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The Hills of Pocanos

The Hills of Pocanos

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a man crashes on earth, his story
a man crashes on earth, his story


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The Hills Of The Poconoís.Its legs stuck straight up like a heads up tin soldier. "That's the seventh road kill
in as many miles," She idly commented.He didn't answer her right away because he was still angry. They had exited thefreeway a short while ago onto a secondary road that wound up into the Poconoísmountains. From the moment they had exited the freeway, she had complained abouthow fast he had been going, and at this a heat grew under his collar at her words until heexploded. An argument had quickly ensured. She: Dear, you are going to fast. He: It's justa few miles over the speed limit. She: Dear, we have already seen six animals along theside of the road. And you know Dear, it is getting dark and in the shadows the animalsare difficult to make out. He: There is still enough light. She: Dear, please slow down.He: Oh...hell...all...RIGHT! Are you satisfied now? She: Sitting in sullen silence for thelast few milesAs he thought about it now he tiredly shook his head. The thought that she mightbe playing the worn out long ago 'I told you so game,' and that he was perfectly willing toreact to it as always and carry it along to its scripted long brooding silent conclusionbetween the both of them by playing the jerk suddenly seemed all to familiar to him. Hewas surprised by the feeling and momentarily wondered why he hadn't seen the stupidityof the game long before now. But of course he had, he thought tiredly. But then he hadcared enough to fight for his point of view no matter how trivial; right now he didn't. Hejust wanted to be left alone."Yes," he acquiesced.He expected to feel some sort of anger at giving in so readily. A flare up of stomach acid. A slight throbbing of the temples. But there was just the tiredness of it all.The years. The lies. All to overwhelming to think about right now. So to divert hisattention from himself he glanced in the rear view mirror at the Possum. Although theday was coming to a close and although the forest was very thick, a single stream of sunlight knifed through the trees and shined on the Possum. The pure grandness of the lightstartled him and a part of him half expected the Possum to get up and follow the beam tothe mountain peaks far beyond the trees. Run run run, he silently urged, run to freedom.But he instantly knew this was silly. The possum was dead. He returned his attention tothe road."I guess because of the forest and the deep underbrush, they come out morefrequently here than on the freeway." He paused for a second and then added as anafterthought, "Probably just foraging for sustenance.""Sustenance," she intoned as if the word was unfamiliar."Food," he replied tiredly, knowing the tone in her voice."Yes. I suppose you are right."
There was no need to say anything more on the matter, and to show as much heallowed his eyes to follow the upward curve of the road. But he did glance at her out of the corner of his right eye; just to see. Although she now stared blankly out thewindshield, she smiled a little; just enough for the corners of her mouth to fold upward.He thought now that she had proven her point she was no longer mad at him. Hip hiphooray. He tasted the bitterness in his thoughts and expunged the bitterness by turning hisfull attention to the road.After a while she said, "You look tired.""Long drive," he murmured without taking his eyes off the road."Yes," she answered, "Well, we will be at the Chalet soon."To keep from hurting her or causing another argument, he had to suppress cynicallaughter at the mention of the 'Chalet.' He had had to do more then that when she had firstmentioned the 'Chalet' to him. The full name was 'The Mending Hearts Chalet.' She hadsecured the brochure on the 'Chalet' from a friend and had waited until they lay in bedwatching the ten o'clock news to present it to him. She was very sincere too. The frontcover of the brochure showed a glossy picture of a Swiss Chalet nestled high in thePoconoís. The brochure went on to explain, and explain proudly he thought, that the'Chalet' was nestled within shouting distance of the highest peak of the Poconoís.Elevation twenty-two hundred feet. The brochure went on to boast that in this grandsetting couples could rekindle their long ago lost romance. Hold hands while gazing atthe entire valley below from any room. Lounge toe to toe in a hot tub while feasting onthe many magnificent distant mountain peaks. Procreate in the king sized heart shapedbeds.To say that he had found the brochure rather amusing would be anunderstatement, but it was at the word 'procreate' instead of fuck, or make love, or anyone of a hundred idioms for human coupling that had been to much for him. He had hadto go into the bathroom adjoining their bedroom and turn on the shower, the faucet andflush the toilet to muffle his laughter. He wasn't laughing at her. She was not a prudeabout sex. But the word seemed at the time just too perfect. Too perfect."Can I help," She asked, mistaking his silence as something other than what itwas."Thanks. But the drive. I am too tense," he replied.Anger mixed with hurt and confusion spread across her face, and he instantlywanted the words back. But there was nothing to be done about that now. Nothing exceptgo to the 'Mending Hearts Chalet.'

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