Flash Fiction: One’s destiny? There’s no disputing tastes! by LJ Frank

Credit: Anon

I heard a soft, forest sound, like leaves blowing in the wind. I pulled on my right ear lobe. My right ear is best for catching unusual sounds. I checked my android phone.  It was a text message “How are you? How long has it been? Do you recall a woman by the name of Makena?”

Makena? Could it be? It was years since we met each other at some fetish conference in Asheville, North Carolina as I recall.  What kind of fetish attracted me to her or her to me? Chocolate? Or was it something and someone else?

“Working out my destiny.” I text her with an unsettling feeling within.

“So glad to hear.” She text back.

“Thanks.”

“Where is your destiny taking you?”

“A sailboat in a harbor on the coast.”

“Oh? And, how are you getting there?”

It was a simple question. Why did I pause to think about it? Was something wrong? What is your destiny and how are you getting there is like asking me who are you? It has an existential quality. I looked ahead at the stretch of highway meandering through the lowland swamp country. I text her: “I’m driving a rental car to a harbor on the coast. My sailboat is waiting for me there.”

“And this moment?”

This moment I asked myself.…“Just pulled into a fuel station with an attached restaurant.”

“May I ask?”

“Of course. What?”

“What do you think causes our memory to reflect on a person from our past?”

“I don ‘t know. An event, a song, a familiar place, a sight, a voice or face or something we read or dreamt about or an experience? It’s difficult to say. It could be anything I suppose.”

“I see.”

 “And, may I ask you something?”

“Yes, you may.”

”Where are you?”

“Look over your shoulder. Do you notice the tall woman, with long legs wearing toeless sandals?”

A woman on the other side of the fuel pump looked over at me. The look in her dark eyes was provocative and her long legs and feet snuggled into toe less sandals – she possessed a presence.

“Do you recognize me?” She asked as a wide grin spread across her face.

“Makena?”

She laughed. “Close. But no, not Makena. Still, our meeting might be considered serendipitous if you give it some thought. Remember one’s destiny and the Latin phrase, De gustibus non est disputandum.”