that right, Sarah?”

  “Yes, that’s right. He told us about the sea too, remember, Jill?” Sarah giggled and skipped around the room.

  “Yep, he told us that there’s a lot of life down in the sea, and fish and mermaids talk to each other.”

  “Yes, they talk to each other,” Sarah squealed.

  “He loves to jump up and down on our beds with us, too,” Jill giggled. “Like this.” She bounced up and down shrieking with laughter, “Boing, boing, boing. Oh…and he told us that when we have dreams…and ask for things…the angels hear us, and they put special messages right inside our hearts!”

  “Yes, isn’t that brilliant, Mommy?” Sarah looked at me with glowing joy.

  “Brilliant? Did you say brilliant, Sarah?” I felt my cheeks blaze.

  “Yes, that’s his favorite thing to say! Ha, ha, ha…remember, Jill? Remember you even said to him, ‘Oh you love to say that word; you love it so much you should make that your name!”

  “Yep, and then he said, ‘That is my name!” They rolled around the floor laughing. “So now we just call him Brilliant.”

  “Yeah, Brilliant,” giggled Sarah. “Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant,” they sang and jumped up. Holding hands, they danced in a circle. “La, la, la, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.” I felt numb.

  “Okay, then. Well, I’m just going to run along and see when dinner will be ready. I love you, girls. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat,” I said shakily.

  “Okay, Mommy, love you...Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, la, la, la.”

  I walked into the kitchen holding my head and told Blossom I was going into town to get my costume and would be back in time for dinner.

  “Okay, have fun. Oh, by the way, a Detective Pici called…and Mr. Sam…he won’t be home for dinner.” My heart pounded.

  “Er…okay; I’ll be back soon.” I grabbed my car keys and flew out the door.

  I pulled up to Pengleton’s Party Supply & Costume Emporium with my nerves still rattled. When I entered, Mr. Pengleton was up to his eyeballs in orders. He told me to have a look around.

  I turned down the first aisle and there it was right in front of me, hanging on a pink satin hanger, the perfect dress. It was icy-blue with tiny sequins that danced and shimmered in the light. I took it off the hanger and held it up.

  “Oh, this dress reminds me of Amy Quinn and all the times we played dress up,”

  When we were little and full of mischief, Amy and I would rifle through Mother’s closet in a fit of laughter, trying on her fancy ball gowns, floppy hats and high heels. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering those exquisite years and the hours of belly laughs we shared. Back then, life was a constant merry-go-round of giggles, beach picnics, dress-up, and ice cream sundaes covered with colorful sprinkles. My heart tugged with memories of my dear childhood friend and those magical, carefree days.

  Growing up, I spent every July and August with Mother at our place on the Cape, a large shingled house with a wraparound porch. A rambling gem, covered with roses and filled with chintz and wicker, it sits high on a bluff offering magnificent views of the Atlantic. Amy Quinn was a local girl who lived close by. She was a tiny little thing with wispy flaxen hair, skinny legs, a small button nose and round pink cheeks. Her laugh was infectious, and her blue eyes twinkled when she spoke.

  She and her large brood lived in a weathered clapboard down by the docks, a historic home that once belonged to a famous ship’s captain. It was rumored to be haunted, which made for great late night storytelling around the fire. The house had wide plank floors, a large creaky staircase, and a small widow’s walk on the roof, complete with a shiny brass bell. The front of the house boasted a large oak tree, a garden swing, and a lovely rose garden with a mermaid fountain. A white picket fence wrapped around the entire property, and the front gate had a small brass plate engraved with the words, “Gull Cottage.”

  Amy and I first met at the local ice cream shop when we were just six years old. My babysitter, Lena, had promised me a double scoop of my favorite raspberry swirl ice cream and brought me into town, to Thompson’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor, to fulfill the promise. Amy was sitting at the counter with her older sister. She caught my eye the moment I walked in. She was holding a triple scoop of my beloved flavor, covered with wildly colored sprinkles. We struck up a conversation, and the rest is history. After that hot July afternoon, we were inseparable.

  I spent many a day and night at the Quinn’s house. Amy’s father was a local fisherman, and dinner at their place was a feast. Every dinner featured the catch of the day, along with lobster tails with drawn butter, clams on the half shell, and mussels in spicy red sauce. I loved spending time with them. They were a big raucous clan with lots of love to go around. Life at their house was loud and carefree, much different from the well-ordered routine at my house.

  While Mother had my teen years booked with tennis lessons and swim meets at the beach club, I much preferred lazing around with Amy. We’d spend our time snorkeling in the warm water at the cove, tanning at the public beach or hanging out in her little pink bedroom, dancing to loud music, painting our nails, and squealing about our secret crushes.

  When I was fifteen, I fell hard for Amy’s older brother, Logan. He was tall, strong, and handsome, with sandy hair, a broad grin with deep dimples, and big blue eyes. Amy teased me constantly. “What’s so great about him?” she’d say. “I don’t know; he just looks like a regular guy to me, just my dorky brother.”

  Rick, on the other hand, was a different story. He was Logan’s best friend, and Amy’s absolute dream come true. “He looks like Dennis Quaid, don’t you think?” she’d squeal. I didn’t see the resemblance, probably because I never took my eyes off Logan. He was my dream come true. He was free and strong and spent his days conquering the sea…well, in my mind anyway.

  Logan and Rick spent every summer working on Mr. Quinn’s fishing boat, The Dancing Lady. Each day, at the crack of dawn, they’d head out to sea, spending long hours reeling in giant marlin, striped bass and blue fish. Then they'd pull in nets and lobster traps, before heading back to shore. Meanwhile, Amy and I would spend our days at the beach tanning and spraying lemon juice in the feathered wings of our hair. Afterwards, we’d dash home to change into short summer dresses and brightly colored flip flops. Then we’d head over to the harbor and wait for their boat to come in. Those poor boys never had a chance. We were relentless.

  When the Quinn’s boat was in sight we’d squeal and sit at the edge of the dock waving wildly, our tanned legs swinging off the side. Rick and Logan would emerge on deck bronzed and windswept, shouting for us to help out. The sight of them made us swoon. The minute The Dancing Lady was safely docked the two would jump off, and Mr. Quinn would yell from the back of the boat, “You girls let them finish up. They have a lot more to do. Run along now.”

  There was no stopping us. We’d throw our arms around them, taking in their salty sea air smell, and make them promise to meet us after dinner, at the beach, for a fire and a midnight swim. Then we’d run off giggling, planning our night.

  Mother hated the fact that I befriended the Quinns.

  “They’re local trash,” she’d say to me, “Townies - not our kind at all.”

  She did everything s
he could to dissuade me from spending time with them. She worked even harder to extinguish my burning crush on Logan. She had her work cut out for her. Logan and I continued our romance, becoming more and more serious with each passing summer.

  It all came to a screeching halt, however, when I was nineteen.

  I was no longer hearing from Logan. He stopped phoning, and my calls and letters went unanswered. The final blow came New Year’s Day. Mother was happy to inform that she heard from one of her girlfriends that Logan had gotten married, to a local girl, over the Christmas holiday. Shocked and heartbroken, I spent the entire day trying to get a hold of Amy. It was useless. She had joined the Peace Corps the year before and was impossible to reach. I gave up trying.

  I was sent to Europe that summer, and the beach house was closed up. Mother told me it was being sold.

  Years later, I found out the truth.

  Logan had tried to contact me, many times, but Mother kept him away. She kept all the letters he wrote me, as well. I came across a box of them when I was looking through an old trunk in our attic. Rather than confront her, I went straight to Robert. He was sympathetic and told me that while he disagreed with Mother’s tactics, in the end, he believed the separation was good for me.

  Mother never did sell our summer place; that was a lie. I’m sure the story about Logan marrying was false, as well. I guess I should have pursued it. I should have looked for him, but so much time had gone by, and my life had gone in a different direction.

  I wonder where Logan is now, how he looks, if he’s happy and still fishing in that deep blue water that matched his eyes…

  “Excuse me, how can I be of assistance?” I was jarred back by Mr. Pengleton, his little glasses perched at the end of his long nose. “Oh, yes, I see you’ve found it!” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “It’s a mermaid costume. It is lovely.” He looked at the costume with a proud eye and took it down for me to inspect. “I believe this suits you, my dear.”