LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Present - A Month Later
A brisk wind blew the few remaining leaves off the old oak tree on the side of the house and each one floated absently down to the ground underneath.
“Hello,” I called out, waving.
Waving back, Mister Tompkins passed by on his tractor. A cart attached to the back and was sucking up the remaining leaves lying on the ground.
Turning around, I headed back into the house and picked up the last box of my clay pieces to bring to town.
It was only the end of November, but I felt like I had been back from the past for a lot longer than a few weeks.
Once I got home, I was determined to go back to the past. I packed clothes, food, books and anything I could think of to bring with me that I could carry and then headed off to the mountain where the Highlands Games had been held. Not the one I first traveled to the past from, but the one in Virginia where Gavin and I had both travelled. However, when I got there all my hopes were dashed because the tent was gone and the gypsy was nowhere to be found. I questioned the couple at the hotel but they did not know her whereabouts but strangely enough, they mentioned another Highlander that had come to stay with them.
Apparently, he had stayed there for three weeks and they told me he looked just like Gavin, although a darker version, as they put it. Of course, I knew immediately that they were talking about Clarion, or at least a high probability that he was there. However, I didn’t know how or why he was in the same hotel me and Gavin had stayed in. That seemed like a bit too much of a coincidence.
Shifting the box to my other arm, I shut the door and locked it. It was a chilly afternoon and was glad I was wearing one of my heavier sweaters. In the mountains, even during the summer, it was always good to have a sweater or jacket handy because the weather was always unpredictable. An umbrella too. It rained often, but usually never lasted very long even though a lot of rain came down in a short period of time. At times like these, I was reminded of Scotland, which in turn reminded me of Gavin and I began getting depressed all over again.
After I got back from the past, I was a mess. My depression nearly consumed me. But when I thought I couldn’t go on any longer, my Grans voice crept in, “Time heals all wounds”, which would have been great and all, but the wounds I had I didn’t think would ever heal. In the end, she was right. As the days passed, I started to feel better, not great, but better. My art helped too and also my mapping out of Highland Games gave me something to do. Unfortunately, there would be no more games until the spring, so I made do with making plans for when I could hunt down that other gypsy again.
Getting inside the car, I shut the door and started the engine. My little car rumbled to life, and I put the car in gear and headed out to town.
As usual, once I started driving anywhere, I would immediately think of Gavin and his death grip on my dash, which always brought a smile to my face with the remembrance and then bring tears to my eyes.
It was a constant and vicious, never ending cycle.
To add insult to injury, every so often, my mind would stray to Clarion and I would revisit our time together. It usually happened at night, while I was sleeping but when I woke, I had a hard time vanquishing the heated memories from my brain of those few hours we spent in each other’s arms.
Then I would feel guilty and another vicious cycle of regret and guilt would begin again.
Ominous clouds hung low in the sky as I pulled into the parking lot. Hoping to make it home before the rain came; I put my car in park and killed the engine.
A few people ran past with shopping bags, making haste before the storm hit. This time of year, there were never as many people here. They would come back in the spring, after the thaw, when the Highland Games returned.
The only good thing that has come from being home is that my business has really been taking off and I have had to fill a lot of orders— mind you, I cried my eyes out pretty much the entire time because each piece reminded me of Gavin. Some even resembled him, but I kept those for my own. However, there was apparently a big market for Highlander Sculptures. These looked a lot like the rest of the Highlanders I had met while I was in the past. I did many likenesses of each and even one of Clarion. I kept his sculpture too. Not because I loved him like Gavin, but rather, more of a fond memory of our time together.
Keeping them close by made me feel less alone and gave me inspiration for another series of statues/figures, which consisted of various gypsies, some young, some old, and I even made a Serpent/Loch Monster fountain. That was one of my largest pieces and one of my best sellers as well. Each had a few semi-precious stones and old coins set in the bottom of the basin where the water flowed which represented the ever-elusive treasure of Loch Morar.
Getting out of the car, I rounded the back and opened the trunk. Leaning in, I grabbed a box.
A dog barked.
“Elvis,” I said automatically. Even though I knew it couldn’t be him, my heart started beating really fast. Letting go of the box, I turned around.
With his tail wagging, a dog came bounding towards me.
I stumbled backward, not from fear, but shock. “Elvis,” I repeated thinking I must be losing my mind.
The dog jumped on me, his big paws leaving spots of mud on my sweater, but I didn’t care. “Oh MY GOD! Elvis, it’s really you!” Tears welled in my eyes as I held onto the big dog for as long as I could. His tongue rolled out and licked my face.
Laughing, I hugged him tighter.
Elvis wasn’t having any of that though, and he dropped down and went bounding away before I got my balance back.
“Wait…where are you going?” I ran around the side of my car and froze.
Right in front of me with Elvis at his side, stood the man I had been thinking and dreaming about every day since I had been back.
“Gavin…”