YD6~11 A Rambling Wilds, Jacqueline Meeting Lionel and Gavin

 

With Lionel and Gavin in the forefront of my mind, I’m glimpsing my wristwatch’s daunting hands on the dial. Raised my awareness of their anxiety hanging on their visitation rights, with hawks’ eyes circling overhead. Obsessive, I’m dawdling my Sunday morning away, slotting 5-1/4-inch floppy diskettes to my Personal Computer. At a loss of attention of backed-up my data files.

Then I sin by the glitches of guilt, as I’m seated behind my desktop PC. Play, the unfamiliar Microsoft’s Disk Operating System update to MS-DOS 3.1, with the promise of easing the operating system. While unbeknownst, new after the dot, weird three letter extensions files added, without notice, raised my impatient frustration.

With foresight for the preemptive building contracts, I’m thinking. ‘_Better ready early — where Jean left her desk in-build computer accounts. In the accounting package, which stock control, I reversed for my part the utility to function quantity surveying blueprints to suppliers’ orders and forecast contract’s cost._’

While I’m swearing and churning my guts, encounter the beast of deficiency. Stress mounts my body acid, which signaled by a scalp’s hair fall, silenced in regard by Jean’s abandoning her computer desk to her replacement. ‘_A banker, ought to know, but in confusing debtor and creditor. Rendered the outdated computer obsolete?_’ I’m twiddling thumbs during the slotting a series of floppy disks into processing the uploading the programs. I adventured into the realm of my imagination, my enterprising in mind, troubleshooting Multimate as a secretary. SuperCalc setup to forecast upcoming contracts, which no salesman brought forth with a client’s signature. Kick my feet from under my desk, raising goose pimples into my next move, holding back rise to my feet, as I’m telling myself. ‘_Needn’t rush to pick up Lionel and Gavin. Jean won’t let Lionel or Gavin go before ten o’clock, on the dot!_’ 

I’m leaving the setup, with closer repeating glances at my wristwatch’s dial hands, to reach the five-minute notch before ten o’clock. Flick the floppy disk to jump from the slot, which I pick and slip to its jacket. Like a cherry, to master, at seeing the monitor screen’s automated typing the commands lines loading the start-up program. After I lost myself, with the new update’s features, siting-tight swearing blue murder at Microsoft. I spring to my feet, with a hand stretch along the Personal Computer’s Central Processor Unit box, flick off the atomic size and red flank switch. with a hip kick around the pointy desk corner, pulling the reins, precipitating my strides, in sight to cross the raised adjacent slate floor to the entrance door.

From the porch, I walk out to the courtyard, to a midmorning slanted sunlight rounding underneath the Mercedes. I step behind the steering wheel, tweak the ignition key, toggling gears to back up, and to drive away, pulling out the gateway onto Roseway’s dirt. Rock onto the asphalt, turning by the corner house to Fairway, glimpsing my wristwatch’s dial. I crawl the other corner house, across Sunnyway, rotating one house up Schloss’ house styled terracotta tiled hips and valleys, to an earlier generation, onto virgin grassland remainders. To a sharing grass plot for a cluster of houses. The car coasted as I steered the car onto the concrete driveway apron, among gateways to a module subdivision to recent cement tiled roofs, to halt in front of the gate grills. 

From the eyes of a toddler emanating the Mediterranean architecture, as Father driving the Studebaker truck towing the family caravan. When meandering narrow descending streets’ siding, dense terracotta shards of hillside roofs. Raised Marseille’s turquoise seaport, to embark for the Belgian Congo — While I’m sitting with small eyes. Peek through the gate grill, the sun bright white concrete driveway along flower box cracks along the dark blue clinker brick pan handle walls. framed in the end, the orange ripe roof slope cast a wild west porch in the shadows.

I’m glancing at my wristwatch, the dial’s hands at ten o’clock, with a minute to spare, and peering, a gleam of motion darkening, to doubt. Until from the hollow a figure waxes, Gavin sevenish, sprinting into the sunlight. Lionel tenish, a few strides behind, to an elusive wind down in their approaching gait. gauged by unfolding alternating lanterns on lampposts and the boys’ tall conic pines sapling skirts the lawn. Gavin approaching the gate's middle, to fiddle with the chain, unknit one end to hang loose, the padlock at hand. He slips through the crack, holds his pace for his brother, chain threading meeting stiles locking after Lionel passed through the gap. From the windshield, by the window pillars, my boys figuring contour opening the rear doors. I follow Gavin’s movements behind me, while Lionel, in the corner of my eye, hangs behind the ghostly passenger seat, the apple of his mother’s eye. In an abrading voice, fearful Lionel hush himself out, saying. “Mom says we have to be back by five o’clock.”

As Lionel’s words pinched me, after spending my morning dawdling away, my body clams up. begrudging Jean, will fall back upon my boys. I’m surmounting my darkened heart, to Lionel poised in the rear door agape, bathing in sunlight. Liberating Lionel’s anxiety, I’m answering. “Lionel! We’ll be back.” Still reluctant, but he climbs in, the door - smacks - close. I tweak the ignition key, toggle the gears into reverse, glance past Lionel’s stressed expression. Sunnyway’s up slope lining in the rear window, I uncoil in my seat, toggle into drive, coasting away, assuring my thoughts with my boys, reaching the bottom of Sunnyway, crawl the curb, to pick up speed, up the deserted fairway, weave out Kelvin, to the Old Pretoria road, South, the security fence’s along the highway, vanishing with the upcoming Marlboro intersection. Climbing the on-ramp merging with a trickling traffic, to shuttlecock Vanderbijlpark’s outpost. 

We picked up Jacqueline from home, and shuttle back, until the highway circumvents Hillbrow, to an off-ramp glide. landing underneath the Houghton underpass, and in front of the footed Hillbrow Television Tower, meandering in a down stream trickling traffic, along the flourishing median into the rocky gully. We pulled offside, to the Wilds’ parking lot. All the doors sigh the climbing out. Gazing at the roundabout’s wild nature reserve, smacking Lionel and Gavin, lingering as we’re gathering behind the Mercedes. 

We’re crossing the asphaltic pool, toward the ice cream cone’s to an easel’s advertising board, along the stall, saddled door, hinged up lean-to. Approached a pensioner’s menial job seated behind the serving hatch, to snacks and drinks. But alongside the stall, we borrowed a trail to a rambling climbing the rocky indigenous botanical garden. Arrived at the top, to a world of its own, amid the city’s outskirts, to the oxidized green sundial’s shade in the gnomon inclined the present event toward the 2 pm.

I turned away, from the backdrop corner of the Johannesburg hospital, reminiscing an invitation to the construction site, to a novelty and such a container loaded on a ship the modular concrete elements to a double-deck interior amazed by a hiding a crawl ceiling and service floor.

We’re leading to the curiosity, symbolic and latent post encumbered by pointers. Cape Town’s showed kilometers my mind couldn’t perceive, other than on a map. Skip to São Paulo at a loss of distance. In mind, jump the numbers to Paris, Brussels, New York on a post of spiraling pointers. Uncoil Jakarta, Dhaka, pointers across the hospital. In turn, our eyesight slips back, stroll away. Find beneath the sky’s spearheading Hillbrow Tower, our earlier trail, splitting to borrow an alternative mind’s grasping descent through the rocks.

With Jacqueline in our midst, unperturbed Lionel and Gavin lead our descend through overbearing branches leaf swells cast shades to scatter amid white boulders’ cracks vegetating divers flora, bush and shrubs, approaching trails joining behind the brick stall, coming around to a few cars on the parking lot. Behind the counter, we awoke the old stall keeper’s long, lonely and bored face. He rose, in apathy, squared up to us. In drips and drabs, taking our orders, moving in the background, returning drinks and wrapped snacks to the counter, cashed-up. After Lionel and Gavin pacing away, with Jacqueline trailing. In joining our little group, calling alongside the orange bright Mercedes, in sight arches the see-through iron pedestrian bridge. Walk short of clustered street side green bush, the gateway, to the sidewalk, extending a branch to climb the ramp sweeping overhead. Along the pedestrian over-pass counter-wise, traffic trickles alongside the blooming parkway median. Across the pedestrian bridge, immerse in the rusticated hill flank, to sense a favoring firmament — Aetheria by her means, flourishing our path, to a flattish boulder, to sit around, tabled for a picnic. 

Lionel and Gavin headed on the rambling hillside, trailing the indented nature reserve. Jacqueline’s smizing an elder sister on the boys after our brief afternoon lent seat, sip and munch. Our path levels off to horses and carts age, butt, and on the flip side, facing a suburban cul-de-sac. We’re tackless, stepping the shade to scatter in our strides, through a wild leaf-branching barrel vault turning away from the fragmented skies shed sun flooded roofs, reflecting windows, shine shaded facades. Gathered backtracking the crude path exhausting into the hillside, rounding the trail. In our stroll further along the hillside rises the distant city face, until emerging from Hillbrow’s glass and concrete cluttered towering apartment blocks, fractured and sweeping the parkway passes beneath through the gorge. Neared the arching pedestrian bridge, to step over a mounting afternoon’s mounting trickling traffic, raising Lionel’s anxiety, calling. “We have to get back to mommy!” 

Jean’s exigency, petrifying Lionel’s repeating words, playing strings with my nerves. I’m reiterating. “Lionel! We’ll be on time back home.” Glimpsed my wristwatch, with a bird’s-eye view along the launched highway a stretch away. While I’m after Lionel’s trolling eyes on the Mercedes’ orange behind the fleecy sidewalk tree canopy, to the parking lot. Jittery while Gavin posed up to the railing, amazed by a down stream traffic beneath trickling away.

With Jacqueline in the passenger seat gazing at the gateway grill, the sun in my window announcing the upcoming evening. Lionel withdrawing his face from his perched eyes between the bucket seats’ backrests, extending an anxious peering from the dashboard’s dial, with a five-minute notch to spare. He retrieves his head as we pull up to a halt. The rear doors swing open. To Gavin croaking. “Lionel! We still have time with daddy.” Angry at his brother for rushing me to drop him by his mother. Smack - Lionel’s door closes, while Gavin lingers, unlatches his door, until - smack - closing behind me. Lionel and Gavin emerge from the flanks, meet upfront. Gavin unlocks the gate, for Lionel to hurry slipping through the gap, a few strides farther, to a pause, anxious eyes anchoring on his brother rushing his along. Gavin’s eyes snarl, as he faces me gathering the gate leaves, treads the chain around the rails, padlocks, tears his eyes away from the windshield, where I’m shades, his eyes melting me to tears. 

I’m gazing at my boys dwarfing behind the grill, along the clinker wall shading the driveway, until their living shadows vanish to a gleam of the entrance door. I hang on, until my heart cools, saying, ‘_They’re inside_’ Gone to the chill of the spacious interior, drop my hand to the gear knob, toggles to the reverse gear, backing into the street, to drive away. With Jacqueline coiled in the passenger seat, I’m lost. ‘_Where to now?_’ The road leads out of Kelvin, to the old Pretoria Road. A stretch to the highway underpass, lead us weaving through suburban sidings. Arise across the valley Sandton Office Tower, and far from the grasslands to reminisce. In our approach, the sun's rays dissipating from the bright brick plinths to square a cave entrance --. 

Reminiscent, how lost I was on our first date, the road leading to steering the car to a crawl, entering a spill of sunlight filtering into the dark. Until beyond the raised boom, sandwiched twilight guided us through a forest of bare concrete columns, semi-empty stalled cars. Aimed a light crack, opening agape flood fluorescent light. By the unhindered foursome plate-glass doorway, I spin the steering wheel, stall the car amid sleek undulated sheen. With Jacqueline, I stepped out, meeting at the rear of the car, eyesight beyond the glaze tunnel, a store-depth, and pressed our way past the plate-glass.

We emerged with eyesight meandering, for Jacqueline to cross the cornered walkway toward exclusive fashionable mannequins, turning away before reaching the storefront. While alongside, I’m imagining descending the escalator, keeping the architecture in mind. During my bank days, I collect mail, striding through a flurry of people, to glitch the mall deserted. but lonesome the level to the CNA’s landmark. My hopes are high, where the loner’s stroll through inviting folded back door leaves against a series of frontline columns, to an island of books. On the upper level’s call of exclusive boutiques, leaving Jacqueline indifferent. I’m pacing abreast Jacqueline, the dogleg stairs to the level beneath to an evening activity descending deeper foot the escalator. Underground, people circle by booking counter hatches, trickle away to meddle with the moviegoers. In the hallway to the theater doors, a curative post office box, with my exclusive address, blinding my crippling enterprise.

In our approach where the walkway surged a distance couple, by their lackadaisical walk, figuring tourists lost in the void a Sunday. Jacqueline slew her pace across the clear walkway toward the storefront window sprinkled glitters. I pace in her wake. arouse Aurras’ distant playing strings, rhyme to mind, a little girl’s teasing voice in the refrain. ‘_Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make me a match, Find me a find, Catch me a catch. . ._’ While to my relief, I thought about Jacqueline unveiling herself, window licking glimmering to crystals. While alongside an outdoor easel, cowers in the shadows behind the closed door. 

Jacqueline side steps, past the closed door in darkness, turning the corner, doubling the storefront into the outbound dim walkway. We’re window licking magic tiers of glazed shelves’ jungle and farm animals, tradesmen glittering cluttered diamond facets. My mind to lassitude, I’m hanging on, but skirting off the brilliant window to a leading wall into the hollow service passageway, to meet Jacqueline pivoting away. She holds her pace, her mind on the populated crystal figurines, questioning. ‘_Where we’re going now?_’ 

Jacqueline and I found the bright leading walkway. Instead of a storefront, strolling figures disappeared in the crack. In our approach. A woman in her stride sweeps an eyesight, stepping out the agape crack from the car park. In her stride, coming up pressing her way past on Jacqueline’s side. Jacqueline leans out with a slithering tongue. “What are you looking at?” The surprised woman drops her innocent gaze, cringing, and passing by, but Jacqueline’s regard pursued her, before letting go, spins back abreast, walking my ego’s current out of the past. The attractive boutiques came changing window displays to pause, . skimpy figures riding the atrium’s barrel void escalators counter-wise under night faces gluing on the skylight.

Jacqueline and I rounded by the tinted glazed balustrades guided past the elevator paired doors, which in a staircase faced to the mezzanine beneath, flanked in darkness on Sundays, an esteemed café to the passage facing a health food bar. For years, in long strides during business hours, I crossed a gleaming passageway, led me to intersect with the banking hall. I stepped into various Building Societies, collected payment from clients’ addressed to Aticon (Pty.) Ltd., which ended, depositing the checks into the company’s bank account.

While I ruminate in disbelief at Jacqueline’s onslaught on the woman’s innocent gaze. We stepped, in turn, offside with a glance at the curiosity of a VIP easel’s reporting Sandton Sun Hotel. the bright tunneling walkway begins with a skimpy but glittery paired widespread corner display. We’re edging the extended woman’s jewelry display at eye level to stretch toward a niche to the shadows of a closed entrance door I rest in peace — without fear squaring up alongside Jacqueline, her eyes stroking the best pieces of jewelry beneath the counter glass top, and having to say. ‘_No!_’ without revealing. I can’t afford to play house.

We edged back window licking man’s watches around the corner until the window’s sprinkled glitter paused for the wall running onward to a pair of heavy yellow wooden doors. Reminiscent of inviting the son of Omega Construction, after the father had passed away, who owed me for raising the brickwork to a house in Kelvin. Introduced to eating snail, but I sought for a deal to foliage taking roots, to the raise concrete skeletal on Randburg’s main street, gathering moss. Then with Jean, inviting Ilona and Johnny for a glamorous dinner, but out of our league, rather held up to shame, in discomfort.

From the leading glorious walkway, we emerge to a silent auditorium. As off left, I’m catching a glimpse. A young serving woman steps into the crack of a doorway, carrying away a few cups and saucers. She left skimpy figures on a French island terrace. Jacqueline paused alongside the gateway to the restaurant’s wooden platform populated by round tables, huddled by ornate flimsy wrought-iron backrests to dainty seats. She sight across a city face, the Hotel’s atrium drawing itself, to glitter bilateral slick glass cabins to a rhythmic up-and-down. Jacqueline edges up to the tinted glazed balustrade, while lone figures stride the staggering balconies to blind doors, lowering the face to rudimentary seated people, among the ground floor’s vegetation surrounding fountain squirts.