Palm readers be damned, thought Richarda Sessions as she looked up at the lines of the March Jersey sky. Whoosh, whoosh... look at the way those lines cross and sashay to the the edges of her mental tableau, pushing the 42 year old woman to her wit's end. Yup, wit's end... Surely those vectored cielo linee were sending Ricki a message.
She had stopped her Passat at the corner of Azalea and Ailanthus. She, in distinction to most of the other residents of her development, actually stopped at the STOP sign. Odd that she stopped, at least this time. You see, Richarda was on her way out. Last time for this girl. She was leaving, for good. Going straight through that prohibition without braking could have been her in-your-face comeuppance.
Jasper Sessions was a C rated man. Passing, but boring, working, but a mediocre earner, Jace surely was not going to leave Ricki with picture perfect memories. No, indeed not... If a man can bring home the bacon love-wise, he can get by with C's. Most men, however, cannot make the clitoris vibrate like a bass string and consequently they need to be at least B graded to keep a woman like Richarda. And so her leaving came as a surprise to no one except Sandi Sessions. Sandi was fifteen when Jasper fell from her loins. Mothers... Jasper was big at birth.
No, no... Richarda would no longer be unrequited, no more. Having to suck Jasper stopped being a labor of love sometime in Dubya's second term. While a bedanger like that would wet nine out of ten women, after a while, the ennui of life with Jasper eradicated any desire. A donkey dick can only go so far. Ricki had learned that a beautiful thing lies more in the eye of the beholder than reality.
She edged the Passat onto Ailanthus with a little gas pedal push and a wheel tug towards the left. Fear of the future was not enough of a deterrent to keep her warm, safe and dry in an airless existence with Jasper. She reckoned that she would just drive northwards, find a small town and get a job under a new name and identity. Boredom can rot a person.
It wasn't that life was b-a-d, no, quite the contrary. Her house was modest, but clean... and she had marble tops. While Jasper didn't make much money, he brought it all home. He didn't drink or play AND he had that big cock. Sometimes, when she would think about leaving, she could easily talk her way out of it. A vanilla day-to-day might in the long run be smarter than a stab at living life on a rainbow. Yet... he was mental Lidocaine.
A woman without life zest is like a flower without water. Withering and wasting, such a woman might as well be dead. Perhaps the straw for her was the fact that Jasper couldn't nail her. Richarda knew it wasn't her, since she had a history of two abortions back when she was a real soul sister. Ha, nowadays, she had come to believe that she is soulless.
As she pulled past the two mile marker from home a certain quietude began to flood her. A good quietude, not like death, but rather the silence of dawn just before nature's cacophony starts. In that silence, she sensed that life was about to sing a song that she hadn't heard in forever. Down deep, she wanted to believe in love. Passionate and hungry, you could taste it love.
With only a shorty valise and her backpack, she had everything that she needed in life. A few tees, thongs, three girlie bras, an extra pair of jeans and one pair of shorts along with her elctronics, wow she could have been a guy. Confident that all of her red lights would soon turn to green, she had no doubts.
While there is no way to predict what will happen, nothing but her anticipated exuberance rules the day. Any observer would hope that Richarda finds what it is she seeks. At the least, she would have to be praised for having the fortitude to try. For it is in trying that all is achieved.