This Is Not Really Happening
Chapter 15: Rhiannon

It was just past dawn when Madeline, the researchers, and I emerged from the glassed-in porch into the front yard. A jogger passed by on the sidewalk, oblivious to the monumental events that had just taken place. So, too did the garbage truck, which honked at us to move the vans parked on the street in order to pass.

It was a weekday, a Tuesday I think. Doctors Floyd, Rajj, Orloff and the others packed the vans and spoke in excited hushed tones. The sensory equipment successfully captured a ton of data, not to mention the video footage. I half expected their equipment to conveniently fail with something so supernatural, but apparently that was only in the movies. Cameras got the images, cameras got it all. My arm draped across Madeline, we shambled over to the Kia Solace in the driveway when Doctor Floyd jogged up.

“Doctor Wessinger, I’d like to call you when you get back home to discuss our findings.”

“Of course,” I said, pulling out my phone from my purse. We bumped our phones together, and he looked at my contact.

“You know,” he considered, “I have a conference in Houston in a couple of weeks. Maybe we could..” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I’d like that. Give me a call when you’re free and we can arrange dinner.”

“And none of this waiting two days mindgame foolishness, Howard,” Madeline interjected. “My mom’s a hotty.””

I turned to Madeline. “Honey, please get in the car.” She gave a wolfish grin. I turned back to Howard. “Kids, huh?”

He chuckled. “I’ll call you tonight.”

I got in, and we slowly backed down the driveway.

“Howard’s a good man, Mom. I always imagined you two in one of those Cialis commercials together.”

I shook my head. “You’re terrible, Honey.”

Madeline put her head on my shoulder. “C’mon. I’m the best.”

I patted her on the head. “Yeah, I know.”

I initially didn’t want the researchers to discuss the events that took place. The team agreed to keep the location of the house strictly compartmentalized in order to prevent Lake Vista from being invaded by hordes of people looking to escape the simeality. As for the house itself, before she left, Heather had her attorney, the militant Unitarian with the patch on his body armor that said “I put homophobes in coffins,” to bequeath the house to me. It was a beautiful gesture to give me back my childhood home.

Madeline decided to return to college and chose LSU, switching majors to study Musicology. LSU was a fine school, but the real reason Madeline chose it was to spend time with Daniel. As far as Daniel, his condition improved dramatically. Maybe having Madeline back in his life had an effect, maybe Fuckin’ Steve gave us a break for once. Whatever it was, Daniel learned to speak and walk again. Eventually, he would join Madeline at LSU. I still couldn’t say where Barbara and Heather went. A form of consciousness as a dimension was something I couldn’t wrap my mind around. Maybe one day I would.

After picking up a triple shot dirty chai latte at PJ’s, Madeline and I drove towards Baton Rouge to see Henry and Daniel. The events were still so fresh, but unlike last time, I remembered it all. I didn’t know why that was.

“Jimbo,” I prompted, “I’d like some music. Surprise me.”

“Do you have a genre preference?” Jimbo inquired.

“Not really. Let’s just see what suits your fancy.”

Seconds later a lone guitar playing minor chords followed by a bass and keyboard joined in.

Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night

And wouldn’t you love to love her.

Takes to the sky like a bird in flight

And who will be her lover.

It was a song from eons ago, before I was even born. Earee identified the artist as Fleetwood Mac. As the woman sang, pings of memory sparked from earliest childhood. I was sitting in a grocery cart with Barbara––Mom driving it, smoking a cigarette while she picked up a cake for Henry’s birthday. She was singing the lyrics to Rhiannon as the Muzak version played over the intercom. Mom winked as sang to me, her raspy voice and sweet smile. It’s all a little girl could ever want.

“Hey, Mom, it’s your song,” Madeline noted, seeing the song’s title.

As the song roller coastered from minor to major and back again, I felt like the little girl who for a moment felt nothing but love from her mother. Part of me wished to inhabit the girl I was, lean over to tell Barbara I still loved her.

I looked down at my phone. “Thank you, Jimbo.”

“You’re welcome, my sweet.”

END

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