Drifting Desperately

Drifting Desperately Other Books by Lida KayseyThe Splendid Drift SeriesDrifting DesperatelyDrifting DaringlyDrifting Divinely DriftingDesperatelyThe Splendid Drift SeriesBook OneA NovelByLida Kaysey This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to lend authenticity to the story. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Copyright © 2023 by Lida KayseyAll rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without express written permission from author. For information, contact Ziota Press at WWW.ZiotaPress.com.ISBN: 979-8-9881643-0-2Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9881643-1-9 DedicationThis book is lovingly dedicated to my husband, John, a wonderful life partner, sounding board and resource through our many years.AcknowledgementsMany thanks to my early readers who gave helpful insights, feedback and comments, namely Rebecca, Meghan, Rona and Cathy.Ladies, I could not have done it without you! You know you’re in lovewhen you can’t fall asleepbecause reality is finallybetter than your dreams.~ Theodor GeiselBetter known as the beloved Dr. Seuss Drifting Desperately Prologue How exactly does one pass from one chapter of your life story to the next? Is it as clear cut as turning the page of a book? Unless it is abrupt like falling off a cliff or winning a mega-millions lottery, are we really aware of the transition? It seems to me that throughout human history we are simply moving from one chapter to the next without much thought. We are simply making the best decisions we can as we go along. I’ve heard of people who simply drift along on a lazy current to reach their destiny, or who traverse a circular path, actually getting nowhere as years roll by.Of course, there are folks who are blasted, violently expelled, who arrive battered, bruised and bewildered on the threshold of their destiny. Perhaps it’s an arduous trek that tests one’s mettle and strengthens their intestinal fortitude, leaving them stronger by the end.Not that any of those scenarios happened to me. Rather, my story began with a 2000-mile road trip that landed me, a girl from Rocky Mount, Pennsylvania, in a vast seemingly foreign land. There are plenty of quotes about a journey beginning with a single step, well, yes indeed, mine did. It started with my left foot depressing the clutch as my right eased off the brake and onto the gas pedal, all in one synchronized fluid motion.My poor old Vanagon jolted into reverse, then with repetition of the same choreographed foot movement and shifting into first gear, I was off and rolling. My journey had begun. Looking back, I am still mystified by the events that have happened in the last two of my twenty-five years on this earth, but it was one particularly epic event that left an indelible mark on my psyche and altered the course of my life. It was a trek on a winding narrow road over a mountain that started it all 1 The sheer rock face rises vertically, flat and unforgiving. One false move, one slight turn of the steering wheel and I veer straight into a mountainside. I pull my eyes away. It is hypnotic. Straight ahead, look right in front of you. Eyes on the road in front of you, think. I look to the right again. Sheer cut-away rock walls lean into the side of my van. My eyes are drawn to the blurred shades of muddy marmalade orange, dissolving into muted yellows, stacked on top of blue-gray matte layers of stone, compelling me to lean to the right as if willing me to close my eyes, release my death grip on the steering wheel and let the tires drift into the mountain side.Blinking rapidly forces me to pull my eyes away. That breaks the spell. Gripping the steering wheel even tighter, I steer, centering the van to the middle of the narrow lane. Negotiating around another treacherous right curve, the jagged vertical side of the mountain slips past, mere inches from the right side of the van.Who knows why, but in this hellish moment my brain latches onto a rare nugget of wisdom passed on by my mother. More than once when one of us kids was on the verge of an emotional meltdown, I could count on my mom coming up with some worthless piece of advice. Like when she insisted on telling me about how overwhelming emotion sears events into one’s memory. She’d recount, in vivid detail, the events on November 22, 1963, the day JFK was assassinated.I get it. September 11th was the same for my age group, burned forever into my 6th grade memory. Even ten years out, everyone who lived then knows exactly where we were, what we were doing and the terror and disbelief they felt when we saw the Twin Towers disintegrate before our eyes.Looking back, I have to admit, my mom was right. Terror permanently etches those emotionally charged images into one’s psyche. Oh, how I wish I could distance myself from this moment and take a long-range perspective but I’m living it right now. In this instant. My heart is racing, my breathing shallow and ragged. I try to relax my grip on the steering wheel but it’s no use.Exhale slowly now, pause, take a breath in, slowly. My mind repeats this in an endless loop, followed quickly by a reminder from Driver’s Education 101. Watch the middle of the hood. What you focus on you’ll steer into.I’m not good at positive self-talk but if I know that if I keep holding my breath, I will black out. I force air out of my lungs and slowly pull air in in a futile attempt to resist an all-out meltdown. Gasping, struggling to get a breath of this thin, warm air. Now, mentally chanting again, slow, steady breaths, that’s it.A stray thought flits across my panic-stricken brain. The air is supposed to be thinner at this altitude. Does that mean there’s less oxygen? Maybe that’s why