Rhonda Armbrust

 Static buzzed from the intercom by the door, then a deep, gravelly voice barked, “Begin.” Jazz reclined in the cushioned chair while gazing at the bare white walls surrounding her and the darkening shade draped over the lone window. She gathered her waist-length auburn hair, draping it over her chest like a cloak, uncrossed her slender legs at the ankles and closed her eyes.

     Her breaths became slow and rhythmic as she moved into an alpha brain wave state and her conscious mind stepped aside. She observed without judgment the images drifting across her inner vision. When her skin tingled, and a consistent low vibration hummed through her body, the setting she was searching for began to crystallize. Her senses became magnified and colors enhanced as in a rainbow on a sunny day.

     Heat rose in waves off the tarmac where gray fighter jets with pointed black noses sat parked in a precise line next to a hangar. A 757 idled on a distant runway near a row of trees that expanded and contracted with a normally intangible aura. Searching for something distinctive, Jazz spotted letters near the peak of the hangar. She focused on them until the word became clear: Guardians.

     Jazz brought her awareness back to the drab room, immediately grabbing the pad and pencil from the end table. She felt split between two realities as if waking from a dream, but she wanted to sketch the scene while the information was fresh. After finishing the drawing, she waited for the ethereal sensations to mellow.

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Jazz woke from a vanishing dream where eerie shadows lingered. As she stood, her bedroom swirled around her. She slumped back onto her bed and peeked out of one eye to check if the room was still. The lace curtains fluttered, their blurry edges dancing in the wind coming through the open window. Streaks of early morning sunshine flashed along the wall. The grandfather clock in the corner, standing nearby since she was a child, drummed its comforting regular tick tock. She made it as far as the clock, grabbing the thick, aged wood for support.

     When the room stopped spinning, she staggered down the hall and rummaged through the kitchen cupboard for peppermint tea to ease her dizziness. Jazz dropped into a chair, waiting for the pot to whistle. Once ready, she poured the steaming water into a cup and with her elbows on the table, sipped the brew, inhaling the piquant aroma. Maybe she had a hangover and blacked out from getting drunk, but she had never done that before. Maybe she had the flu. The phone rang, and Jazz jumped, spilling tea on the table. “Hey, Freddie,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead, fighting to focus.

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 Jazz lay in bed, her thoughts continually returning to Aidan. It thrilled her that he called her “love”, even though that was akin to dear or honey in the States. To her it was captivating and created saucy sensations where she wanted him to touch her. Her cell buzzed, and she grabbed it from the nightstand.

     “Good morning, love,” Aidan said.

     Jazz almost laughed, but she wasn’t prepared to admit she had been thinking of him. She rattled off what she had done in the last two days since he left.

     “Can you come visit?” he interjected, chuckling about her enthusiasm. “I got you a plane ticket, hope you don’t mind.”

     “No, I don’t mind. I’d love to visit.”

     “Bloody fantastic. I like your spontaneity.” They shared an animated conversation about fun things to do in Colorado; swim in the hot springs, get massages at the Vapor Caves, ride horses, hike Mount Sopris, visit Aspen.

     Time crawled over the four days until the flight. Jazz stayed busy with finishing photo shoots, buying a few things for the trip, cleaning her house, and any other mundane task she could find. She feared she was being impulsive, visiting a guy she just met, but somehow, he made her comfortable.

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