Land of Nod

by Charles C. Cole

Mid-morning of another easygoing day: Clarence Dall peered out his living room window, trying to predict the upcoming weather, seeing if he could delay mowing one more weekend. That’s when an unfamiliar black pickup paused just beyond the entrance of his driveway, then continued on its way, leaving behind a forty-something helmet-haired woman with a large blue suitcase.

“The hell?”

Clarence didn’t live in a true neighborhood; there wasn’t another house in sight from his front door. Somebody was clearly lost. He stepped out before the female intrusion ended up on his porch. She stood with her left hand over her heart and her right on her hip. She was obviously getting her bearings, or praying.

“Looking for someone?” he asked.

She quickly assessed him and smiled tentatively. “My new ‘boyfriend’ wants a trial separation, apparently. Surprise.”

“Was that him?” Clarence asked. She nodded by fluttering her eyelashes.

Clarence reached in his pants pocket for his phone. “There’s seems to have been a mistake. You want me to call him?”

“I don’t think he’d answer.” She gently patted her cheeks with both hands as if reassuring herself this was not a dream. “We met online, you see. We seemed compatible, though he looked nothing like his profile photo. After a few weeks of sharing my soul, I took a bus. He met me and took me home. He seemed to think that meant I was his for the taking, but I wanted to get to know him a bit more first. I think he expected something else.”

“He lives around here?”

“No, Lisbon Falls. I think he was returning me to Portland, but then he saw your street sign: Land of Nod. He said that’s where Cain was exiled to, so it would do.”

Clarence thought about the unexpected events and suddenly became tired. His head felt heavy. He lived alone in a small house that was plenty big for just him, and for over ten years he’d liked it fine, though he was occasionally lonely. “Can we move to my porch? I’m undercaffeinated. This is a lot to process.” He turned and took a few steps, then turned back.

She hadn’t moved. “You’re a complete stranger,” she said. “It doesn’t feel safe.”

Clarence thought of a sarcastic response, but corrected himself. “Makes sense. I’m Clarence Dall, like on the mailbox. You got a name? You can make it up.”

“Rae-Lynn.”

“Rae-Lynne, you sure you don’t want to get off the side of the road?” She didn’t react, like she hadn’t heard him. “I’m not a medical person, but you seem like someone in shock. Does that sound right?”

“This is my first time in Maine,” she said at last. “It’s pretty. And quiet. I’m from Dorchester, outside of Boston.”

“Never been,” said Clarence. “Say, you want me to call you a ride to the bus?”

Rae-Lynne looked over at the unadorned house, the untrimmed shrubs and the tall grass. “No wife?”

“Had one once, but she wanted more out of life than I could afford.”

“May I use your bathroom?” asked Rae-Lynne.

Now who’s trusting strangers? thought Clarence. “Sure. Go in the side. First door on the left.”

“Thank you for being a gentleman,” she said. He followed her, carrying her suitcase. It wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected. He had a brief image of dropping it, with women’s unmentionables bursting out. He figured it was best to wait outside by his car, a simple black Ford Escape. Rae-Lynne took longer than expected, but exited soon enough.

“Did it pass inspection?” asked Clarence, immediately regretting it. “Haven’t had a woman’s touch in years.”

“I called for a ride to the bus,” she explained. She noticed the suitcase. “You needn’t have done that, but thank you.” They looked at each other and liked what they saw: Just not today, thought Clarence. Give me time to consider.

“You need a drink or snack before you go?” he asked.

“I think I’ve taken enough of your time,” said Rae-Lynne. “You’ve been very generous.”

Her ride came down the road and slowed at his driveway. “You lucked out,” said Clarence. “They usually take close to thirty minutes.”

The driver, a young man with shoulder-length hair and long sideburns that came low on the sides of his face, popped the trunk and took her suitcase.

“Another stranger,” mumbled Clarence.

Rae-Lynne smiled, unoffended. “You ever feel like, maybe, you were meant to meet someone? Maybe not the way you expected, but it was supposed to happen?”

“Never,” said Clarence, then he corrected himself. “Well, once.” He opened the back door for her and she slid in. “Do me a favor,” he asked, “text me when you make it home.” He gave her his phone number. “Otherwise, I’ll just worry. Not every place is as quiet as Maine.”

The ride left. Almost immediately his phone toned with a new text message. He resisted looking. He went inside and poured himself a tall iced coffee and made his way to the garage and the mower. Then he pulled out his phone.

“If I never get to Maine again, please know that you were the best part of my visit.”

Clarence took a long swig of his iced coffee. How to respond? He sent a simple smile emoji and, for some reason, a blue butterfly. Then he put the phone away.

Rae-Lynne reached down and gently caressed the tattoo of a blue butterfly above her ankle. She had the distinct impression she might be coming back to Maine, not right away but when conditions were right.