Chapter Fourteen: La Honda

January 18, 2005

Okay, after five years and except for the first few paragraphs of each chapter, I'm taking Dead Ginny off the net. I got out of it everything I wanted to get out of it. If you want to get a copy of the final, way better book which is now called Ginny Good, like one that has a pretty cover on it that you can sit down in front of a fire in the fireplace or take to the beach or with you in the car or on a bus or a plane or a train and read like a normal human being, click this:

http://everyonewhosanyone.com/ggsyn.html

If you want to read a bunch of reviews, click this:

http://janmag.com/biography/ginnygood.html

Or this:

http://everyonewhosanyone.com/ggrev.html

If you want to see more about all the other stuff I've been up to, poke around among the pages here:

http://everyonewhosanyone.com

Thanks.

Gerard Jones
everyone@everyonewhosanyone.com

Chapter Fourteen

La Honda

La Honda's a little backwoods mountain town halfway between San Francisco and Santa Cruz. Cassady dropped himself off up by Kesey's and Ginny and I rented a cabin by a steamy blacktop road across from a vast, primeval redwood forest, bought a bag of groceries, and each took a single small speckled orange pill. It was late afternoon. The sun was about to go down. Nothing happened for awhile. The bed in the cabin was soft and springy. Ginny's Buick was the only car in the lot. What sunlight came through the small dusty windows was filtered by overhanging fir trees. There was a hooked rug on the floor. I put the groceries on the night stand beside the bed. The first thing I noticed was a tingling little itch in my throat. But deeper. Like somewhere down inside the autonomic nervous system of my esophagus. Ginny and I looked at each other. She must have been feeling the same tingling itch. Then nothing much else happened for another little while.
We went outside, across the steamy blacktop road and into the redwood forest. It was still warm. The end of a day that had been hot. Insects became more noticeable, was the first indication I got that something was up. Flies and gnats had always left little, like, vapor trails behind them in the air, but the vapor trails I was beginning to see seemed to be lasting a bit longer than usual. Hm. The itch in my esophagus had extended to my chest and was working its way down into the pit of my stomach. The last of the sun's rays showed spider's webs covered everything. That wasn't unusual, either. In the woods, just before the sun goes down, spider's webs do cover everything. But these spider's webs were thicker than usual. They were, like, replicating themselves as I watched—and pretty soon the whole forest floor was half an inch deep with spider's webs, sparkling like snow. Now, that wasn't usual; that was sort of unusual, in fact. The floor of a forest on a warm day in the middle of May doesn't sparkle like snow. Something was definitely up.

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