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...
Crossing the Rubicon is a timeworn expression that means making a decision and taking that step across a boundary that commits one to a specific course of action from which there is no turning back.
The real Rubicon is an insignificant short river in Italy that for the most part is nothing more than a stream, and a polluted one at that. The irony, aside from the Rubicon's historical and idiomatic connotations, is that one could easily wade across it and cross back without anyone ever being the wiser; hardly a barrier that challenges one to commit to a specific course of action from which there is no turning back if one chooses to turn around.
On the other hand, discharging a firearm may well be the present day epitome of taking a step that commits one to a specific course of action from which there is no turning back, because that bullet, any bullet, cannot be recalled the moment the trigger is pulled.
Boundaries and decisions aside, I was driving the tractor and trailer over to the barn and stopped-off at the pond to check if Serpentina was nearby because without a word she'd disappeared from the house earlier. That wasn't the least bit unusual because she came and went as she pleased, but discovering those hoof prints was still nagging in the back of my mind.
Tina wasn't at the clearing where I'd stopped but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't nearby. I got off the tractor and stepped those few paces to the edge of the pond, but I didn't find her merrily swimming away to her heart's content. This said, I'd have been more surprised if she'd actually gone into the pond because today was quite cool, and I'm sure the water much cooler.
Regardless and already here, I lingered for a few minutes, staring at the placid murky marsh while reflecting on much of what Tina had revealed to me the other day. Not so much what she'd said about her friend she'd lost but rather about her feelings for me that she'd candidly laid bare. As could be expected, nothing was said she hadn't said before, at least not until I'd tripped over her and felt like I had the stuffing knocked out of me. Of course I thought she'd ridiculously overreacted, but in those few minutes that clever but sometimes naive creature was distraught; she must've truly thought I was dying. Nonetheless I was unsettled, because the sincerity of her caring actions truly mirrored her words.
Upon about facing to get back on the tractor, I confronted a stony-faced Tina gazing at me. I hadn't heard her approach at all, but then again I'd been engrossed in contemplative thought. She'd slid enough of herself up onto the tractor to rest her elbows on the steering wheel. From her waist up she looked like she could easily drive off, but of course lacking legs and feet she couldn't. Clueless about what was going on in that head of hers I just stared back and waited.
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She remained still, maintaining her long penetrating gaze before finally asking, "Were you looking for me?"
"Just wondering where you'd gone." but I didn't want to say why.
"Where else would I go if not somewhere within these confining walls of my tiny little world?"
Tina's unmistakable hint was about subtle as a stone thrown, "Alright... what's on your mind?"
