Journey In

The air was grey. Dark and thick. Debris caked like flour on the handkerchief. Brown. He pondered the contrast and inhaled hard to find air. Not enough. He wrestled with the knot, glancing over both shoulders at his surroundings. He removed the faded bandana and shook it towards the ground. Holding his coveted breath he watched the smoke-like cloud he created. So fine, the wind carried it like a dust devil. “Surely that provides little protection,” he thought.

His lungs were asthmatic. He could feel the decay. One week of travel now barely reached a day’s progress last year. And the seasons he traveled through? Indistinguishable, like the towns along the path. Travailed would be a more appropriate spin. The sun exists with no silhouette, it’s rays dampened by rubbled air. It’s warmth rejected. Everything is cold. The air. The ground. His feet.

His lungs began to gasp for air as he fumbled to tie the bandana back around his face. Back in it’s place, he purposed to breath slowly through his pursed lips and teeth. He resisted a gasp and stifled a slight cough. His nose was sore, nostrils stuffed with torn corners of the bandana. A reprieve from the polluted air. He needed a bath. He daydreamed momentarily of a time without struggle, tipping his head back as if to expose his face to a showerhead. No water. Just a cold easterly wind.

Maybe he should have stayed with the others? There had been plenty of food. Plenty of reason, but little hope. The culvert which had been home would not even allow one to stand. They crawled like animals. “At least I could breathe,” he scoffed. He reached thoughtfully into his pocket and found a hole. He panicked. He tore off his gloves and rifled his hands through his jeans. Front pockets, back pockets, key pocket. Again. Check again. Where is it?

He shed his backpack in an instant. Thud, to the ground. It was wearing heavy on him anyway. He hadn’t realized the burden nor the length of day. Emotion contorted his face, one can only be so strong. The emptiness in his chest became a cavernous tomb as he cried out, “Oh no! God!” He sobbed, falling to his knees. He wept. Seeing her hair, golden in the sun. He cried. Feeling her lips against his. A kiss. Her arms around his neck. Her legs entwined with his. She’s gone.

“Where is it!” he cried aloud to no one. Wasn’t she worth it? Wouldn’t she expect him to come for her? No matter how far. He struggled for hope. Tears streaming from his eyes. Salty on his lips. He thirsted. “God, why?”, he cried again. He brought a boot up to the ground and shifted his weight to one knee. Resisting the urge to fall face first, he checked his pockets again. Maybe he moved it? No, it was in that pocket. It was.

He checked his jacket. Two cigarettes. A lighter. A protein bar. He was hungry. He remembered the night before she flew to L.A. Dinner on the patio. Her eyes. Her smile. She burned the roast and the smoke alarms went off. He smiled through his tears. He began to laugh. What else could he do? Give up? He knew he had to keep moving.

He wiped the tears from his face. Grabbing hold of his backpack he struggled up to place his other boot on the ground. “Ouch! What the…” startled now, a sharp pain in his ankle. He reached into his boot, his life returning while gently retrieving her heart-shaped locket.