The Wanderer

I once feared thunderstorms

Thinking it was nothing but chaos.

Then she taught me what they truly were.

Thunder was the music of the heavens…

Lightning was its dance

And rain, its gift.

I always believed that there was this faint whisper, calling to me, deep in the back of my mind.

“Not everything is as it seems…”

“Isn’t there something missing?”

“How can I tell from what is a dream and what is not?”

“Who am I?”

Everything used to be normal at first; wake up, go to work, eat, sleep and repeat. The days just rolled on with one another having no real distinction between them. Without realizing it, life had become like white noise. I felt lost to it and that it was never going to become anything more than that.

Until that fateful night.

It was dark with loud static sounds, but I can hear it, the faint ringing of a small bell. The instant the sound started, the distant smell of rain and wind tingled my senses. When the ringing ended, the smell left.

“Heshh… shhh…shaaalllll.”

The words rang so softly, I can barely them apart from the bell and the static I found myself lost in. I couldn’t see anything; not where it came from or what was even around me. The bell rang again gently.

“He… my …. Ll”

This time, it was like my eyes flew open. There are lightning clouds and a vast barren plain with no hill or dying tree in sight. The land was shriveled as though any hope for life had been long gone and dried. It’s desolate, grey and I felt as though I was fading into it like the static I had been lost to.

“Hear……all”

The gentle bell rang again, a lot stronger, closer. I felt my spirit being pulled to look to my left. There she stood, someone familiar to my soul yet strange to my memory… facing the static. The first thing that stood out to me was her hair. It flowed behind her like wild black fire with decorated, untamed curls. Her clothes were thin, delicate and colored like different shades of the sun. Standing with the strength and pride of a warrior. Looking at her I knew, she’s a wanderer… a spirit. She travels the lands where God sends her and performs His deeds. She is a gypsy.

“….my … ll.”

As she opened her mouth to speak, the gentle bell rang instead of her words. With no voice. The words themselves began to stir in my soul as though it fought the static that had taken hold of me. She closed her eyes and lifted her hands before her as though beckoning something. Then her eyes flew open, and they had become bright and glowing like the halos of angels. The bell rang again, this time stronger, louder and all around me making the static disappear altogether. The smell of rain had returned with a flash of lightning. The clouds rolled as the lightning danced across it and the wind rushed through as though to run into her open arms. The end of the bell’s chime broke into a flood of smaller bells that rang like gentle whispers. As though rain were falling when there was none.

The first bell rang again and instantly, everything disappeared, and the bells fell silent. Even the static that had become a part of me was gone. From deep within my very core, the words stirred and erupted like that sudden storm.

“Hear my call.”

I found myself still in the dark of morning, staring at the ceiling recalling every detail of the dream. From the earthy smell of the rain to the beads and feathers that decorated that woman’s hair. Bringing myself to pull off my blanket and sit on the edge of my bed, I noticed that the sun was starting to rise and instantly thought of the sheer clothing that the woman was wearing. How when the wind shifted though them it seemed to radiate the different shades of the sun. And I continued to sit there, remembering every detail that I can muster. A thought began to wonder through my mind, ‘was that really just a dream? It feels like it’s more than that... I know her.’

The dream made me feel uneasy, anxious and all together just plain nervous. It gave me this gut feeling like there was something I was missing or someone that I’m supposed to find. That woman was so familiar, it felt like I could almost taste her name on the tip of my tongue.

I’m not one of those types of people that wake up early, exercise and prepare for the rest of my day. So, when I wake up in time to be sitting in my bed to watch the sun rise, everyone and their mother stops to gawk at me though my bedroom door. More specifically, MY MOTHER.

“Esta’ muerta?”

The question, in general, was enough to shake me back from the void that I found myself staring into.

“NO AMA! I’M NOT DEAD!”

“Well how would I know?! You never tell me these things!”

She started to mutter under her breath, a lengthy string of Spanish complaints, as she shuffled off back to whatever she was in the middle of doing when she had stopped to check in on me.

I shake off whatever was left of the sleep that was plaguing me, look over to my phone that I had charging on my nightstand. It was still six in the morning, there’s enough time for me to go back to sleep before having to get ready for work. Though for once, I don’t want to go back to sleep. I had a feeling that the dream would continue to haunt me.