A WAY WITH WORDSby Rayanda

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters and events portrayed in this work are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

A WAY WITH WORDS. Copyright © 2009 by Rayanda Arts. Protected by a Creative Commons 2.5 license: You are free to share and distribute this work for noncommercial purposes provided you retain attribution to Rayanda Arts and make no derivative works. This notice of copyright must be retained on any electronic or printed copies. For more original writing, photography and fine art, please visit:

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A Way With Wordsby Rayanda

A way back I was idling away the day

at Conway Bay, waiting for Waylitta

to return from her stay in Venezuela,

Paraguay, Uruguay, Kuwait, Norway

and Wales. I was watching the whales

play in the waves, when I met on the

pathway a wheyish, wayless wayfarer,

wearing waders. A bunch of Naked

Ladies and a thin tin of wafers

swayed in his suede lunch bag.

“You look in a bad way,” I ventured

to say.

“Aye, when I awakened today,” he replied,

sounding as weighed down as he looked,

“way too late, I was blown away

to find that Waylon McWaye, a waiter

at the way station, had made his way

to my home, from the waterway

by the causeway before it winds

into the freeway. He swaggered right

up our walkway and in through the

front doorway, by the way, to steal

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away my Wayna, in my car from the

driveway, with Dwayne, our Great Dane,

a stowaway.”

He had a far away look, like he was

drifting away.

“You know,” he went on to say,

“nowadays too few of us live by the

ways of the good old days. Too quaint,

you might say. Most choose instead

the way of sinners and new fandangled

ways that lead astray. The way I figure

it, there are ways and means to lose

one's way, but Wayna's chosen the

hard way, the way of the flesh.”

“You're right, in a way,” I said, awash

with a fear of wading into the fray.

“Sometimes that's the way things lay.”

“But they must not stay that way.

Wayna's in the family way,” he said,

looking away. “First we rejoiced

in a big way. Broadcasting it over the

airways. Every day was a fete. But fate

is cruel as a rule. It dealt me a low

blow. Wayna took away the money we

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had laid away from my wages for the

feng shui room I've been making

headway on for baby, teeny Tinaway,

when she comes our way.”

“I see,” I said, hoping my smile

wasn't giving me away.

“I remember the heydays when

everything was going our way,” the

weary wayfarer said. “And Wayna

with her wavy hair and tiny waist.

Oh, what a waste! So I phoned her

to ask why she was throwing away

any chance for me to change my ways

and find a better way. In my own way,

I've always tried to be good to Wayna,

in all ways. 'You cannot have it both

ways,' I told her, aware things were

looking dim. 'It's me or him.'

'Go away and stay away!' she said.

“Waylon and I will wed. So drop dead.”

'Okay,' I said, 'if that's the way you

want to play. But I'm having my car

towed away from your hideaway.

And Dwayne comes my way too.'

'No way! I'm here to stay,' was her

final say. I was persuaded to let her

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have her way, until the thought

of her going all the way with McWaye

hammered away every which way

at my resolve to stay away.”

The quaver in his voice faded away

into the wail of the wayward wind.

Thinking I might dissuade him, I

asked, “Won't you waiver?”

He shook his head, and his face

turned red. “Destiny awaits us all.

But I'm not waiting for the call or

taking the fall. Come what may,

there has to be a way for me to

waylay McWaye, the dirty swain.”

“All the same—” I started to say.

“He's to blame, having his way with

Wayna. I need him out of the way,

so I can talk her into seeing her way

clear to heaving her way-out scheme

with McWaye to the wayside by

leaving him.”

“God moves in mysterious ways, but

every day in every way, where

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there's a will, there's a way,” I said,

knowing without showing that he

wasn't acquainting himself in any

way with anything I was saying.

“Anyway,” he was slow to say,

“I've come a long way. I hope it's

not too much out of your way

to show a wayworn traveler the way

to Allen Way. I came from thataway.”

He looked the other way.

I led the way to the other side of the

quay. “It's a ways over that way,” I said,

pointing above the quails roosting

between the bales by the wale.

“Aye,” he said. “Go ahead, fire away,

I need to know the way.”

“It's not so far away,” I said.

“But you have to go out of your way

to clear a way through the byway

to make it to the highway that's in the way.

So if you turn sideways, you'll be going

the right way.”

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“There has to be a better way.

Shouldn't I be going more to the leeway?”

“You could do it that way,

either way, there's some leeway.

But you should do it my way, because

your way is not as good by a long way.

The roadway there leads you the other

way round through the right-of-way

which takes you out of your way. You

see, you're going to have to go way

down Wayborne, to the way point,

which gives way to Kingsway on the

way to Allen Way.”

“That's way too far away.”

“That's the way it is. You'll find my

directions will help pave your way.”

“Much obliged. I must be underway

before I start seeing the Milky Way.

Now,” he said, wagging a finger at me,

“you beware of wanton wasters plying

their wares.”

“I swear I'm aware,” I said weightily.

“For all it's worth, I'm not so silly as to

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think there's really any safe place

from scoundrels anywhere on earth.”

He gave me a wary stare that never

waned as he waved and took his way.

I have not seen him this way again

to this day, so I expect one way or

another he made it all the way.

His way.

—Rayanda

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