back to where I had smashed the sponge

“It couldn’t be any other way.  Each moment of your life is the sum total of all the prior moments.  There’s not a single thing that happens to you that doesn’t leave its mark, doesn’t redirect your course somehow, doesn’t make you more fully who you are.  It took every single step—even the steps you took as life dragged you by the hair of your head—to put you exactly where you are.”

                                    ~~ Jefferson Bass, Bones of Betrayal

            I’ve had many dreams of late, colors and words and faces swirling together in a stream of changing scenes and feelings.  Waking up, I can only try to put together the fragments, like a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, some locking together to create a longer narrative while others never quite come together.

            “How do you feel, sitting with these classmates again?” a voice within me inquired.  I looked around at the smiling, expectant faces, eager to learn and expand their knowledge of molecular biology.  Years ago, we had been classmates, some even friends, and we had not seen each other since then.  Now, we came back together to listen to teachers weave together stories about the building blocks of life, how we all came to be.

            “I am pleased,” I replied, smiling at the others.  “We are making amends.”

            “Amends?” the voice asked, confused by what I meant.

            “For not being kind enough to each other.  For taking others for granted, for ignoring the inherent truth at the core of us all—that we all struggle to survive and we all need to hear that we will be okay.”  I paused, to remember the countless days I wandered the hallways trying to be optimistic, but also hoping I would go unnoticed.  “We are together again having seen more of life and the world, and we will be kinder.  Although we cannot rewrite the past, we can make amends.”

            I’ve been researching graduate programs in Forensic Science for the last month or two.  In high school, all I wanted to be was “a Forensic Scientist for the FBI.”  For my senior project, I created a crime scene—a three-foot by three-foot by three-foot crime scene of plywood, Plexiglas, and carpet.  I found a recipe for a fluid with a similar viscosity to blood and splattered drops of it at different angles.  I calculated the ratio of the drops, pairing that ratio with the angle of impact.  Then, I soaked a sponge in the fake blood and splattered it across my crime scene, smashing the sponge with a hammer.  Working backwards, as if seeing the gruesome scene for the first time, I attached strings to the individual blood spatters at the angle at which they hit the surface and was able to trace the trajectories back to where I had smashed the sponge.

I found my project in a box of old school things and read through it.  There was a post-project questionnaire that I had to fill out and one of my answers was, "I am even more excited to study this field than before."

            I have contemplated what caused my fixation on becoming a forensic scientist.  After all, I never watched any crime shows until my junior year of college, and we didn’t have an introductory class in high school.  The only thing I can think of is the day I heard the crunch of steel on steel.  I ran to the scene of a massive accident on Lake Road.  I had my camera with me, I loved taking photos of anything, and I snapped photos from every angle.  I wondered why it had happened, who was at fault, and if it could have been prevented.  I’ve always asked questions as to why something happens and how certain things come to pass.  Perhaps it is this curious nature that caused me to choose forensic science.

            It is this need for answers that led me to choose Environmental Studies after Hurricane Katrina and the mudslides in Guatemala and the huge earthquake in the Indian Ocean that resulted in that horrific tsunami.  I wanted to answer those very same questions I had tried to answer after the car accident.  As I studied, I knew the answers would never come, but I kept reaching.  After years of obsessing, I finally accepted that these questions would never be answered when it came to nature and the environment.  So, my focus has returned to the less-grey nature of forensic science—a desired path I had buried with my pre-Katrina past, but it was always there, trying to be heard.

After analyzing how the blood spattered on each surface depending on the angles, I created my crime scene, measured the spatter and calculated the angles of impact to put the story back together.

            In order to qualify for the graduate programs I have found of interest, I must take a few more science classes before I am fully qualified.  I will take Molecular Biology & Genetics and Organic Chemistry in the spring and summer in order to begin a graduate program in the fall.  Since it has been years since I have studied chemistry, I am attempting to re-teach myself general chemistry so I will be ready for the more advanced organic chemistry.  I am still in the beginning chapters, but I find the problems to be fun—little puzzles that lead to one answer in black or white, no grey.  I have missed the world of hard science.

            However, there is so much more I have to do in order to enter a forensic science graduate program.  I have to fill out the applications, visit campuses to tour the laboratories and talk to current students.  But I am nervous that none of the programs will accept me, being as competitive as they are, and that thought makes me so anxious that I am almost too nervous to try.  Then, there is another part of me that insists if I try my best, I will succeed.  When this voice is louder, my heart beats with excitement and anticipation of what life has in store for me. 

            And how I want this so much.  I feel like I have gone to the end of the earth and returned only to find that what once was true is still true because some things never change—whether that truth is my desire to study forensics or the truth is more universal about the survival and desires of each and every one of us. 

           

round eyes peaked through the leaves

             I walked on a paved trail, leaving the city behind.  It was another perfect day—clear blue sky, gentle sun rays, and a calm breeze.  There was a small plane, like those that fly by sporting events advertising insurance, pulling an American flag across the sky.  It made a turn and the flag whipped around catching on a wing.  The plane spun out of control, nose pointing to the ground, altitude rapidly decreasing.  Like a deer caught in headlights, I stared as its nose aimed directly at where I stood.  Finally, as if pulling my feet out of molasses, I surged forward as the small plane, wrapped in the flag, crashed to the ground next to me.  I expected an explosion, but none occurred.  Continuing down the path, I distanced myself from the crash site as fast as I could in case it erupted in flames. 

            I entered a dense forest and all around, large ferns rolled out new shoots, chipmunks and lizards rustled through brown leaf litter, woody lianas wound through branches and climbed tall trunks toward the early summer sun, and colorful birds fluttered and twittered among leafy treetops.  The ground sloped down sharply, but the trail did not, becoming a hanging path—long and winding, remaining flat as the ground fell away.  I tentatively placed a foot on the shaky wooden planks and transferred my weight until I was sure it would hold me.  Ropes hung at waist level allowing me to reach out to steady myself.

  

            Walking along the wobbly path, I peered down to the forest floor.  From above, it was a carpet of new green from which large trees reached up to the vast sky above.  Hovering in this middle ground between earth and sky, I felt as if I was intruding; eavesdropping on some secret that natural ground-dwellers weren’t suppose to hear. 

            Suddenly, the green ground began to move, and round eyes peaked through the leaves.  I held my breath, not daring to move, as short, scrawny, two-legged creatures emerged from the undergrowth, stretching long blue arms and yawning.  They didn’t seem to see me standing above them, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I quietly and quickly walked on, leaving them be.

            The path twisted and curved around the trees, still hovering above the ground.  Rounding another turn, the earth dropped down further and I stood above a sandy beach.  The yellow and tan grains stretched ahead to the horizon.  The forest loomed behind me and ran along the beach opposite the water.  There were a few people walking along the shore, enjoying the azure water.  The suspended trail gently snaked its way down to the sand.

            Before I reached the end of the wooden planks, the calm breeze became a strong wind and the sea began to roil and churn.  Tall waves pounded the shore, and the people on the beach gathered their belongings, staying away from the reaching waters.  I backed up the hanging path, keeping an eye on the angry swells as they grew and multiplied.

            Suddenly, creatures began to walk out of the waves.  They looked like the extinct Tyrannosaurus Rex—large oblong heads, sharp teeth bared.  The creatures walked into the shallows and onto the beach on strong hind legs, stunted arms reaching out ahead.  As far as I could see, countless creatures emerged from the sea and onto the beach.  I turned back to the forest, walking up the path, out of reach of the wild waves and strange T-Rex-like creatures. 

            Joined by the beach goers, the trail was crowded as we rushed through the forest, passing the tiny blue creatures foraging in the lush green undergrowth.  Reaching solid ground, I let out a breath I had been holding.  Strange things were happening in the forest and on the beach, and a plane had crashed in the clearing ahead. Behind me and in front of me were confusion and uncertainty, but this place felt safe.  My feet were on the ground, along with the little animals that scurried through the undergrowth.  Beneath this, in the soil, worms and insects worked and snakes made their homes.  Above me, trees stretched their branches to the blue sky, where birds and butterflies reigned.  That all made sense to me; I wanted to stand on that patch of ground forever.

as time and space passed by

             If there was no wall of aluminum silicate glass and the shuttle wasn't moving, the deck on which I stood could have been the large balcony of an estate house.  I leaned against the railing with a dozen or so classmates and watched the scenery go by. We passed Jupiter and the rings of Saturn, really just asteroids caught by its gravity—we could see every individual rock.   Speeding by Uranus and Neptune, they seemed stunted after the real gas giants.

            I thought we were headed to the moon.  The Earth was now a tiny blue dot in the dark expanse; we had passed its dusty grey satellite long ago. 

            We left the solar system and space was hardly empty.  It was filled with bright stars of blue, green, yellow, and red.  Some were young when I saw them, but so far away that they had already died.  And there were asteroids and comets and planets that had yet to be discovered.

            I stepped to my telescope and focused it on Earth’s pinprick of light.  I saw gladiators fighting in the Roman Colosseum, entertaining bloodthirsty crowds.  I watched as laborers stacked bricks to connect fortresses and smaller walls into one Great Wall that slithered through mountains and across the Gobi Desert.  I saw the Sphinx sitting regally, rising from the sands as peasants cultivated the fertile river delta. 

            Shocked, I checked to see if anyone else had seen this.  But my classmates stood idly chatting, gazing out the window as time and space passed by.   I turned back to my telescope and watched the history of humanity and the Earth rewind to nothing.

the other side of the fence

            I had helped to plan the trip, but as our departure drew closer I grew weary.  Something didn’t seem right.  There were discussions behind closed doors, with people I had never seen before, to which I wasn’t invited.  What had started between my friend and her brother seemed to be growing out of control, international businessmen began to take over.  We had planned to go abroad and explore new places, but now, with hushed tones and paranoid glances, our trip had taken on sinister undertones.

            We headed out to the cars—dark sedans, tinted windows.  I had never seen them before.  This is really strange.  I slung my bag over my shoulder, filled with a couple changes of clothes, a book, and toiletries, and pretended not to be alarmed.  My friend, her brother, and I piled into the cars along with the businessmen.  Since when were they coming, too?  I plastered a little smile on my face, trying to look as if this was only to be expected.

            When we disembarked from the cars, we weren’t at the departure terminal of the airport.  Instead, we were in a large hangar with three Boeing 737s.  I saw that one of the planes was boarding and noticed that a group of young woman, with bags much like my own, huddled nearby.

            After the cabin door shut, engines whirring, mechanical arms extended from the sides of the airplane.  I blinked hard and shook my head; I have to be imagining this.  When I opened my eyes, the young women had formed two lines, fear and uncertainty covering their faces, as an official-looking man shouted orders.  One by one, the mechanical arms wrapped around the women and held them above the ground.

            Is anyone going to stop this?  I looked around frantically.  People were going about their business like this was normal.  A similar group of young women had formed around me.  Am I next?  I tried to hold my fear at bay.  No way.  This is going to be a fun trip with friends!  I tried to console myself.  But my situation was growing far too similar to the one I was witnessing.  When the mechanical arms of the plane secured all the women, the plane pulled out of the hangar.  My breathing stopped and my blood ran cold.  What   is   going   on?

            One of the remaining airplanes pulled up to the group with which I stood.  The cabin door opened and steps were rolled up so that boarding might begin.  The businessmen climbed aboard, as did my friend’s brother.  My friend was nowhere to be seen.

            The cabin door closed, the stairs were rolled away, and the engines growled.   The women made two lines on either side of the plane, as ordered, and mechanical arms began to reach out.  I looked to either side of me as the metal claw wrapped around my torso.  The same thing was happening to the other women as well.  Terror filled their eyes. 

            Then, another man appeared, a grin playing at his lips.  He walked with a sense of power in his wing-tipped shoes and smart black suit.  He peered at each of the women, searching their faces.  He approached me and leaned forward to inspect my face and my uncomfortable situation.  I wanted to ask what was going on, but no sounds escaped.  He could sense my fear was changing to anger.  “Humph,” he looked at me down his nose one last time as he moved on to the next women.

            I looked down at the arm around my waist, trying to wiggle free.  I have to escape.  What are they trying to do? Why? What are their plans? Why aren’t we safe inside the plane?  At 30,000 feet we’ll freeze!  We’ll suffocate! Suddenly an image flashed into my mind.  In it, each woman was dropped from the plane.  We aren’t going to die, it will be worse.  They would make sure of that.  But they didn’t need to treat us like people, because to them, we weren’t human—we’re a commodity.

            The man in the suit made his way to the end of the line and the official-looking man stayed close to him.  There was no one else guarding the plane.  I took my chance and began prying open the metal claw as much as I could.  I slipped to the ground, holding my bag close, and ran as fast as I possible out of the hangar into the daylight. 

            A high chain link fence surrounded the hangar, with a large gate to let out the planes.  Businessmen walked about, talking in hushed voices, and guards with large automatic rifles slung walked the perimeter.  I kept running.  I knew my running would draw attention, but they would see me either way—I was not a businessman, nor was I a guard.  But if I kept running, they would have less time to act.

            I ran toward the gate as it began to close.  A guard stood directly in my path, but I didn’t hesitate.  Every moment counted.  For a split second he stared at me, shocked that someone would try to escape.  Then he began yelling orders to the others.  I ran faster and faster, trying to get to the gate before it closed completely, trapping me inside this strange compound. 

            And then I was there, at the gate, sliding through the narrow opening.  I didn’t know what would be on the other side of the fence.  Most likely it was a wide-open tarmac over which I would have to run before I got to safety.  Or there could be more guards waiting to capture me.  Or it could be something completely different—it could be a field of wildflowers with butterflies drinking their sweet nectar and birds flittering about in the sun, with a path leading into a quiet lush forest, just for me. 

            But before I could find out, everything went black.

with every push of the pedal

            As my pain has increased and my energy has decreased, I haven’t ridden a bicycle.  It became too difficult—no longer any fun.  In Pittsburgh, it was one of my main modes of transportation, along with walking and city buses.  It was always an adventure going from one place to another, never knowing what might happen between the two points.

            I was taking the long way, riding on dirt roads trying to remember where and when to turn, road names and distances.  I wasn’t sure of my destination, but that didn’t worry me.  With every push of the pedal, I passed stands of trees, mailboxes next to gravel driveways, and fields of tall grasses swaying in the light breeze.  The air filled my nostrils, sweet with pollen from flowers and trees as they woke up from the long winter.  The sky was an expansive blue, dotted by light cottony clouds, sunrays gently reaching through fresh green leaves to dance alongside my bicycle on the brown earth.

  

            The road narrowed and I wondered if I had missed my turn.  That could have been it there, but that seemed too soon.  I kept pedaling, looking out for my turn.  Soon, the trees opened up to a large field with a house sitting in the middle, on a small hill.  Beautiful, I thought.  What a nice place to live, in peace and quiet.  The house, painted white, had two stories with a porch that wrapped around the first floor.  It looked like an old farmhouse, but there was no farm nearby.  It was in good condition but I couldn’t see any sign of life inside or out, other than the swallows diving across the field to catch their meal.

            I continued forward, even though at this point I was sure I had missed my turn.  Just passed the house, the land ended, replaced by beautiful calm water reflecting the sky.  This is not supposed to be here.  I am far from any lake or sea.  Confused, I slowed down as I kept riding on the little dirt road.  It curved with the edge of the water.  I was on a peninsula, consisting of nothing but the old farmhouse and the field on which it stood.  It was a stunning picture; the sunrays now playing in the grass, the breeze now carrying the salty sent of ocean.  But I had definitely missed my turn.

            I turned around, making a half circle in the grass, returned to the narrow dirt road, headed back the way I had come.  I hoped to find my turn.  I passed the house and the field, left the water behind me and entered a dense stand of trees.  I passed mailboxes next to gravel driveways and the ground beneath my wheels grew damp.  Where did that come from?  It hadn’t rained since I had been through here and there had been absolutely no water nearby.  Soon, the water in the road was an inch deep.  And then it was two. 

            The water was perfectly clear, not muddied by the dirt it covered, or by the wheels of my bike as I pedaled through.  I continued passed fields of tall grasses and into another stand of trees.  The ground sloped down to the left of the road. I hadn’t noticed that before. And I saw that it, too, was covered by clear water.  Where was this water coming from?  It seemed to be seeping up from below.  Why?  Puzzled by the secret sea and the mysterious water covering the ground, I kept pedaling forward, searching for my missed turn.

or there was nowhere else to go

             I stood in line at an Asian café, trying to make sense of the pictures and the characters on the menu board behind the counter.  Ahead of me, two women discussed their own selections in a language I had never heard before.  Its cadence and inflection was like nothing else and the words were completely unfamiliar.  When it was their turn to order, one woman translated for the other to the woman taking their order from behind the register.

            “Where are you from?” The woman behind the register asked when she heard the unfamiliar words.

            “Bermuda,” the translator replied.

            Bermuda?  I thought to myself.  As in the Bermuda Triangle? I didn’t know it had such a unique language.  I wracked my brain; searching all of my files to see what information I had on Bermuda.  Not much.  Strange.

            Soon it was my turn to order and I still had not figured out what was on the menu.  There was a picture of a noodle dish on the menu board.  Anything will work.  “Do you have something like Pad Thai?”

            The woman behind the register gave me a questioning look and opened up a notebook with everything they had to offer.  “Um, we don’t have that, but we have other noodle dishes.”  She showed me the list of noodle dishes, written in the same foreign characters.  It wasn’t Mandarin, Korean, or Japanese.  It was definitely not Thai, or Russian for that matter.

            Eventually I just pointed to something and hoped it would taste good.  As I waited for my tray of food, I looked around at the tables.  Every seat seemed to be taken.  Either the food was that good or there was nowhere else to go.

            When my food was ready, it looked fine, and I was hungry.  I weaved my way through the crowd and found one empty chair at a table where five people already sat.  I asked if it would be all right if I joined them and they looked at me vacantly for a moment and shrugged.  I took it as a yes, and settled down at their table.

            They were an odd bunch, I realized on closer examination.  There were three men and two women, grouped into pairs, with an odd man out.  Each of the couples fawned over one another and occasionally looked at everyone else around them in disgust.  The third man seemed to be their friend, exchanging a few words here and there, but he was not enjoying himself.  He was handsome, but not overly so.  He had a full head of brown hair, cut short, but not so short that it was a buzz cut.  He had sharp jaw-line and healthy physique, brown eyes brooding, but also kind.

            Suddenly the two couples turned to look at me.  About to take a bite, I lowered my fork and sat back, guarding myself.  In their eyes, all I could see was hatred. They reached out to me, as if to grab me, one holding a knife.  I have done nothing to these people.  They inched toward me with an evil purpose, eyes and intention unwavering.

            I slowly slid my chair back across the tile floor, looking around for an ally.  My eyes met those of the third man and he motioned for me to come with him.  Summoning up all of my strength and courage, I broke through the wall of evil and followed him out the door.

            It was dark outside, the stars and moon blocked by a blanket of clouds.  No light escaped the windows of the Asian café.  When did it become night?  How long was inside?  I had just gone there for lunch.  I shook my head, trying to straighten out my thoughts; nothing made any sense.

            “Thank you for saving me in there,” I offered.  “I have no idea what just happened.”

            Giving no explanation, the man put an arm around me and stared into the night.  I rested my head on his shoulder.  Having no idea who this man was, I felt safer than I had in a very long time.  We sat on the concrete steps outside the café for a long time.  Although no words were passed between us, I began to gain an understanding of his goodness and of his hopes and desires and his own past pain.

            The next day, I thought about what had happened.  It was all so strange and seemed completely unreal.  I tried to sort out the previous days events.  I went to lunch and there were two women speaking a language that resembled no other language in the world.  The menu was also written in a strange language.  I found a seat at a crowded table when, suddenly, the two couples started to attack me... very slowly.  And their friend saved me. Or was he their friend?  Maybe he was there for the very purpose of saving me.  We sat outside for a while and then he left.  As I continued my attempts to rationalize the events, they made less and less sense.  I have to find that man.

             Running errands around town, I scanned the streets and sidewalks for the man from the day before.  There were a lot of people going about their business; it was a busy day for everyone. 

             I stopped by the library, and the bank, and was heading to the grocery store when I saw him.  He was walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street.  I stopped to watch him, wondering what I should do.  I wanted to talk to him, to be in his presence, but did he want to see me?  I didn’t know.  If I don’t go over to him now, I might never see him again.  I would never be able to live with myself if that happened.

            Straightening out my shoulders, I walked across the street with decisive intention in every step.  Walking up behind him, I hesitated again, wondering if I should really do this.  He looked ordinary in every way—just another busy person going about his business on a beautiful spring day.  But I knew he wasn't ordinary.  I have to talk to him.  I’m too close.  I reached out and tapped his shoulder.

            As he turned toward me, I smiled nervously.  “Hi,” I said.  “I don’t know if you want to see me, but…”

            Before I could continue, a smile spread across his face, eyes sparkling.  He reached out to me and enveloped me in a warm hug.  “Of course,” he replied.  “Of course I want to see you.”

            I closed my eyes, safe again in his arms.  I felt his warmth, goodness, kindness, and hopes intertwine with my own.

            “I feel as if I am twelve again,” he said to me.  And I understood.

nowhere to go but up

 

            The beach holds a special draw to me.  When I am relaxed and unthinking, that is where I seem to go.

            With light steps and a light heart, I walked across the sand dunes from the village streets, heading toward the beach.  It was a beautiful day.  The sun shone brightly and a few perfectly white clouds moved slowly across the deep blue sky.  I had my daypack strapped across my back with my towel, book, sunscreen, snacks, and camera inside.  I searched for a place to sit, but it was so crowded that everyone stood, watching the ocean.  Few people ventured into the warm water.  It looked calm, but everyone stared anxiously at the water, waiting for something to happen.  No one was relaxed.

            Without warning, a large wave stretched up, forming a wall of water between the beach and the horizon.  All I could do was stare in shock.  I looked just like all of the other spectators, watching the water, wondering what might happen next.  The wave did not move toward the shore, or retreat to the horizon, it remained stationary.  I could see water moving within the wave, but it neither grew nor shrunk. Seagulls, pelicans, and sandpipers had do gain altitude in order to fly to the other side of the wave.

            Looking down the beach to my left, I noticed two other waves had formed just like the first.   These waves were even stranger.  They were perpendicular to the first, and they actually crossed over the beach.  There was a small gap between the waves, like an entrance into a different world.  I looked behind me and nothing made sense.  Waves had risen where the sand dunes had been.  Two of them, with a gap in between.  In the space between the waves, I could see a brick building in the village.  A large tree grew from it roof, its trunk twisted and gnarly, leaning over the side, trying to reach its branches to the sun.

            I turned back to face the first wave just as it fell down from the sky.  The water was calm, as if nothing had happened.  I looked where the other waves had been and they had also disappeared.   

            But suddenly the ocean began to rise, and everyone bunched tighter together, too scared to enter the water, but too shocked to run away.  And then the waves rose up again, closer than before.  We were surrounded by walls of water on every side and the ocean continued to rise.  People pushed and shoved, getting as far away from the water as they could.  But there was no more, “away.”  The water reached our feet, then our ankles, and soon our knees.  There was nowhere to go but up.

           

            I cannot seem to get away from water and waves for any significant amount of time.  If water represents emotion, I guess that waves must be the rising of emotion.  Would positive emotions take the form of waves, or just negative ones?  When standing on a beach, faced by turbulent surf of tall waves, I don’t feel calm, peaceful, and safe.  I feel the opposite.  I am careful to keep my distance so that I am not swept into the powerful waves, to be taken away.  Therefore, waves must represent difficult emotions.  In the form of a wave, fear or anger or sadness can no longer be ignored.  The emotions want to be recognized.  They want to release their energy like the ocean, using waves as a metaphor, so that they may be recognized, accepted, and move through the body, to be replaced by the peaceful sea.

no other living thing dare tread on its surface

 

            A while back, I was riding on a bus full of passengers both young and old, from all walks of life.  The miles passing under the wheels of the bus and its straining engine were the only sounds in the cabin.  Everyone stared out of the windows at the barren landscape, burnt tumbleweeds rolling alongside the bus.  The sun scorched the clear sky and evaporated every hint of moisture.

            I awoke from my desert reverie when a commotion broke out just ahead of me on the bus.  The driver strode back and pointed a hand, skin as rough as a sunning alligator’s, directly in my face.  “You,” he grumbled.  “Get off my bus.  Now.”  Startled, I looked around at the other passengers.  They all watched me, waiting for me to disembark.  I peered out the window, at the miles of hot, dry sand, and looked back at him questioningly.  Browned skin stretched taught across his face, salt stains spreading through his white button down shirt, he waited with his hands on hips. 

            Does he mean to leave me in the middle of the desert on a road where we have seen no other cars?  I slowly rose, distributing my weight between my two quaking legs and looked at him once more.  He caught my gaze and lowered his eyes in a slow nod, waiting for me to pass.  I walked to the front and went down the steps.  I stepped onto the road, so hot that heat shimmered above it and no other living thing dare tread on its surface.  

            Through the windows, I watched the driver deliberately walk to his seat behind the wheel and close the doors with a hiss.  The passengers turned back to their windows, staring at the Martian landscape as if nothing had happened.   The driver put the bus in gear and began accelerating down the road. 

            Shocked, I couldn’t believe what was happening.  I had nothing with me except the clothes on my back and my worn out shoes.  My bags!  My belongings!  They’re still on the bus!  I took off running as fast as I could in the dusty exhaust trail.  Running faster and faster, I gained on the bus, only for the bus to pull ahead.  “Stop!”  I yelled.  “Wait!”

            I kept running, anxiety mounting and sweat evaporating the second it oozed through my pores, leaving a salty film behind.  “Stop!” Everything is on that bus!  All of my things.  My history.  My whole being and the contents connected to me.  The bus showed no signs of stopping.

            Suddenly, a man ran next to me.  “I can help you!”  He yelled over the sound of the bus’s engine, “Just keep running!”  I nodded in agreement as my feet continued pounding the hot asphalt.  Who are you?  I wanted to ask, but all I could do was croak a strange sound. 

            Soon, he picked up speed, approaching the back of the bus and leapt onto the rear bumper.  My things we piled with everyone else’s, and I could see them through the back window.  He opened the window and stuck the top of his body into the bus, still standing on the narrow bumper.  I kept running.

            As he began to pull himself out of the window, the bus made a sharp turn.  I had been so busy watching the man, I hadn’t noticed the approach of distant buildings.  The bus slowed down and pulled into the station.  The man jumped off, holding my large black duffle back.  My baggage!  I instantly stopped running, exhausted from the harsh heat coming from the sun and the road. 

            The man handed me my bag and I graciously accepted it.  Reunited with my possessions and with myself, I breathed a sigh of relief.

           

no sound escaped through its walls

            Many times I’ve walked up and down these strange structures.  Although definitely not stairs, that is the way they are used.  They resemble two stone towers reaching from the ground all the way up to the top of a huge brick wall that keeps the cliff from crumbling down onto the streets below.  There is a narrow opening all the way from top to bottom, splitting one side of each tower to permit people to enter and exit, and allowing sunlight light the insides. These towers have no internal framework that normal working buildings have.  There are no floors or ceilings, no rooms and no staircases or hallways.  Instead, there are piles and piles of colorful fabrics that are stacked and moved around by people whose only purpose is to do so.  Some of the piles are only one or two feet tall, while others reach all the way up to the top of the brick wall, and there are all heights in between.  Climbing these stacks of fabric is the only way that a person can get from the village to the top of the cliff.  While climbing, the workers continue to shift the piles of fabric around, forcing the travelers to change their routes.  No words are ever exchanged between the stackers and the villagers—that’s how it had to be.

            I stepped, climbed, and scrambled my way to the top of the fabric filled tower, relieved when I planted both feet on the sturdy ground above.  Looking back, it looked like I had just come from Madurodam in The Hague.  The streets of the village, lined with rustic stone and brick buildings with trees and parks sprinkled here and there, seemed to have shrunk into miniature.  Toy cars inched down the winding roads and little people went in and out of shops and cafés like ants picking up supplies to bring back to the colony.

            I followed the stone path from the cliff’s edge to the long brick building.  The stones in the path were worn down, polished and smooth from the constant foot traffic.  The landscape was a lush green.  There were few trees and some flowering bushes here and there, but the land was mostly made up of the soft grass that invites passersby to lie back and forget the day. 

            Finally, I approached my destination.  The single story building looked like something between a school and a prison.  It had few windows and no sound escaped through its walls.  It was not inviting and gave me the sense that my breath would be stolen away as soon as I passed through its large main doors.  This certainly did not seem like a place where people went for medical care.  But it was—this building was a hospital.

            Benches lined the walk leading up to its entrance.  The reception area sat just outside the main doors and was covered by a large awning.  As I walked by, I gave the receptionists a quick nod before pushing open the heavy doors.  As they thudded shut behind me, I was plunged into an eerie silence and I knew something was wrong.  Something evil was lurking inside.  I tiptoed down the abandoned hallway.  The overhead lights seemed too dim and all of the doors to the patient’s rooms were closed and I knew what evil thing was here.

            He was here.  By the quality of the silence and the slightly acrid smell in the air, I knew he was in the building.  He’s chased me through countless city streets, into empty parking garages, but he’s never caught me.  And this time, I am the one chasing him.  And I had found him.  But why here?  Why a hospital?  And why this one? 

            I spun around and ran back the way I had come in.  Bursting through the doors, I stumbled up to reception.  “I need to borrow you phone.  I have to make a call.  It’s an emergency!”  I wheezed.  A receptionist held the phone to her ear with dark red manicured nails and looked at me blankly.  Another replied, “We don’t have a phone that you can use.”  I opened my mouth to persuade her to let me use that phone when she continued, “But there’s a pay phone over there.”

            I followed her gaze down the path and saw the payphone between a bench and a tree.  Once I registered the phone’s location, I briskly turned in its direction, thrusting my hands into the depths of my pockets to locate some change.  They were empty, but I ran to the phone anyway.  I’ll call Collect, I grumbled to myself without actually saying a word. 

            As I picked up the receiver, I spotted a Quarter on the ground.  Face up.  I shoved it into the coin slot and dialed my friend’s number.  While it rang, I glanced around at the people sitting on the benches and the nurses taking their patients outside.  They all seemed to be staring at me.

            Finally, she picked up with a casual, “Hello?”  There was no time for pleasantries.  “Listen,” I hissed into the phone.  “He’s here.  I need back up.  You need to get over here as soon as possible.”  Without asking who “he” was or to where she was supposed to rush off, she agreed.  She was always able to fill in the blanks.

            I put the receiver back into its cradle and leaned against the payphone, trying to calm down while I waited for her to arrive.  I couldn’t stand still.  I peered down the walkway to see if she was on her way, but I couldn’t make her out.  She wasn’t coming soon enough.  I walked back to the building, feeling the eyes of the reception staff following me.  “Humph.  I wonder what’s wrong with her?”  Someone whispered loud enough for me to hear.  Whatever.  I’m about to save everyone in this place.

            I crept down the hallway again, lights still dim and doors still closed.  I continued my sweep of the hospital.  Deliberately walking down every hallway, I looked for something out of place.  It seemed completely deserted inside. There weren’t even any gurneys or food trays in the hallways.  Where is everyone?  Hopefully safely behind the closed doors.  It was much safer for everyone if they were, but I felt completely exposed and alone.  But I was determined and I knew I could do this.

            I came upon a door that led into a ward with heightened security.  The patients in this wing were at risk for wandering off or running away.  I realized there were actually two sets of doors to pass through before entering the ward and the second required a security pass.  I’ll swipe one from a nurse if I need a card.  I looked through the window of the door and was surprised to see a man in a wheelchair, his back to me.  That’s the first person I’ve seen inside here today.  I hesitated at the door, looking around to see if my friend had arrived yet.  No one was coming. 

            I looked back through the window as the man began to turn around.  When I saw his face, I took a sharp breath.  It took every ounce of courage to not take a step back.  I couldn’t let him see my fear.  His eyes locked on mine and a grotesque smile played at his lips, grossly distorting his face.  He was waiting for me. 

it could have been the moon's reflection

             Usually my gliding was a way of making traveling by foot a bit easier.  It’s kind of like standing on those moveable walkways they have at the airport, but instead I glide, mid-stride, about a foot above the ground.  It’s easier to go down the stairs this way, and it’s faster and more efficient than walking, taking less energy but having greater speed.  If someone is in pursuit, or if I am chasing someone, gliding is my mode of choice.

            But today was totally different.  I appeared to be in a sort of gymnasium with a high ceiling and various gymnastics equipment—a balance beam, parallel bars, and more of that sort of thing.  My interests lay in a set of three flat…well; I guess they most resembled giant tables.  Each was set many feet away from the other and they decreased in height.  These giant tables took up most of the space in the gymnasium.

            Starting on a platform raised before the highest table, I took a few steps and pushed myself up into the air, moving forward in a high arc, almost reaching the ceiling, before landing on the first table.  As I landed, I used my momentum to jump into the air again, in a similar fashion as the first time, landing on the second table, and then jumping to the third.  I pushed off of the third and flew through the air, arching down toward to ground.  This landing could hurt!  I am going too fast.  I grimaced.  But I slowed just before reaching the ground, landing gracefully on my feet.  A smile spread across my face.  That had been so much fun! 

            I caught the eye of a man standing by the balance beam, who looked at me with a small smile, shaking his head, “You are such a show off!”  I scowled in return.  He strode to the platform and leapt from table to table, trying to imitate the height I had, but clearly failed.  When he landed he began to laugh, “I can’t come close to what you did.”  I started laughing, too, realizing that he had been joking, and didn’t really think I had been showing off.

            I did the table course a few more times, before leaving to meet a friend in her classroom.  As I reached her classroom, I still felt a buzz from my newly found talent.  I was there to help her reorganize the desks before class began.  Once we finished, I wanted to show her what I could do.  I leapt from desk to desk, being careful not to arc as high as I had in the gymnasium; the low ceiling of the classroom would definitely not allow that.

            “Okay, okay!  I get it!” She said as I continued, with a similar shake of the head and small smile as the man at the gymnasium had had.  “You better stop before the kids arrive.”  She gave me a look conveying that I could cause quite a stir if they saw me performing this stunt.

            I understood, but just before I stopped, I turned a corner between desks, using the wall as a jumping off point.  Awesome!  This is almost like parcours!  I had always wanted to be able to do parcours.  But then I stopped my playing, because I really didn’t want to cause my friend any difficulty with her class.  I knew it must be frustrating to begin with, trying to get twenty six-year-olds to follow her lesson plan.

            We chatted a bit about whatever we thought we needed to tell each other, then I gave her a hug goodbye.

            As night began to fall, I joined some friends for drinks on a canyon’s rim.  I excused myself after awhile to take a walk to enjoy the warm night.  The moon was as full as it had ever been, glowing brightly, casting the canyon in its cool light, creating dark shadows where it could not reach. 

            I looked back to where my friends sat, satisfied that I was far enough away before I pushed off the edge and floated above the canyon.  Its spires reminded me of the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, but they weren’t quite as high.  I floated above the spires, in the direction of the moon, when I noticed something glowing beneath me.  If I had been floating over water, it could have been the moon’s reflection.  I drew nearer to take a closer look.  It was the same size as the moon in the sky, glowing the same ethereal light. 

            Did the moon’s sister fall from the sky, to land in this small, obscure canyon?  But as I drew nearer the glow started to fade and it did not look like the moon after all.  It was an odd shape, almost like a pear, made of grey sedimentary rock.  This in itself was puzzling since the canyon was made of red and brown rock; the color grey was no where to be found except in this strange rock. 

            I turned back to the canyon’s edge, where my friends were talking and drinking and laughing.  I looked back at the rock and saw it glowing again.  Maybe it’s just some strange optical illusion.  I tried to convince myself of this, but I wasn't.  It had really shaken me up. 

            I landed back on the rim, a few hundred feet away from my friends, and looked back across the canyon at the moon.  That was the only moon I could see, for the canyon’s spires obscured the strange glowing rock. 

            I slowly returned to my friends, inhaling the scent of the red dirt beneath my feet and the hint of honeysuckle on the breeze, though I could see no flowers.  As I drew closer, I heard someone say, “It would be just great if it rained right now.  With thunder and everything.”  There was a murmur of agreement.

            I looked at the stars in the clear sky above and wondered if I could make it rain.  I closed my eyes, forming dark clouds heavy with rain and electricity in my minds eye.  I heard the howl of wind through the canyon and felt a cool drop of rain, followed by another.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

            I smiled as I opened my eyes and joined my friends again, to watch as the storm rolled in over the canyon.

           

the forest on the edge of the sea

             Standing on a beach, I’m surrounded by people sunning themselves, playing volleyball, throwing frizbees, and wading in the calm water.  The sun beats down on my light skin, but the wind keeps me from feeling it’s harshest rays.  Palm fronds sway back and forth, keeping time with the gentle swoosh of the small waves.  I close my eyes and take a breath, inhaling the salty sea air deep into my lungs, holding onto it for a moment before letting it go.

            I hear a cry of alarm and my eyes snap open, searching for the source of the yell.  I scan the beach to see what is wrong. The gentle waves have stopped and the water is quickly receding.  Rocks that were once submerged now show their sharp edges, threatening to cut open the sky.

            I can’t move as the realization hits me.  Oh no.  I try to swallow but I can’t.  A tsunami is coming.  Panic rises and I watch as beachgoers snatch up their belongings and begin to run inland.  They’re going the wrong way!  There is no higher ground where they are going!

            I go against the instinct telling me to put as much distance between the beach and myself as fast I can.  Instead, I run parallel to the ocean up a slope toward forest.  As the land rises, the terrain changes.  The sand starts to blend with soil until the ground is spongy and cool against my bare feet.  Small shrubs give way to tall evergreens, until I am running through the forest on the edge of the sea. 

            There are no sounds of life aside from my thumping heartbeat and gasps for air.  I stop and walk to the edge of the cliff, where I see bare roots that once clung to the soil before the water swept it away.  Water always wins that fight.

            I realize the water has stopped receding, and my breath catches.  The giant waves are racing toward the land like a cheetah about to capture its prey, or a bullet train exploding though the terminal at the end of the line.

            The water won’t reach me.  I am confident.  I am standing on a cliff towering over the ocean floor.  My stomach tightens as I think of all of the people trying to outrun the wave on flat ground.  Water always wins the fight.

            And it’s here. 

The waves smash against the cliff, and I take a step away from the edge.  I start running again, searching for even higher ground.  Just in case. 

The merciless waves continue to eat away at the cliff and I get the feeling that they are here for me.  The swells seem to reach up trying to grab my ankles and pull me into the roiling water.  I keep running toward higher and higher ground until I’m at the apex of the cliff.  I am defenseless against the threatening, swirling, powerful waves of water that keep rising and rising.  But this is as high as the ground gets.

I stumble as the ground gives away beneath me and I watch as the soil disappears into the hungry waters.  But the ground is longer packed soil, held together by tree roots.  It is dry sand, sifting slowly, then faster and faster down the cliff and into the sea.   As the sand falls, I slide off the cliff and am engulfed by the angry waves.

As the water spins and rolls me, I don’t know which way is up.  Gravity doesn’t exist in this wet new world.  I fight the water, pushing against it, trying to catch a breath of air.  It doesn’t work.  I relax my body, hoping that I will be brought to the surface.  That doesn’t work either and my lungs are telling me I need to take a breath.  My body cries out for oxygen and my mind goes dark.

A deep breath shocks me awake. I find myself in a tube of air; clear blue water spiraling around me.  I look right and I look left, trying to make sense of where I am.  I am in the heart of the tsunami—its life force, where all of its energy originates.  And it doesn’t seem to have an end, as it continues around the curve of the globe. 

While I am here, I know I am safe.  I close my eyes and breath in deeply, filling my lungs and my veins and my cells with precious oxygen before I’m forced back into the roiling waters.