| General Fiction posted March 2, 2014 | Chapters: |
...4 5 -6- 7... 
|
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More group dynamics and a visitor.
A chapter in the book Yosemite
Client Therapy & Dog Care
by michaelcahill
| Background Campers are stranded in Yosemite by a horrible disaster of unknown origin. People have to learn to get along and focus on surviving. |
In the last installment a discussion of the situation ensued about the groups situation that got heated. Jennifer's emotions spilled over and Christine offered comfort. Christine spoke to the group and surprised them with a joke at the end of her statement. We repeat her statement and begin with the groups reaction to it.
Christine spoke, "We all have the same thoughts in our head. Let's face it. Jen isn't saying anything that we all aren't thinking. I'm thinking worse to be honest with you. I'm already writing recipe's for Johnny cakes with real Johnny in them."
There was a pause to make sure that she said what we thought she said. Then we all burst forth in that wonderful laughter of the insane. Even Jennifer joined in. Leave it to Christine to raise the moral. I realized that she made a difference to our survival that couldn't be measured. By adding insanity she helped keep us sane.
I spend my days now mostly in contemplation. I interact with my fellows mostly out of obligation but, I suppose, sometimes out of need or interest. The lack of obligation does appeal to me I must admit. I would never really refer to myself as responsible. Yet, I always seem to end up as the one that is turned to.
I know that in what "once was the real world that I craved challenge and loved a do or die dynamic. Honestly if the task was small or easy, failure was likely. What I feel more than anything is that now that every day is a struggle for existence I feel calm and at peace. I feel no urgency to reveal or define anything. I simply wish to reflect and in so doing make sense of myself and who I am and how I turned out in lieu of all the variables that presented themselves along the way.
There were relationships that had formed amongst the group. I made note of them. The most important were the ones that involved me. Number one was the trio of me, Christine and Jennifer. I had separate personal relationships with both of them, but those were different than the relationship the three of us shared together.
The three of us together were the real leaders of the group. There was no struggle among the three of us for power or authority. We were on the same page and that page was turned to survival. Our personal relationships were considerably different and separate from our group dynamic and didn't affect it.
The former clients of the board and care clung together and for all intents and purposes were still clients. they had nothing to offer and needed direction in everything they did. They were a liability in every sense of the word.
They would become a bigger liability as time passed. We all knew that. All of us that is, except for them. The conversations that used to irritate me now provided me with relief from the stress of thinking about our situation.
David Vernon McMahon was speaking, "Well, dammit! I've got rights. You can ask Johnny or Carlos if you don't want to take my word for it. I can come and go as I damn well please. If I want to leave and go for a walk, I can damn well do that. I'm David Vernon McMahon and nobody can tell me when to take a walk in the forest."
"Oh you talk too much, David. None of us can get a word in sideways. You can't do nuthin' if it were against the rules of the board and care. If the board and care has rules, you has to follow them. I know that I've been in board an cares since I lived on Fenhold Street and they wouldn't let us do nuthin'. You amember Fenhold Street right Tonnie." Rhonda was hard to stop once she got started.
Tonnie was itching to join in, "Miss Canfields the one that broke me and Vincent up. We were going to be married. I'm carrying his baby right now. I've got to see the gynoclagulist and get pictures taken of the baby."
"When we lived on Fenhold Street they only let us take two showers a week. That was the rules there at the board and care on Fenhold Street. You have to follow the rules or you'll be out on the street and then what will you do? Johnny and Carlos lets us take showers whenever we want. Yous complain too much, David. If you don't follow the rules than you'll be on the streets. Then what?"
"I told you I've got rights dammit. I'm David Vernon McMahon…….."
It honestly went on and on with very little change in the dialogue. It used to make me want to scream. I considered it a test of my resolve and patience. Now, I just listened to get a laugh. I knew they'd be having the same conversation the moment before the very end of time.
Death has visited us today. “Average Joe” died in his sleep. There was no sign of a fight for life. He looked to be in a peaceful sleep. His death is most unwelcome. Though surrounded by and witness to uncountable demise, it is now one of us. It is one of the survivors. It is one of the lucky ones. One of the invulnerable.
The pallor of fear is such that no attempt at sorrow or sense of fleeting loss exists. There is not the slightest nostalgia for what once was or what might’ve been. Like the most vile of monsters, his corpse is buried as far away as we dare go. No grief, no eulogy, not even a thought of propriety or even the falsest gesture of regard.
There is none of the relief of having survived an accident. No. Death has become the unwanted guest that will not leave. In a way that is not poetic or ironic a part of us has died.
It is the silent scream of a foreshadowing that lives in every spine, like a clever worm in a piece of fruit undetected, but laughing nonetheless at the thought of a greedy hungry bite.
My own sense of not being bound by the norm or the natural laws that seem to dictate most lives is still intact. But, even I am shaken. Even I feel the foreboding of leaves rustling along an imaginary cobblestone pathway strewn by a silver wind that looks suspiciously grey.
All of us are clearly affected. It is Jennifer though that has the unamused smirk of understanding. Her loss hovers around her like a shadow that has forsaken light as an ally and no longer has an allegiance with its host. There is an unexpected strength that flows from her and an aura that attracts the survival instincts in us all.
Once again, the distant campfires catch our gaze. Though there is certainly more fear than ever the draw is greater as well. We are in circumstances more dire than anyone speaks of. It is a world of finite resources.
The outpost mercantile is slowly being depleted. There are fewer and fewer animals every day and though we haven’t reached a point of hunting them, it doesn’t bode well in a world where we will sooner or later have to.
Thoughts and conversation have again turned to what might be out there. What might be out there at some point will have to be discovered if we are to hope for long-term survival. Yet, there is no immediate pressure to act. Therefore, we don’t.
It was like a knife cutting the darkness and revealing something more dark. My first instinct followed by a nervous chuckle was to kill it. It was a small fluffy dog looking like a little wind-up toy and all the more horrifying for its perfect grooming and incongruous perkiness.
The sight and thought of all of us in fight or flight readiness started with nervous laughter, which in time became truly insane laughter. This is the scene that the disheveled but still attractive woman stepped from the forest into the light of our campfire to behold. Her initial shock at our reception was soon replaced by her own insane laughter.
Part of what was out there was now answered it was a cute dog so small and helpless looking that it gave us a sense of hope. It was this rather lovely woman a survivor of god knows what that somehow added steel to our resolve.
But, her story was chilling made even more so by her calm detached demeanor. She spun her tale as though she were crocheting a blanket with months to go before Christmas.
Christine spoke, "We all have the same thoughts in our head. Let's face it. Jen isn't saying anything that we all aren't thinking. I'm thinking worse to be honest with you. I'm already writing recipe's for Johnny cakes with real Johnny in them."
There was a pause to make sure that she said what we thought she said. Then we all burst forth in that wonderful laughter of the insane. Even Jennifer joined in. Leave it to Christine to raise the moral. I realized that she made a difference to our survival that couldn't be measured. By adding insanity she helped keep us sane.
I spend my days now mostly in contemplation. I interact with my fellows mostly out of obligation but, I suppose, sometimes out of need or interest. The lack of obligation does appeal to me I must admit. I would never really refer to myself as responsible. Yet, I always seem to end up as the one that is turned to.
I know that in what "once was the real world that I craved challenge and loved a do or die dynamic. Honestly if the task was small or easy, failure was likely. What I feel more than anything is that now that every day is a struggle for existence I feel calm and at peace. I feel no urgency to reveal or define anything. I simply wish to reflect and in so doing make sense of myself and who I am and how I turned out in lieu of all the variables that presented themselves along the way.
There were relationships that had formed amongst the group. I made note of them. The most important were the ones that involved me. Number one was the trio of me, Christine and Jennifer. I had separate personal relationships with both of them, but those were different than the relationship the three of us shared together.
The three of us together were the real leaders of the group. There was no struggle among the three of us for power or authority. We were on the same page and that page was turned to survival. Our personal relationships were considerably different and separate from our group dynamic and didn't affect it.
The former clients of the board and care clung together and for all intents and purposes were still clients. they had nothing to offer and needed direction in everything they did. They were a liability in every sense of the word.
They would become a bigger liability as time passed. We all knew that. All of us that is, except for them. The conversations that used to irritate me now provided me with relief from the stress of thinking about our situation.
David Vernon McMahon was speaking, "Well, dammit! I've got rights. You can ask Johnny or Carlos if you don't want to take my word for it. I can come and go as I damn well please. If I want to leave and go for a walk, I can damn well do that. I'm David Vernon McMahon and nobody can tell me when to take a walk in the forest."
"Oh you talk too much, David. None of us can get a word in sideways. You can't do nuthin' if it were against the rules of the board and care. If the board and care has rules, you has to follow them. I know that I've been in board an cares since I lived on Fenhold Street and they wouldn't let us do nuthin'. You amember Fenhold Street right Tonnie." Rhonda was hard to stop once she got started.
Tonnie was itching to join in, "Miss Canfields the one that broke me and Vincent up. We were going to be married. I'm carrying his baby right now. I've got to see the gynoclagulist and get pictures taken of the baby."
"When we lived on Fenhold Street they only let us take two showers a week. That was the rules there at the board and care on Fenhold Street. You have to follow the rules or you'll be out on the street and then what will you do? Johnny and Carlos lets us take showers whenever we want. Yous complain too much, David. If you don't follow the rules than you'll be on the streets. Then what?"
"I told you I've got rights dammit. I'm David Vernon McMahon…….."
It honestly went on and on with very little change in the dialogue. It used to make me want to scream. I considered it a test of my resolve and patience. Now, I just listened to get a laugh. I knew they'd be having the same conversation the moment before the very end of time.
Death has visited us today. “Average Joe” died in his sleep. There was no sign of a fight for life. He looked to be in a peaceful sleep. His death is most unwelcome. Though surrounded by and witness to uncountable demise, it is now one of us. It is one of the survivors. It is one of the lucky ones. One of the invulnerable.
The pallor of fear is such that no attempt at sorrow or sense of fleeting loss exists. There is not the slightest nostalgia for what once was or what might’ve been. Like the most vile of monsters, his corpse is buried as far away as we dare go. No grief, no eulogy, not even a thought of propriety or even the falsest gesture of regard.
There is none of the relief of having survived an accident. No. Death has become the unwanted guest that will not leave. In a way that is not poetic or ironic a part of us has died.
It is the silent scream of a foreshadowing that lives in every spine, like a clever worm in a piece of fruit undetected, but laughing nonetheless at the thought of a greedy hungry bite.
My own sense of not being bound by the norm or the natural laws that seem to dictate most lives is still intact. But, even I am shaken. Even I feel the foreboding of leaves rustling along an imaginary cobblestone pathway strewn by a silver wind that looks suspiciously grey.
All of us are clearly affected. It is Jennifer though that has the unamused smirk of understanding. Her loss hovers around her like a shadow that has forsaken light as an ally and no longer has an allegiance with its host. There is an unexpected strength that flows from her and an aura that attracts the survival instincts in us all.
Once again, the distant campfires catch our gaze. Though there is certainly more fear than ever the draw is greater as well. We are in circumstances more dire than anyone speaks of. It is a world of finite resources.
The outpost mercantile is slowly being depleted. There are fewer and fewer animals every day and though we haven’t reached a point of hunting them, it doesn’t bode well in a world where we will sooner or later have to.
Thoughts and conversation have again turned to what might be out there. What might be out there at some point will have to be discovered if we are to hope for long-term survival. Yet, there is no immediate pressure to act. Therefore, we don’t.
It was like a knife cutting the darkness and revealing something more dark. My first instinct followed by a nervous chuckle was to kill it. It was a small fluffy dog looking like a little wind-up toy and all the more horrifying for its perfect grooming and incongruous perkiness.
The sight and thought of all of us in fight or flight readiness started with nervous laughter, which in time became truly insane laughter. This is the scene that the disheveled but still attractive woman stepped from the forest into the light of our campfire to behold. Her initial shock at our reception was soon replaced by her own insane laughter.
Part of what was out there was now answered it was a cute dog so small and helpless looking that it gave us a sense of hope. It was this rather lovely woman a survivor of god knows what that somehow added steel to our resolve.
But, her story was chilling made even more so by her calm detached demeanor. She spun her tale as though she were crocheting a blanket with months to go before Christmas.
Well, my original story appears to be more of an outline now for something larger. Your input is having a major influence over the content and direction so please don't be shy. Thank you for your support.
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