Fine Grain Sand

Two individuals sit by a fire in the middle of a desert, accompanied by a dog. One is a 30-year-old man and the other is a 17-year-old boy. The glow of the full moon makes the entire desert visible; so much so that they can spot a black dog a couple miles away. Surprisingly, the dog sleeping next to them is unbothered or perhaps, unaware. It is freezing. The desert is a mix of snow and sand. The older man lights up a fire.

M [30-year-old]: Do you feel the warmth?

I [17-year-old] is silent; almost oblivious to the fact that M asked him a question. Silence ensues.

M: Well, you must, I suppose.

I nods, reluctantly.

Nothing but the sounds of crackling wood and wind echoes through space. Occasionally, the dog grunts, too.

M: Do you want to talk about it?

I [incisively]: About what?

M: About whatever you want.

I: You already know.

M: Do I?

I: Yes.

M: I know you have seen more than most people will see in their entire lives.

I, in response, looks a bit confused and annoyed but decides against saying anything.

M: Did I ever tell you about how a girl broke my heart?

I lets out a stifled laugh but is curious.

I: No, you didn’t.

M: That was the most difficult thing I ever had to face.

I [incredulously]: Really?

M [poignantly]: Yes.

M’s dog, who had been asleep all this time, briefly wakes up, stretches out his limbs, rolls over on his back, lets out a loud grunt, and falls back to sleep.

M smiles at the dog and then addresses I.

M: Yes, really. She just stopped talking to me after being my only friend for years.

I looks pensively at M, unsure of what to say.

M lights a cigarette and moves an inch closer towards the dog. He pats him on the forehead; gently rubbing his thumb from between his eyes up to his forehead.

I: Aba doesn’t talk to me anymore.

M [almost instinctively]: Did he ever talk to you?

M instantly regrets asking this question. I looks hurt.

I [quietly]: No.

M: I’m sorry. I should not have said that.

I: You know what they say about me, right? Do you think it’s true?

M: Who’s they?

I: Everyone.

M, unsure of what to say, is apprehensive of anything that may come out of his mouth. However, feeling that silence may be the worst option of all, tries to find some words.

M: I don’t think it’s true but even if it were, I don’t think it matters.

I, in response, is flushed.

I: You’re lying.

M looks at him kindly; understanding all too well the ways a young mind tricks itself. He then proceeds to respond, quietly but firmly.

M: No, I am not.

I has his head down, his cheeks brushing against his knees; supposedly looking between his feet. M, for a brief moment, thinks of patting him on the back but decides against it.

I [looking at the dog]: What’s his name again? Scotchie?

M [smiling]: Scotch, but I often call him Scotchie.

I: I like dogs.

M: I know.

I: I hope I’ll keep one someday.

M is quiet. I hesitantly pats Scotch.

I: You know it’s true.

M: What is?

I: All of it.

M: All of it?

I: All of it.

M: How do you know?

I: I just do.

M: Yes, but how?

I: Trust me, I just do. It’s true, all of it and more.

M: And more?

I: Yes, more.

M [after a pause]: Okay.

I [vexingly]: Okay?

M: Yes, okay.

I [with a sense of resignation]: Okay.

I [indignantly]: You don’t think it says something about me?

M: Why, of course not. Why would it say anything about you?

I: How could it not?

M: What do you mean?

I: I am the culmination of so much pain, misery, and suffering.

M: Who isn’t?

I glares back at M.

I [trembling]: You know that’s not the same! Is everyone born…

M looks back at I, hoping for the right words to come to him but remains silent.

M: How old were you? When you were made privy to this information.

I [agitatedly]: I don’t know… 10? 11? Around the same time Ami’s behenchod friend did what he did to me…

M is quiet again. I is repulsed at his silence.

I: Oh, that’s all? No more questions or thoughts, huh?

M lights another cigarette and takes a long drag. Very quietly but firmly, he continues.

M: I’m sorry. I am sorry you went through all that you went through. Like I said before, you have seen more than most people will see in their lives.

I [bitterly]: Why, thank you.

M, noticing the fire extinguishing, throws in a couple more logs.

I: Mind sharing that pack of smokes?

M [smirking]: I really shouldn’t but here you go.

M throws him a cigarette.

M: I can’t imagine what you have been through.

I: Yes, you can, you know. You have been through the same. Maybe more so or less, I really don’t know.

M: No, I can’t. I remember love. I experienced it when I was a kid. I don’t know it anymore. Except from him, perhaps (points at Scotch). I don’t know if you had that privilege, too.

I: I don’t know, either. I remember Aba smiling at me once, that felt like love.

M: It says something about you only if you let it say something about you. Other people don’t matter; what they think doesn’t matter. But what you think matters tremendously. What do you think? What do you feel?

I: I think it says a lot about me. No matter where I go or what I do; my life will always be against this backdrop.

M: Maybe, maybe not. That could become true if you keep believing it.

I: What do you mean?

M: I only know what I know from my own life. And I know I have been a worse person whenever I have believed myself to be a morally reprehensible individual.

I [flabbergasted]: That’s supposed to help me?

M: It means that as of now, you are wrong to think it says something about you. But if you keep believing that, a day may come when you will no longer to be wrong to think that.

I looks at M with furrowed eyebrows.

I: What the fuck is that… (stops midsentence and lets out a big sigh and holds his head in his hands).

I: Never mind, can I have another cigarette?

M tosses him the pack of smokes.

M: Light one for me, too.

I lights two cigarettes and passes one to M, along with the pack.

I: There’s no escaping this pain, is there?

M: The pain you feel? Probably not. The pain that you will possibly cause? Yes.

I [defensively]: The pain that I will cause?

M [hurriedly]: The pain that you may cause.

I: You really don’t have anything comforting to say to me, do you?

M: Probably not, no.

I: Why are you here? Are you here for me or for yourself?

M [smirks]: For myself but then, you already know that, don’t you?

I smiles weakly.

M: I suppose I’m here because I wanted you to know that I loved you; that if you weren’t loved in the years gone by, you will be loved in the years to come.

I: That’s not the whole truth now, is it?

M: Of course not, but I was hoping we could end this figment of imagination here.

M gets up and tries dusting off the fine grain sand of the desert off his pants. Scotch immediately gets up, too. M hastens to leave but Scotch starts following him. He stops, walks up to I, and tells Scotch to stay. Scotch sits beside I. M looks at Scotch, bends down to cusp his face, and then, holds his paw and pats his head.

M [looking at I]: Take care of him, will you? You won’t cause him the pain you caused me and he won’t inflict the pain I inflicted on you.

M starts walking away; briefly stops but then continues walking away without looking back. I pats Scotch gently while looking at M, in the distance, trying to get the fine grain sand of the desert off himself.