Stranger

Unknown and barren is this land. Who I am and how I got here is a fuzzy void in my mind. More intense than the hunger in my stomach is the yearning pull to know. Behind me is the soothing rhythmic lapping and foaming of the waves reaching up the shore. The grasses in front of me bow gracefully to the wind, bending and touching each other as if their neighbor was whispering intently the secret I am searching for. I can't see over the hill of grasses, so I quickly turn to look behind, return to the grasses pleading, and look to the left and the right. Between the teasing obscurity of the grasses, the peacefulness of the waves, and the endless unbroken stretching of the horizon in the other two directions, the confusion is immense.

So, I decide not to look at any of it. Instead, I sit down in the sand, close my eyes, and listen. The thoughts of wanting to know keep bouncing in my mind like a tennis ball getting hit back and forth. I can watch the game and realize that there are no players. The thoughts slow to a crawl and then disappear. There is only the wind and the waves. Then I notice the pleasant heat of the sand and sun above and below me. Is there anyone else?

I need to find out. I need to walk. But where? I can see far down the edge of the water in both directions. There seems to be nothing there. I can't walk on water or swim... or can I? Better not to experiment and find out that I can't. The sea behind me sparkles with infinite diamonds, but there is a tense undertone that makes me uneasy in the soothing call of rocking waves and subtle breeze.

The crest of the hill of grass in front of me is not too far and not too steep. The wind and grasses are pulling me in that direction and it's getting more difficult to resist. Time to move.

Time really has no meaning. There are only the feelings of the grasses tickling my legs, the wind caressing my hair, the glaring sun, and the urging sand propelling my feet forward. The physical hunger leaves. There is only the yearning to know. I reach the summit of the small grass-covered hill and I feel the weight of my body drop from my feet in disappointment and awe.

The grass extends to the horizon. Rolling hills crest and recede in a smiling and frowning landscape. Curiosity propels me forward again. Soon I forget what little I had thought about previously. I just need to walk, to find something... anything... anyone... There's got to be more than just sand and sun, wind and waves, grass and ground.

I roam for God knows how long. The sun (is it the sun?) doesn't seem to move. The heat simmers between the grasses, and the beads of sweat on my forehead carve their way down and sting my eyes. Instinctively I take the shirt I am wearing and dab away my blurry vision. I see that my shirt is light gray ragged cloth with a dark gray spot the size of my eye. I look up, the grasses glow and the sand is blinding. I close my eyes. The breeze cools my face, and the grasses grace my leg. There is a burst in the wind and the grasses itch my leg and the first memory blares in my mind.

The slow beeping wakes me. I open my eyes as much as my strength allows. The light is dim, and I barely register four silhouettes at the back of the room. On my right she is closer but faded. I cannot see her expression, yet she is still radiant and holding my hand. I feel her tender caress as warmth in my heart from a lifetime of love. She's talking to me, but I can't hear her. She whispers to me but all I can feel is the sweet cool breeze and I drift into my deepest sleep.

My hair brushes my eye lids and wakes me from my reverie. The oppressive heat returns and the endless sea of grass and sand spreads before my vision again. That memory… was I dying? Am I dead now? Is this…

The wind starts to intensify. The unseen hands of the wind start picking up the dust, which hisses in protest. The wind keeps picking up. More sand keeps ascending and the hissing gets more insistent.

The sands coalesce and forms a dust devil in front of me, far enough away from causing harm, but close enough to keep me on edge. I must be seeing things, that can't be...

What appears to be a faded face is barely noticeable in the swirling sand: small slits for eyes and a thin menacing curl for a mouth. The eyes widen as if opening and the mouth gapes. The hissing becomes deafening and the sand rushes straight at me. I cover my ears with my hands and dip my head into my forearms for protection. All I hear is the hissing and all I see is darkness.

The sun starts pulsing in place: disappearing, reappearing... unbroken moments of darkness and light.

I want to drink again. It is always just a matter of time before it catches up to me. The pressure of continuously putting one foot in front of the other with all my effort builds every day. The beating within my head is slow but accelerates gradually, building each day, week, and month. I even get a year, then a few. I lose track so easily. And then to lose it over such a stupid thing.

The blinking cursor on the blank document taunts me. I have nothing to say, and the irritation is building. So, I get up and find my block breaker: explosive Fireball whiskey in the kitchen cupboard. The urgency of wanting to say something so bad but not knowing what is like trying to swallow a fireball. The literal ones tend to evaporate faster.

The sun has stopped its pulsing but the unimpeded rays pound on my face. Now without sweat and shape and the hope it will be quenched… it must be heat from hell. There is still nothing here except sand and sun, wind and waves, grass and ground. In my mouth, my tongue gets pasted to the parched roof. The dire need for water is strangely lacking, and for an instant I think that I must be dead if I’m thirsty but don’t need water. Then my thoughts are turned by an unseen hand now moving me forward. I roam with blank mind and weary bones barely aware of time’s passing.

I pass boulders much bigger than me. The grains of sand that dance down from the sky on the horizon sparkle like snow at their highest and on the dunes rest. I can barely make out a path that winds passed the boulders. Relieved at finally having guidance, I walk the faded indentation in what has been mostly blanket sand. I eventually come to a bridge, ancient by the looks of it, over a dried-up riverbed. Except it must have been dried for a long time since it is the same sand. Same color and looks like the same texture. But wait, the riverbed looks like a farm… it looks like there are rows of elevated sand, like a mound, with dug valleys in between. It looks very familiar to me, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen the pattern before. I look down at the first plank on the bridge and test it with my foot. It groans in protest. Ignoring it, I press down with all my weight, and it holds. Taking cautious steps, I make my way slowly over the bridge. In the middle, the sight of a figure in the distance stops me. It looks like a statue of a person sitting cross-legged. Ecstatic at the prospect of another person, I take my first heavy step attempting to sprint. A crack of splintered wood, my stomach dipping, and burning pain stop thought and movement.

One leap off this bridge and the silken river will swallow my misery in its undulating shadow. The swirling mist is surreal in my drunken daze and all the streetlights are angels with halos and smiling faces to welcome me to the Great Host. I’m about to jump when the thought appears, “Nothing truly ends.”

I look back at the broken bridge. It wasn’t a long fall to the barren riverbed below, but I don’t remember reaching the other side. It doesn’t really matter, so I keep going. The sky is a cloudless periwinkle and the sun a permanent stare. I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been walking, but it seems like days. There’s just sand and sun, wind and waves, and grass and ground. I arrive at a hill and at the top is what looks like a giant crucifix, a shadow blocking the sun. I climb slowly with increasing strain in my calves and laboring lungs. I reach the top and notice a pair of legs hanging on the other side of the cross. I walk around and see that the whole thing is a wooden carving.

Suspended on a tall wooden wall, he seems to look down on me with pity and judgment. I don’t remember how it came to this, but I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I asked for help and was guided here, to a group of people like me who are trying to be better people. Somehow God is involved. And I wondered whether his son will indeed be my salvation.

The cross and the hill are now behind me. Over my shoulder I could barely see the figure forever hanging. I continue walking, sweat no longer drops from my brow. But the fever swells and the endless horizon swims before my eyes. Then a faded image of the perfect female form entices me from within the haze. Sinuous curves gracefully bounce away from me. Feverish instinct compels me forward. For the first time I run. I feel my stomach plunge as the ground goes out from beneath me.

His tiny hands reach up for mine and snugly fit into my palm. I look into his innocent eyes and feel an overwhelming warmness settle me with welling tears that won't spill. Then a weight sinks into the pit of my stomach. The thought hits me that I will be just like my father.

The darkness is absolute, but the heat has followed. And its presence is imposing. There is something watching me in the abyss. I pray that divine absolution would relieve me from this oppressive fear.

I can't see much on the country road and what I can see shifts from side to side. I keep compensating at the wheel, but my view rocks wider and wider as if to put me to sleep. A loud crash, immense pain, and darkness.

I'm back in the desolate sea of sand and sun, wind and waves, grass and ground. Glittering in the sky, golden granules fall straight down like snow. They are gritty and sting my eyes if I look up at them. I cup my hands together and reach. My suspicion is confirmed: sand. Where is it coming from? The wind kicks up a little sand occasionally, but not enough to come from above me.

This is how it began. I must goad him. Every time he slams the door and stumbles into the house, I know that it is my job as the true man of the house to keep him away from my mother and sister. He sometimes has a belt or baseball bat swinging awkwardly from his stupor. The first few times we huddled together. I was too scared. But then the pain became familiar, almost a friend. And I welcome it because the rest of my life I'm wandering like him, as a stranger.

This can't be right.

I see the end from a stone's throw away. It's dark on the other side?

All of the sand and sun, wind and waves, grass and ground end here? I run as fast as I can and feel glass. It stretches toward the horizon like it's the end of the world falling into infinite void. The sand falls from the sky again and the wind picks up wildly. I pound on the glass and yell. I put everything that has ever been within me, all the joy, anguish, fear, and peace and throw it into my hands and voice. The glass finally bursts, and everything is dark.

Sand and sun, wind and waves, grass and ground. Unknown and barren is this land… but maybe not next time.

I see it again, for the briefest instant. Then everything goes dark again. I hear my mother’s strained crying as I’m being squeezed by the darkness. Then I let out a wail because the light is blinding as I heave my first refreshing breath again.