dandelionfiles

Journal found in Baltimore, MD

5/14/06

I don’t remember writing the grafitti I just found scrawled in the bathroom stall. I LOVE SCARLETT and there are lip prints where someone kissed the door in dark red lipstick. The handwriting is definitely mine, but why would I write a love note to someone named Scarlett, anyway? I mean, I’m hitched and straight, right? At least, I was before I found him in bed with Marcy, when I ran out of the house and to the Greyhound station. I mean, it was the day I found out my entire department had been cut from Miskatonic because it wasn’t controversial enough—I had applied for tenure and it had looked promising, and then—no funding, no job. Realizing I didn’t have Josh just added insult to injury, and—it’s as if reality slipped and spun and I was doing things that I normally would never do. I stole all the cash from our joint checking, bought travel stuff, dumped the Benz in the river (it seemed fitting), and I’ve been traveling Greyhound ever since. I don’t know when I’ll stop, and I don’t remember last Tuesday. I don’t even remember what Josh looks like anymore.

This is the first time I can think of that I was irresponsible, ever. I’ve always done “the right thing”—went to the right schools, said the right things, worn the right clothes, and where did it get me? I can’t recognize anything and my face gets stranger every day. I don’t even recognize landscapes. Seriously, I looked out the window traveling to Tulsa and the landscape was melting, and that isn’t right, is it?

I LOVE YOU, SCALETT, I wrote. Those are my lip prints—I’d never do that, would I? It’s so unsanitary.

5/17/06

There’s got to be a home for me somewhere. My original idea was that if I keep riding this bus, I’ll eventually find a place that feels like I belong there. You know how sometimes you meet people and you both feel as if you knew them all your life? There has to be a place like that, right? Maybe I’ll find my answer in Philadelphia. They have a Liberty Bell that I intend to see.

5/20/06

Someone managed to send flowers to my room at the Motel Six outside Philly. Looking forward to seeing you again, the card read, and there was a smooch in deep red. Shivers went down my spine as I saw the card was signed, Scarlett.

How did she find me?

5/25/06

I remember once reading a science fiction story in which there were doorways in which you could suddenly slip into other universes, other realities. Is this what happened to me?

Found more grafitti in my own hand, “MISS YOU, SCARLETT”. The only thing that has changed is the lipstick color I used.

5/27/06

Got a call on my cellphone from the waitress I gave my number to in Tulsa. She took herself seriously although she was sporting a beehive in hair dyed platinum blonde, and I couldn’t help but admire that. It’s so hard to find interesting people these days.

I told her all about the saxophone I’d bought in the local pawnshop. I even told her that I’d made enough money in tips playing it to pay for my hotel room last night. She asked me what I used to do for a living, but I don’t remember anymore. Grammar used to be important to me, though.

She then asked me to kiss Scarlet for her. Instead of asking questions about Scarlett and how I know her, I just promised her that I would. She’s meeting me for a party in Saint Louis, and maybe I’ll figure everything out then.

5/30/06

Scarlett wrote me a love note in French! They gave it to me in the local bar where I played last night. Here’s what it said,

“Ma cherie, me recherché! Je t’adore. Tu es tres gentile.”

I swear, my heart’s all aflutter. Maybe she’ll meet me in St. Louis.

6/03/06

St. Louis is so much fun. Matilda, the waitress, and I went out on the town. We met up with some guys who were trying to be cowboys. I couldn’t stop laughing. They could kick up a beat, though, and Hank, he managed to pick me up over his head. The whole bar cheered for us.

6/05/06

I changed my hair color to Scarlet. It seemed appropriate, and I look better, anyway. I’m just sick of looking at mousy brown hair, anyways. Men notice me more, which is OK, and I’m working as a jazz musician at a bar near Matilda’s restaurant.

Yesterday was so weird. A man named Joey came into the place saying he had a private detective track me, and he was sorry and could I come home so we could work things out?
I swear I couldn’t remember who he was. The face was familiar, but I just—well, I told him to go away. He said he wouldn’t give up on me, and that I could come home any time. He said he and Marci were through, that it was a big mistake. He even said that Miskatonic University wants me back for tenure. I wondered why.

6/16/06

Got my licence updated for Atlanta. They listed my first name as Scarlett.

Our local Masonic Temple, which is a few blocks from my house, has begun to concern me. It's not just the fact that several elder members have been spotted dancing prettily in blue and red hooded costumes, spinning wild skirts. It's the chants that they cry out at the top of their lungs:

IA! IA! Ithaqua! Cthulhu fagan! Great Cthulhu will reign once again! All hail the true king!

It just makes me wonder what the Masonic temple's really about.

And what's with all those earthquake tremors and weird reality shifts lately? Is Dayton long for this world?