I laugh. And I laugh some more.
This is absolutely crazy, and my manic laughter isn't helping with the matter since I now have several people looking at me as though they are going to call the police. I have officially spiraled into new depths of insanity.
"Right," I say after sobering up from my bout of laughter and ignoring the weight of the pressing stares on my back.
"Labyrinth of grey rivers carry you to times long past. Below the helm, where the pen meets the page and the hunter marks the head, you will find your path."
The troll's eyes turn back to normal and its eyes focus on me once more.
"What was that?" I ask it cautiously.
"I asked you, who are you?" With his voice back to normal, the troll answers my question with one of his own. Not to mention it already asked me this.
"Does your memory disappear along with your mobility?" I tease. "Because I already told you my name is Meridian."
"What an odd name, youngling. Tell me of its origins."
I massage my temples in frustration before answering. "Are we just going to ignore your incoherent ramblings from a minute ago?" I ask with a scoff.
"How odd. You don't understand my question about your name? How ever did you survive this long, I wonder." The confusing as hell troll answers.
"What? No. Ugh, nevermind," I wave my hand dismissively before placing in my jeans pocket. "Long story short, my Mom liked to joke that I was conceived somewhere along the Prime Meridian during her summer trip to the United Kingdom, France and then Spain. She ate, she drank and she slept her way through the men in the cities, is what I gathered from the stories I was told. She never knew who my father was or where it happened, so Meridian was the name I was given to memorialize her time there."
"..."
"..." We stare at each other in silence for a beat.
"What a hussy," the troll finally says, and I choke and cough in surprise. The ugly stone troll may not be able to hold a complete train of thought, but at least he still has a sense of humor. That part of him hasn't dried up yet. "If I didn't despise you and your kind, I would like her," it adds.
"With all of the spare time you have on your hands these days, you think you would learn not to slut shame," I tell him sternly with a raised eyebrow.
"Spare me your feminist diatribe. If there were as many trolls around this realm as humans, I would sleep my way through them as well," he says, and I shudder when an image pops into my head unbidden.
Before my breakfast comes back up, I decide to change topics.
"Right, well as thrilling as my trip into insanity has been, I think I will bid you a goodbye," I say, giving the troll a small wave before turning to leave.
"Do not find me again, Meridian - kin to hussy, enemy of Dugr."
"Dugr?" I question over my shoulder, unable to stop my curiosity. I chose to ignore the hussy comment.
"'I am Dugr, and Dugr is me."
Wishing I didn't entertain the hallucination yet again, I shake my head and walk out of there like there is fire on my ass.
I know Seattle is progressive, but I thought I had only ordered a latte...not a lotta drugs. Maybe I don't know the right lingo.. Next time, remind me to tell my barista to give me the caffeine but hold the hallucinogens.
On my way back to where my 4runner is parked, a storefront catches my eye. I cross the street to peer in through the window, and when I catch glimpses of aged trinkets and baubles that have lasted through the test of time, my lips curve into a broad smile.
I step through the door of Auntie's Antiques, the bell chiming as Ipush open the door and step inside. The air smells of wood and brass, no doubt due to the rows of oddities and rarities. Thinking about how I have found some of my favorite things in antique stores, I grow more excited.
Since I have left Michigan and started my second leg of my road trip, I have felt off. Different. I wonder if I was more attached to Mackinaw City and the Great Lakes area than I thought, given the chasm of loneliness and sorrow I have felt since.
At irregular times, I have found myself looking east, facing the direction I came from. As though Iam naturally drawn to it, and a tether is pulling me back.
The answers I have been seeking on the open road are nowhere to be found. I try not to overthink it, but I can't help but feel unfulfilled.
I can always find comfort and joy in exploring antique stores, and after the strange experience under the bridge, I use this to get my mind off of it.
After perusing the jewelry and old time clothing, I start walking around the rows of random household items. There's intricate silverware that are in need of a polish, elegant glassware made with all colors of the spectrum.
A large wooden steering wheel catches my eye, and as I make my way to it I realize that it belonged to a ship. A helm, that's what it is called. It is standing up on a post as it would be mounted on a ship and is four or five feet in diameter. I survey the helm for a moment before casting my gaze downwards onto the table below it.
On the tabletop, I find an old and worn journal. Curious, I pick it up to inspect it more closely. Bound to the cover is a long and flat pen made of ornate metal. I have seen flat pencils before, but not a pen, and this one is unusually long. I move it to the side so I can look at the design carved into the dark and thick leather of the cover. It's an outline of a human skull, and on the forehead is a group of stars. I run my finger over the design, trying and failing to identify the constellation.
"That's Orion," a scratchy voice says behind me. I turn in surprise, finding an elderly woman looking at the journal in my hands. She walks forward and stands by my side so she can point at the cover. "The constellation," she continues.
"Orion?" I parrot, and she nods her head.
"The hunter. Here is his arm," she says while moving her finger slowly along the cluster of stars. "His body and his bow."
My eyes follow her finger vacantly while my mind is caught on her second word. Hunter.
The troll pops into my head and I am reminded of his short spell of madness. What did he say?
'Where the pen meets the page…' no, he said something before that too.
'Below the helm,' I remember, and my eyes flick to the helm mounted above me. 'Where the pen meets the page, and the hunter marks the head,' my eyes widen as I look back at the skull design with the Hunter's constellation carved into the leather bound notebook in my hands.
'You will find your path.' The troll's final words ringing through my head.
This day just got even weirder.