Aaron Walters had it all; lived very comfortably in an expansive luxury penthouse atop one of those desirable downtown glitzy condo towers, possessed the right education credentials to get to know influential people who willingly opened those invisi...
Some stories start out by parachuting an observer right into the middle of a dramatic scene or tense action already in progress and then bounce back to some point in the past to retrace the journey up to getting on the plane to make that jump in the first place.
This image for example...
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Perhaps it's suggestive of... let's say...
a man versus a woman?
or a man versus a creature?
or maybe a man versus his own inner conflicts?
Or possible all three?
Instead of something like these, why not begin with something else much less pronounced but different from routine nonetheless, and then follow what transpires afterward?
Of course I've presented a rhetorical question here, but for most of us, that particular something might be everyday mundane or totally uninspiring, and probably insignificantly unnoticeable too when it does occur, but in hindsight shall in fact prove to be that remarkable catalyst which influences if not defines events that follow and thus alters the direction our lives take.
Toward this end and to reference the time and place where tangent became curvature, I shall briefly retell the story of the bent finishing nail which Serpentina once gave me, and then what followed.
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A 5th year vignette
A bent three-inch finishing nail clasped in Serpentina's tiny hands was the first thing that she ever gave to me, and at the time I remember looking down spellbound at that fascinating little creature near my feet and then asking, "What are you doing with that?"
Back then she hadn't yet spoken to me a second time but looking up at me from the floor and responding like she'd understood my question, with both miniature hands palms-up she held out the nail and gestured like she wanted me to accept it from her.
The next move had been unavoidably left to me and placed me at a crucial juncture; if I reached down to accept the nail from her, then my hand would be fully exposed an inch or two from her mouth and possibly a lethal bite. Nonetheless I was convinced she intended me no harm and so I slowly extended my exposed, palm-up open hand to her.
Tina dropped the skewed nail onto my hand, quickly slithered about a foot or two away from my feet and watched.
To this day I've never asked why she gave me that, but I've wondered if she thought the nail was something that I'd lost and might need, or if it was nothing more than another hazard on the floor she wanted me to dispose of. Anyway, I kept the nail as a souvenir of that life-changing encounter with her.
