A Living Magazine - Day 259 - Homecoming - Haw River City to Hillsborough

I met a woman who was a few years older than I. She was quite beautiful, with straight blond hair, and very, very rich--an heiress. We were at a cafe somewhere, on a nice summer afternoon. I had been admiring the the artwork of a young woman who was also the server. She was trying to sell it and the cafe had hung about a dozen pieces on the walls over the tables.

The artist was very interested in something about me. I don't know if it was music, or something I'd written. Anyway, she asked me to meet her after work so we could talk. The heiress had overheard our discussion and suggested we might want to see some of the work she had collected. She lived right in town in a huge and sprawling white house.

While the artist finished up her shift, the heiress and I spoke. It was obvious to me that she was flirting. And frankly, doing a pretty good job. The artist untied her apron and joined us at the little table. The three of us gabbed a bit and then we left to walk to the heiress' house. 

When we arrived at the gate the place looked even bigger than I'd imagined. It was beautifully designed, combining many different architectural styles, but very tastefully. I could see building such a house myself. The heiress told us that the small colonial-looking side had been the original house at one point. Then that original building had been duplicated about twenty feet away, and between these similar looking small houses a great hall was built--half stone and half wood. Four wide columns stood along the front of this hall, and supported a second story and a porch.

When we walked into the great hall I was simply blown away. Every imaginable kind of sculpture met my eye. I walked from piece to piece trying not to let my jaw drop. Chinese, Indian, Native American, African, Greek...busts, statues, marble, gold plate, bronze. I was truly astounded. And, these things weren't just tossed about all willy nilly. They were in their own cases, and wall inlets, multi-paned glass-covered closets and cabinets. There was a symmetry and grace to how it was all arranged. The artist was on the other side of the room ooing and awing.

The heiress pointed at each piece describing how she'd acquired it. She had traveled the world buying them and trading other art for them. She didn't just collect. She would wait until she found better pieces and then would trade a few lesser valued things for one greater thing. She looked proud, and rightly so. The artist and I were both very impressed.

Every room in the lower part of the house had a different and fascinating theme. It was not just art. When we walked out into a small courtyard, she had a real and living tidepool! It was complete with barnacle-covered granite rocks, starfish, anemones with their delicate pink arms gently floating. small colorful fish were in each pool, crabs ran between patches of seaweed. It was one of the most amazing things I'd ever seen. I wanted to ask her how she maintained the salt-levels etc., but I also didn't want to ruin the grandeur of my surprise with mechanical details. 

I noticed that the artist had wandered into an adjoining room where paintings from a bunch of other artists graced the walls. Most, I'd never heard of. The heiress collected the work of young, up and coming artists... just like the works of our young friend who was reciting information she knew about each of the artists.

The heiress left the room to do something, and the young artist came over and held my hand. I thought it was odd, but it didn't bother me. I suddenly began to notice how pretty she was. She was cute; no makeup, thin facial features, short boyish hair, and a very warm smile. When she smiled up at me I suddenly started to become quite attracted to her.

We walked into the great hall again  - which was the central hub of the whole house - and the heiress returned, beckoning us to follow her up the central staircase to the second floor. Tapestries hung on the walls with very psychedelic designs. Some were silk, some were wool, and some were cotton. Each was very different in pattern and color coordination. They clothed the walls on either side of a very long hallway leading to a large media room. 

In the media room there were three very large flat screen TV's, a pool table, all kinds of arcade games. There was even a small recording studio. She had bought the mixing board and other components hoping that she could lure music producers to her house as a private place to mix and master albums. It was the latest and the greatest stuff I had seen.

On the other side of the room was a vast library of DVD's and CD's. She walked over to the old science fiction b movies, and pulled out "The Blob," placing the disc in a drive that opened up out of the wall. As soon as the title came across the giant central flat screen, the artist became very uncomfortable. The heiress didn't notice at first, saying, "I just love these old movies!"

The artist said she had to leave the room. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she just shook her head and looked around for the door. It was obvious to me that she was quite frightened. But, it was not the subject of the movie, but rather the cheesy music and overacting that triggered this fear. Plainly, she did NOT like the old movies. All I could think of was that something traumatic must have happened when she was a little girl, somehow associated with these kind of movies.

The heiress looked confused and just slightly insulted. But, she immediately pressed a button and the movie stopped. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said to the artist. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Let's go back down stairs."

The artist was embarrassed and blushed. "No I'm the one who's sorry. I... I have bad memories about movies like that...really, really bad memories." Then, as if she wanted to lighten the mood, she smiled widely and asked to see more of the house. She had a childlike enthusiasm that was hard not to enjoy along with her.

The heiress looked happy again herself, and the three of us put the moment behind us - or so I thought - and headed back down the long hall of tapestries, descending the staircase to the first floor. The heiress checked her watch and told us to make ourselves comfortable. She pointed to a bar and then left the room. 

I asked the a artist what kind of booze she liked. She went from bottle to bottle and picked out Bailey's Irish Creme. "Good!" I said, and filled two glasses with ice. I told the artist I really liked it straight over ice. She said she did too (though I had the feeling she was just trying to be nice). She walked over and as I handed her the drink, she put her hand on my hand. Her skin was warm and very soft and her hand was small, delicate. She squeezed for a moment and then slid her hand to the rim of the glass taking it from me. 

I was really beginning to like this girl, but I wasn't sure how the heiress would react, since she seemed to be interested in me as well. What can guy I do? Ha! The artist came up very close in front of me and it looked like she was going to make a pass. I felt nervous about the timing. 

Just then I noticed the heiress standing in the doorway. "Oh good!" she said, in a tone that seemed a little too friendly. "You found the Bailey's!" 

Apparently the artist was unaware of the heiress' interest in me, and when the former heard the voice of the latter, she snuggled up to my side. I thought this was a bit too bold, and took a big gulp off my drink, then set the glass on the bar and announced that I needed to use the head. 

The heiress really didn't seem upset at all about what was going on, but I knew that something was very wrong. I just couldn't tell what it was. She described how to get to the bathroom and I followed her instructions, but just couldn't find it. There were other rooms we hadn't visited. Some had nothing at all in them. Some had white drop cloths over what looked like furniture, and some were filled with plants. I resolved to explore more if I could visit again. 

Unsuccessful in my mission to find the bathroom, I just figured I'd pretend I'd used it and returned to the room with the bar. The heiress stood drinking a Bailey's on ice too. I had the distinct feeling it was the artist's glass. The artist was no longer in the room. I wanted to ask where she had gone, but thought it might be inappropriate, considering how things were going.  I picked up my drink again

"You want to know where your friend is." Stated the heiress. It wasn't question, she was just reading my eyes. I said nothing. "She's cute, with her short hair." I said nothing, and just kind of half nodded. "And that smile? So, warm, like the sunshine. She's perky too." 

I just said, "Yes, she's very nice."

"I was like her at that age. Fell for an older man. Married him. He was supersmart; a scientist--an adventurer... He reminded me of my father. And we both loved to watch old movies; the same movies my father used to watch on late night TV." She smiled, looking quite beautiful just then. 

She took my hand and led me from the muted light of the room with the bar, and into the late afternoon sunlight pouring through a stained glass dome high above the staircase. My curiosity was rolling. "So, what happened to your husband, if you don't mind me..."

"He died... I think..."

"You think?" I had the sudden feeling that the artist was in trouble.

"The fool thought he could cross the Atlantic Ocean in a twelve foot sailboat. He sailed out of the harbor and was never heard from again."

"I'm so sorry." I remembered a guy named Bill Dunlop who left Portland Harbor trying to sail around the world in a nine foot sailboat. Our family went out on our boat in 1983 along with hundreds of other people to see him off that day. He was lost somewhere near Tahiti in 1984. I knew how awful it was for Bill's wife Pamela. I felt for the heiress. She said it was okay. She had come to terms with it. It was a decade ago. 

I heard a faint sound upstairs, like music. What the hell? At this point I really did want to know where the artists had gone. There was something creepy about the house now. All of its eccentricities and wonders seemed empty without the fresh face of the artist with us. We three had only known each other for one day. Surely, we could work out whatever strange romantic stuff was going on. I really was intrigued by both women equally. I seemed merely to be a prop in a much deeper play.

It was music! Weird old b movie music. I put my empty glass on a table by the staircase and stared at the heiress. She looked guilty of something; like a child who had eaten all the cookies, shrugging and smiling like it was all just innocent fun. I had a terrible feeling.

I rushed up the stairs and ran down the long hallway of tapestries toward the closed door of the media room. Under it I saw flashes of color. And the sound of more than one soundtrack. I opened the door to see the back of the artist's head, in front of all three wide screen TV's, each playing a different old sci-fi flick. And the volume was loud! I rushed up to the girl. She was strapped to a large leather chair. And her face... Her face had the most ghastly expression of fear, her eyes were wide open, her lips pulled back in a silent scream, with tears pushed back as if a heavy wind had been blowing in her face. Even I found the sound and flashing of the scenes maddening.

I tore the plug out of each TV, until a thick silence hung in the air, and the room darkened to meet it. The artist's expression didn't change. I thought she must be catatonic or something. I cupped her soft face in my hands, trying to look into her eyes. But they were clouded, unblinking, with pupils dilated. She was dead. The horror of the moment was slightly muted by the fact that somehow, I knew none of this was really happening. Somehow - though not lucid - I knew it was a dream or a movie in which I was a character. I looked up at the doorway and saw the heiress standing there, smiling and shaking her head. 

Then I woke up. 

* * * * * * *

All I could think was: What a fantastic story or movie that would make!

Writing about it now several days later, I'm glad that I waited to tell about it. I wanted to share it on Facebook that afternoon, but kept it under wraps until now. Any aspiring filmmakers? You know where to find me. Ha!

The warmer temperatures for the last few days, combined with the lengthening sunlight were bringing out the buds on the trees and the critters from their winter slumbers. The first critter I found was an inchworm at the very top of the inside if the tent. I was pretty sure he came in on the back pack. Whenever I find an insect or spider actually in the tent, I am fully amazed that it can make it through the night without me squashing it. I pulled him off the screen and set him outside on a tree...

Inchworms are particularly despised in North Carolina. I had seen the tree bands - sticky bands around trees that trap the "worms" (caterpillars, actually belonging to various Geometer moths) - so that they don't form silk nests and kill trees. We have another kind of moth in Maine called, Gypsy moths that can defoliate an entire forest in only two years. But this little guy got to live. Not my fight.

Then, when I went to remove the rain fly I found this guy...

A stink bug.

The fancy name is the "brown marmorated stink bug" (Halyomorpha halys). He had lost one of his leafy looking back legs and a couple front legs, probably from my excavations the night before. Also considered a pest to crops, the stink bug was accidentally introduced to America from Asia. But - and this I found amazing - Wikipedia says the first specimen was not found until 1998 in this country! I had seen them many times. They have definitely made themselves at home! And, he got to live too. I don't kill animals on purpose unless they are trying to feed on me. 

Tent in the morning light.

A look out toward the road. There is actually a car going by in this photo.

The dry spot. Returned to mother nature.

I left my Nomad symbol carved into the fence post where I had done the repair, and headed off to Hillsborough...

A look up at where I camped, directly in the center of the photo.

So Haw River has two city limits on the same side. Go figure!

Cool name for a general store.

This would be a cool place to buy, not sure what you would use it as? Maybe a church? Ha!

Then came Mebane. It was kind of a novel little place but I quickly grew frustrated. First the library wasn't open. Next, there was nothing open. I had to buy Slim Jims for breakfast along with the weakest coffee I'd had in months at a BP. Oh well. The world cannot ALWAYS revolve around my petty wants. Ha!

All hail 1985!

It's been a LONG thirty years.

Yep, it was Sunday at 9:00 a.m. Looked like a nice library too!

The first deciduous magnolia (Magnolia stellata) I'd seen in the south.

I wished on this day they were still trading.

Maybe I could have had something more substantial than Slim Jims.

That's right folks, Mebane is in two different counties.

Ugh... Ten miles to go. I set the pedometer. Ten miles is sixteen kilometers--the magic number, 

since the watch only does kilometers.

If someone would just clearly define the word "SOON."

Empty church.

Empty church.

This was kind of neat.

Another magnolia tree.

This is what I hate to see. I walk on the left, but I need to go wherever the right is going.

This is what I could have sorted out before hand, if that library in Mebane had been open.

I went left and that made all the difference.

When I got to the place where the lanes divide in the photo above, walking to the left. A very pretty blond woman in a Hummer stopped on her way to the right and asked if I wanted a ride to Hillsborough. And, I'll be damned if she didn't look exactly like the heiress in the dream! I politely refused...

Super, mega, python vine. Damn!

Yep. Just approve the bond, will ya? SO many bridges look this, folks.

Ah, ha! Getting closer.

This was very interesting to run across. Duke Forest (at least this part) is enormous and clean.

And, you are allowed to hike in it. Unfortunately, it was too early in the day

to find a sleep spot and too far from the east side of Hillsborough for me.

Finally!

I liked this little motor lodge. Had I a bunch of money, I'd consider buying it.

Empty church.

So, I discovered that Hillsborough is a very historic place. They are excellent at maintaining this historic heritage with signs everywhere about it. It is a bit on the trendy/swanky side...

One of my favorite photos.

Empty church.

I went to the library in town. They were open until 6:00 p.m. and online I located a McDonald's about two miles further up the road that was very near a green area. I walked there just as the sun was setting...

A neat boardwalk and park area which must be very lovely during the summer. 

When I got to McDonald's I ordered a chicken sandwich, as my hamburger aversion was still in full bloom. And I really needed to use the john. I worked until I couldn't stand it any longer and headed into the restroom.

Now, I have seen restrooms, from glistening gold plated marble lined to god-awful rust shit-stained. This was one of the ones nearer that latter end of the bathroom spectrum. The only place there wasn't toilet paper was on the roll. A keen observer will study the situation before placing his ass upon the throne of relief. I was smart enough to see what was lacking, and went back out to the lobby to grab a handful of napkins.

This was also a really weird set up. One stall had strange lifter things holding the seat up, and the other was so tight a fit, that one's toes stuck out the front of the door when it was fully closed. The urinal was out in the middle of the wall next to the sink. I chose the tight room and spent-out half the napkins just cleaning the toilet seat...  

When my sacred doodie was done and I felt much better, I washed my hands (twice) and returned to my work. The naive reader will ask, "Why didn't you alert the manager as to the lack of proper ass wiping materials?" Ha, ha! Think about it for a moment. The answer will come...

When I had finished working, and was quite tired. I walked up the road to the sleep spot I'd located on Google. It was in a woods next to a Holiday Inn Express that was apparently not operational yet (though they must be spending a fortune on electricity to light the giant blue arch that covers the front facade). I walked into the woods and found that the ten acres or so was filled with thin dead or dying pine trees. Some were still living, even thriving but must could simply be pushed over.

It wasn't a bad spot actually, once I found a level area for the tent. It had a good security or safety profile and was private. I located my spot right in the center of a bunch of fallen trees, with a small cliff leading to a swamp behind me...  

I climbed in right away and got to sleep. I was very tired from the long walk.

Hillsborough Sleep Spot.