Alicia had not planned on her impending manic episode.
She was due to start some classes at the local university. Her friend Amber had finally convinced her to get serious about her dream. But first, she would enjoy a long, deep massage, a soak in the hot tubs, slow down, and rejuvenate. Work had been hectic as of late, with consecutive live shows, and a debauched director who couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.
Rivière was the perfect place to catch her breath. Envision thirty acres of wild wood, green lawns bounded by sea walls that overlooked the ocean. A carefully cultivated quiet feeds thought, silence only interrupted by the boom and crash of the sea.
Alicia hated silence when she was manic. She wanted to talk, she needed to talk. The words pressed so hard against the roof of her mouth that she felt like she had to spit loogies to breathe. One does not spit in paradise; it does not make for a very good impression on the first day of class. Alicia so desperately wanted to connect with those people and belong to that place and let their genius recognize her talents. She managed by clamping her mouth shut and sucking on her tongue, getting through most of the introductory small talk with responsive nods and tight-lipped smiles.
She made it through the day. She made it through the evening, the next morning, and three fourths of the afternoon, at which point she excused herself after a violent coughing fit. By then, the words were so backed up in her throat that even tongue sucking could not keep them down. She ran beyond the sea walls where the boom and crash of the ocean were the loudest and screamed. She screamed at the top of her lungs until the stars came out and every light in every window was out. She then snuck back to her extended stay suite and pretended to sleep.
Her body resisted the moment her head hit the pillow. Colors kept exploding behind her eyes. Words and numbers glowed and pulsed like neon signs; indecipherable, but urgent. She had not slept in a week. She'd forgotten how.
She left at the first pale glimmer of light. She was in such a rush that she had forgotten her jacket. Though her cerulean sweater was lovely, it was merely a silk blend. Her socks were simply cotton. Within ten minutes, she'd lost all the feeling in her ears and toes. But she couldn't go back to her suite now. Someone was bound to see her. Nothing to do but to jog in circles, as fast as she could, around the beautifully manicured rock gardens with their borders; the tight fussy lines squeezed at her feet like stone pincers. The last thing she needed was a bordered edge telling where she could and could not go.
She had to go and keep going. Riviere was just up the coast, and class didn't start till much later, so there was still time. Time for what, that was to be determined.
The ride up the Turnpike was eventful because of the falling rain and the warning in bold, red caps, flashing on the driver information display between the rev counter and the speedometer. ANTI-SKID SYSTEM ERROR, DRIVE SAFELY, it commanded. What the hell does that mean? She slammed her hand against the tablet screen in front of the steering wheel. Not a flicker. Whatevz. She'd better let the guys at her local Falcari of East Riverton dealership deal with it. It was the wrong model for her anyway, too muscular. Girls should one the Essenz trim level, or maybe the eHybrid. Not the Turbolader II, what with its twin turbochargers and high-output V6. At least, however, it was the perfect car for a day like this: an AWD road warrior against the asphalt with LED optical projectors that cut the twilight through to eternity.
The blasted warning stayed on all the way to Riviere. Then the car started to emit a funny smell, like rubber burning on a charcoal grill, and the car suddenly slowed down, the warning switching to CRITICAL ENGINE FAULT, REDUCED ENGINE PERFORMANCE. STOP IMMEDIATELY. She pulled over at the first sign of civilization, damning the stupid car. Maybe the warning really was serious.
There wasn't a Falcari service shop in Riviere, just a lowly service station that didn't have the time. She had not yet reached the obnoxious level of mania; just teetering on the edge, but it was not obvious. She simply expected others to do what she wanted them to do, because, as a matter of fact, that's what they wanted to do all along. They just didn't know it yet. Very charming with a few 100-credit notes to back up her smile.
They said they could fix it, whatever it was, in about a couple hours. That was fine, it would give her just enough time to do some shopping before she returned. She would buy something for each person in her class. It mattered not that she didn't yet know them. Something colorful, something silly, something to make the sky blue again… And there it was, right across the way, a quaint, hand-lettered sign on a small timbered storefront: High as a Kite. It was absolutely perfect! They had every type of kite imaginable: box kites shaped like big paper lanterns, orange carp kites that dangled long strings, fighter kites that swooped and killed like raptors–all so pretty, so goofy, so just what she wanted! She bought a dozen of them, plus two more for good luck. You never know when a kite might come in handy.
Fighting fifteen kites into a midsize SUV wasn't that hard, plus the service station guys helped her. They fixed the issue, but not without sending her off with a warning about a storm coming due. Coming due doesn't mean here yet. And there were no warnings flashing anymore. No warning lights or lights that shouldn't be on. There was still time for more.
Alicia seemed like the only person on the road back home. It was too quiet.
Serious cars have serious sound systems, and her Falcari had one of the biggest brutes of them all. One could play the cheesiest pop music on that S-O-B, and it would come out sounding like death metal. And speaking of which, she had a new album on her phone, and knew just the song she was in the mood for. Pulling over at a rest stop, she synced her phone with the infotainment interface, cranked up the volume, and let Whaylour Swimm sing to the sky:
Late night / You come and pick me up with no headlights / Along the drive / It could end in burning flames or paradise…
Almost, but not quite perfect. She lowered all of her windows and let the wind lash her in the face. The wind ripped though the Serrano's interior, rattling the kites stacked in the back. Then it occurred to her: what better time to fly a kite than in a storm? Why should anything ever be tethered? She untied the fighter kite's string and tied it around one of the grab handles next to the gear selector lever. Retracting the panoramic moonroof, she angled the kite towards the sky and freed it to the heavens.
It flew. But only for a couple of minutes or so. Oh, how it whipped and soared, and, oh what a wild ride. Another. She tied a carp kite to her wrist and climbed out of the car. The wind took it away immediately. She could feel the resistance, a moment of writhing protest, then sudden submission. She could feel the wind tugging at her, whispering promises in her ear. If she lept, she would not fall. She would fly with the kites above the storms and across the seas to somewhere bigger, better, and faster than this. She would dance with the devil any night she chose…
But she promised kites.
It took almost half an hour to reel them back in, and by the time she was finished, she was sick of Whaylour changing boyfriends like she changes her drawers. Alicia was cold and hungry now. It would be a while before she got home, and hours after that until dinner. Thank heavens the car started with no trouble, and there were no bold, serious letters blaring about possible engine faults, transmission failures, or colon cancer, and no one else was on the road to get in her way.
She must have been a scary sight at the guard shack, because the guard asked for her I.D. What the hell did he think she was going to do? Crash a piano lesson? However, he let her onto the property without further argument, and even asked if she was okay. Apparently no one else had left the hotel that day because there wasn't an empty parking space within one hundred feet of the building. It was a long toiling trudge to carry the heavy shopping bags through puddles on slippery, wet pavement, in the dark, without so much as a firefly to light the way. Also, what happened to the wind? It once felt like cool water on her inflamed skin, now felt like salt being rubbed on an open wound. And all of that shouting, that insufferable shouting carrying on–the wind, and the tormented trees, and the ocean raising its voice from afar.
She thought she wanted quiet, but she didn't want this. She wanted her own sound with no one around to interrupt her. She'll dance to the beat of her own drum, she'll fly her own kite. Fair warning: Stay out of my way.
Something tugged at her when she passed by the sparkling rock gardens with their neat, absolute borders. There are some people who don't want a wild ride in the wind or a dance with the devil on a Saturday night. All they wanted were careful gardens that flower and perish with the seasons. For some, there actually is enough. They don't want more when more is just more and never enough.
She dropped her bags off in the foyer and brewed some tea. Changing out of her wet clothes, she wrapped herself in a housecoat and curled up by the glowing fireplace to warm up. Second by second, it was all she could do:
Stay tethered and wait out the storm.