A Dash of Seasoning

A Dash of Seasoning
They had been free spirits in the late 60s and early 70s.
They met at Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs after a Three Dog night concert, and had recognized in each other the lost part of their own soul. That night they drove out Highway 29 to Lake Desolation Road and headed uphill. On the moonlight shore of the lake, the cooling air misting with tomorrow’s fog, they pledged to each other and jumped over the broom that he had in the back of their truck.

He had come East out of Gary Indiana. Looking for new opportunities to profit on the future misery of others, he came to the state that had born Woodstock and gave a new definition to being mellow. As the old peddlers had walked the paths of the Cumberland, Appalachians, Adirondacks, and Catskills, so did he, with his almost magical wares. He would first offer for free, that which nature abounded, just a weed found along fence lines and in fields. His product of choice however was, as DuPont would say, better living through chemistry.

When introduced to the couple at a party. It was not clear to him that they were the Yin and the Yang of each other. They had renamed themselves Rosemary and Thyme, forsaking the names given them by their parents. Had they requested a marriage license just based on their birth records, the State of New York would have recognized the legality of it. Not knowing, he hungered, his eyes tracked both of them and his ego left no caution or concern. These two beauties would serve him, together or apart.

No other thought entered his mind. As he plied his trade he made inquires, his customers, most now dependent on him had long ago lost that natural caution that comes with a clear mind. An address, at a shared co-op farm was mumbled to a hinted inquiry. A visit would be made. He came in the waning light two days later. Members of the co-op were of differing opinions as to his brotherhood. His wares were welcomed, caution long ago lost like the treadles of fog that would drift in the dawn of the Finger Lakes.

When the extended family relaxed into oblivion he sought out the two beauties. They too had fallen under the fog of nature’s pain reliever, and indeed the pain of the wounds of verbal slings and arrows over the many years, from those whom had withdrawn their love was forgotten. Their new false friend waited, and soon chose to first take the one known as Thyme. In the dream state that Rosemary and Thyme now moved, the movement of their predator went unnoticed.

As a seasoning, Thyme is a gentle accent, touching and teasing the taste buds of the tongue. As they kissed he started to undress her. Her breasts were small but full, her waist narrow. The soft warmth of her on his skin drove him further. She started to fight him as her eyes became more aware. Tyme tried to pull away, to Rosemary she did call.

Aroused, she tried to enter the room only to fail, the door now locked. In desperation she called out loud, the participation of their brethren she did arouse. All now could hear the screams, the sounds of impact, the walls shaking yet their efforts too, were of no avail. The Sheriff’s office was called, their response was quick.

In front of the judge he stood with legal representation, the question presented. To the matter killing thyme, how do you plead?

As a rush of darkness pushed away the light of reason, Rosemary turned to the spirits, which both soothed and enraged her. Of multicultural origins they were, bodies both fluid and volatile, yet some hard to the core. Braced by the pain of her lover lost, and with these spirit's help, Rosemary vowed quick revenge.

In an effort to gain strength she found iron to which she added powder, bronze, lead and steel, creating a deadly mix of heavy metals and which to the sentencing hearing, this poison she carried. In the aftermath, her adversary bleeding on the courtroom floor, they asked her why, to which she simply replied, Thyme is relative.

Now released and free to go, numbers from an astrolabe did lead Rosemary’s numbed soul. Traveling west, to a distant lake she did go. At 44deg 02’ 50.68” North by 88deg 34’ 50.55” West, she found her fatal goal. Her lover, Thyme is up in heaven, now it's Rosemary's time to go. Their souls now joined, on the Great Mandala their souls shall ride.



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This story is 774 words long.