Virtual Eternity (the Serialized Novel) Episode 13 - The Last Walk on the Beach: Ending and capturing "it"

This is Episode 13 of the serialized version of the novel, Virtual Eternity: An Epic 90s Retro Florida Techo-Pro-Life Love Story and Conversion Journey. These 52 episodes are presented here free for you every Friday. You can buy the paperback version from Mike Church’s Crusade Channel Store (at a lower price than Amazon!).

Or you can start reading at the Table of Contents: here

The Last Walk on the Beach: Ending and capturing "it"

Of course, at her house, I re-thought my stubbornness after she slipped into her bikini in front of me and the breezy drapes. Then she drove me over the coastal waterway to a stretch of beach that few attended. Because of the lack of people, the sand there was the whitest and the water was the bluest for many miles. We stepped up over the dunes on a wooden-planked crosswalk. There we viewed the sea thrashing the entire eastern side of our town. Down the steps, our bare feet met sand, which we sifted between our toes. This same sand extended inland under the grass and cement, and constantly reminded everyone of the land’s end nearby.

I could not avoid Lana’s power, nor did I want to, today.

For this day, and probably for more days, I would surrender my need to know God, whether by knowing His perfection instantiated in Lana, or otherwise later, by imitating what He does in bringing to life that Eternal – and by ensuring she allows me to know her by lowering myself to her power.

She rambled, probably about someone, as was her penchant. I stared at her as she spoke, faking interest in the topic, centering on her tanned face instead. Whenever possible, I was compelled to glance at her body, wrapped by pink strings that scarcely covered her. This compelling, this lust, or humility, or victory, or sin – also moved me to express it all, to organize all that confusion, in art.

The lust had also honed my insights into relationships during these months. That conflict and passion wearied us both. The constant floating between hatred and love tormented my stomach. But I realized that soon I would never touch her skin again, so I again fixed my plans to make love to her. I surrendered to my animal emotions, for one more day, so I might cement her in my memory forever. Unlike my adolescence, however, I now sought concepts of Beauty, not acceptance. The ferment of the water favored me. The primordial sounds of water repeatedly sliding over sand matched the sounds of clothing sliding off skin. I concocted the words and expressions to gain her honor, so the foresight of the surf would be rendered true.

No general with a million soldiers ever considered the logistics of an operation with that much thought. When should I hold her? When should I kiss her? What if she should pull back? Where would we go? What if she refused? What should I say? If only the words could flow with the rhythm of my pen...

“...Don’t you think?” Lana asked.

“About what?”

“That trash.” She pointed to the small pile of bags, cups, and soda cans near the dunes. “Can you believe people would do that?”

“I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”

“It’s disgusting what we do.”

“I doubt anyone left it there on purpose. It’s at the high tide line. Some boat probably lost it by accident and it floated here.” I skipped to avoid a gregarious wave.

“You are the most naive,” she said. “What else should I expect from the guy who doesn’t believe in global warming. Did I actually hear you say that once?”

“Well, I have doubts.”

“Can’t you feel that every year gets hotter? Most everyone I know does.”

“It hasn’t. The whole theory is based only on computer models.”

“We can take the right steps to ease pollution and stop a global catastrophe,” she said. “Or we can gamble our future and wait for better data. We shouldn’t take the risk.”

Sandpipers preceded us, foraging for fleas in the damp sand and evading waves.

We walked over some green and orange plastic toys that a child had abandoned. From afar, I had seen the boy run off into the sea oats to chase a gull.

“The point is that we need to be careful with emotional arguments.”

“But don’t you feel that humans are destroying nature?” she asked.

“Sometimes. But sometimes the earth adapts to us.”

A wave pounded behind us and spread itself over the damp sand to our feet.

“You think you can have it both ways,” Lana said. “You do that in many aspects of your life.”

“There are no easy black-and-white answers to massive questions like that. And the data is only from models.”

“It’s because you’re still a child, Jonathan. Life is more than data. Do you measure your relationships with data too?” She grinned.

“Sure. Heart rate, dinner costs, lost sleep time. You rate below average.”

“Thanks. Do you realize what my name would be if we’d ever gotten married?”

“Lana Hannah. Hey, if you hyphenated it, you get Lana Shanana.”

“Hmm. I wouldn’t have changed it anyway,” she said. “But I can’t imagine being married to you. What would it be like?”

“Please, Lana.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right. We shouldn’t argue today. Let’s turn back.” We spun and faced the sun. We plodded in our reversed footsteps and contemplated our life there on the edge of death. Bright-colored toys floated in the foamy undertow far beyond the breakers.

“That’ll be one unhappy child,” Lana said.

“They were cheap toys. He’ll get new ones.”

“You know what I want to do, Jonathan? I have plans I need to cancel. But let’s go back to my place, open the windows, turn on the fans, take off our clothes, drink some wine, play some jazz, make love, and lie around for the rest of the day.”

I needed only a smile to agree. I turned and kissed her, and her leg twirled around mine. The aroma of her glistening perspiration filled me. As we scrambled up the wooden steps over the sand, she looped her arms around my neck from behind. “By the way, Jonathan, thanks for running up your hours on the games this week. You’re making me look good.”

“Anyone looks good next to you.”

“Nice, Jonathan. Seriously, are you happier with the games now?”

“Much happier.”

“Why were you so hesitant before?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“But you should talk about things that disturb you, Jonathan. It’s not healthy to keep them inside. And you’ll see I’m very good at helping people sort out their difficulties. What were the games that worried you?”

“Lana, I don’t think we should talk about it.”

“Now Jonathan, don’t give me that line. You should realize those access rules don’t completely apply to Human Development.”

“I meant that we shouldn’t talk about work on a Saturday.”

“Okay. We’ll talk later.”

***

Maureen looked reflexively at what might be the shape of ideal human beauty. A wave of closely cropped heads joined her glance at Lana Schon entering the dining room with her tray. She was relieved when Lana turned toward her. Only Lana could answer the questions that disconcerted her. Despite this, she had disliked Lana since she met her. Maureen disliked few, if any, other people, and fewer disliked Lana.

“Hi, Maureen,” Lana said as she sat. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“Yeah, I suppose it was okay.”

Lana began to eat her dry salad. The stirrings of the laborers enlivened the lunchroom. Few ventured out to the restaurants in the drenching and longer lasting early September rains. Utensils and plates clanged above the murmurs.

The noisy, square tiles drowned out conversation, purposely, pushing those eating back to workspaces. The hard plastic seats held together with a cold metal frame also helped push. All workplace cafeterias played this game: get them fed and out. The conveyor belt carrying the dirty trays and trash spoke: “get moving.” Ceiling fans spun above: “move along.” They installed a television last month, once someone discovered it pared down conversation. Marks etched the tile where a dozen torn-out booths once had been. They purged them after someone calculated that employee conversations there droned on past the food. Round tables replaced them. Soon eating at one’s desk grew in popularity, once everyone realized they could get paid for eating lunch without conversation.

Maureen was eager to get the news to pour out. “I’m still thinking about dropping my wedding,” she blurted.

“Still? When’s it supposed to happen?” Lana asked as she flipped lettuce around in her bowl.

“October something.”

“I can tell you’re not very excited about marriage.”

“Actually, I’m unsure about him.”

“About what? Are you not attracted to him?”

“That’s not important. I’m more concerned about his temperament. His character.”

“You want me to help you figure him out?”

Maureen nodded.

“No. I shouldn’t. Of course, we have a file on everyone. But I can’t divulge people’s personality assessments.”

“I’m wondering why he was never granted Phase 2 access. I know he applied. He told me they’re still processing it. But it’s taken an entire year. Most take two months. Was he rejected?”

“You can guess the answer to that.”

“But why?”

“Please, we can’t discuss these things. You need to have some courage. If you’re gonna take this incredible step, then you’ d better learn to trust him.”

“It’s hard to know everything about someone.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m not favorable of marriage,” Lana said. “I don’t put it in a positive light.”

“I know your views on marriage.”

“Things shouldn’t be that defined. They should simply happen, and not be limited by such a final agreement. I’ve seen too many couples who are miserable because they’ve stayed together longer than they should’ve. The institution of marriage developed when people lived to be only thirty-five. See? I’m not exactly encouraging you.”

“That’s okay,” Maureen said. “Maybe that’s what I need.”

“I’ve seen too many couples grow apart over the years and grow closer to others. Both sexes constantly change. We see this most outwardly in men when they have affairs. But the culture still tells the woman to stand by her man. Too many stay in bad relationships.”

“That’s definitely what I fear.”

“This all leads to women putting their men first and conforming to the housewife mentality. Remember in school how they subconsciously tried to push us into child-bearing and homemaking? I wouldn’t want that to happen to you. Does Robert want kids?

“Yes. Two.”

“That’ d scare me,” Lana said. “I’ d hate to see you waste your productive years. You’re too smart. You have too many opportunities here for advancement.”

“Opportunities for advancement?” Maureen said with a laugh. “I’m a secretary.”

“But everyone respects you for what you do here. Many possibilities are here for you to excel in what you’re doing and to take positions with more responsibility.” Surely she had said that in the exact words dozens of times while counseling wayward employees. “I wouldn’t let these chances slip away. You’ d be repeating the mistake our mothers made.” She popped a tomato in her mouth.

“It’ d be wonderful not to work,” Maureen said. “I could play my cello again. I could bring up little babies. More than two. I could do volunteer work or help teach other kids. The mistake some housewives made was squandering all their time socializing and shopping.”

“But you need to realize that by getting married, you’ll give up your career, as desired by your husband. And be prepared if you two grow apart one day.”

“I don’t have a problem with Marriage. I’ve always felt happiest when I’ve been in love.”

Lana nodded in agreement.

Maureen anticipated Lana’s thoughts and defended herself. “It’s not that I need to be loved.” She paused, concretizing thoughts for the first time. “I was happiest when I was doing the loving, even when it was a one-sided relationship.”

“So be it. I only hope you don’t get into a marriage because your religion is forcing you, and because you need a partner.”

“I hope not too.”

“You’ ll make the right decision,” Lana said. “Listen to your body. All your real mental and physical desires are played out there.”

“What about you, Lana? Are you in love with Jonathan?”

Lana arched her eyes and leaned back. She laughed. “No way.”

“What happened? He’s very cute.”

“Yeah, he is, but that’s not important. I’m more concerned about his character.” Lana smiled. “Seriously, I didn’t agree with his personality. We had a good time together, but a person should be more sociable. He was afraid to open up. He focused on his work too much.” She pointed her fork, from which dangled a mini-corn. “He was a classic phallic personality. A lot of men are, but it really emerged in him.” She chomped the tip of the corn.

“What do you mean?”

“He had an overwhelming need for achievement (so he can appease his anxiety about castration, no doubt). Being detached means people don’t need to see him if they can see his outer accomplishments. I was one of the ways he proved himself. So he’s smothering. I could see this in his reactions to me. He’s defensive. He fears powerful women, and he likes submissives like the ones he had in college.”

The image of the phallic Jonathan planted in Maureen. She shook her head. “That doesn’t seem like him at all.”

“He expected us to date only each other,” Lana said. “He was too eager and too troubled about us. And that might cause him to be possessive and jealous down the road. He probably thought I was an object to possess. Why else was he smothering? Oh! Look at this.” She fumbled through her purse. “This will prove it. It’s one of the poems he gave me two weekends ago. When we were at the café. I showed them to a psychologist friend of mine yesterday. She agreed: He’s phallic.” Lana pulled out a scrap of paper, unfolded it, and slid it across the table.

Maureen stared at it and read four lines to herself. “...When one caress of Beauty is procured, to them a fleeting admonition flies...”

“Jonathan found this?” she asked.

“He wrote it.”

“Oh.”

She finished the last ten lines. The fourteen lines captured a spirit buried in her, a spirit lost in two years of labor. Her emotions heeded simultaneous grief and exultation: grief for the loss of time, elation for a discovery. “To Beauty now denuded love excretes.”

She read the words over and over.

“You’re taken by it,” Lana said. “Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme? A bit passive-aggressive. It’s like, with these poems, he’s trying to get a reaction from me.”

Maureen cleared her throat. “Yes, maybe. But it’s okay. What kind of reaction?”

“That I’ll validate what he says. But it’s too possessive. Don’t you see what I mean? He expects too much from me. Too much love.” The last word sounded like an atrocity.

“I can see that,” Maureen said. “But maybe this sonnet isn’t only about you.”

Maureen read again. “Love excretes.” She realized that marrying Klopp would forever bury her dream of an aspiring love. The marriage would be an advantageous love.

“Could I make a copy of this?”

“Keep it,” Lana said. “Don’t let too many people make fun of it. He’s gonna write more. That’s his personality. When he does, I’ ll send them to you by company mail. And don’t sell them to any rock bands. I don’t wanna hear them on the radio one day.”

The next time Maureen looked up, Lana had gone.

Next week: Episode 14 - The Poolside: Drinking with Kevin

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