The Dream.
I was with Angelica. We were running through a forest alongside a lively river. She was in the lead while we ran over the roots and rocks, through the puddles and grasses. She was laughing, and that beautiful smile of hers urged me onward into the thickening wood. She was wearing hunter orange.
We slowed to a walk; she remained one step ahead. Social pleasantries made up most of the conversation, little comments on the beauty of nature and the facts of life. She spoke in hushed tones and I was content to tread behind her and listen to her voice. The river eventually took a turn we did not. My guide plodded on through the pathless maze, sure of her direction. At length we arrived at our destination. She stopped and parted a wall of brambles before her, slashing them with a knife (but not before I tasted them), unveiling a scene I’ve sought in reality ever since.
We were atop a mountain. Directly before us, beyond the cleared foliage, was nothing but a view… and what a view. If you looked straight down you saw a lake, topaz blue; reluctant to reflect anything thereby revealing only it’s depth. The face of the mountain must concave beneath the jutting stage we stood upon, only by stretching out as far as balance would allow could I see that we were indeed supported by a few hundred feet of glacially hewed masonry. (I found my footing quite sturdy as I took in my surroundings, but I was on all fours.) Behind us was the curtain of twisted greenery and the split we caused in passing through. The forest seemed totally enclosed; even our newly hewed opening was being woven shut by spontaneous new growth. Angelica stood in all her reverent splendor. She was armed to the teeth, literally holding the knife in her mouth while securing a small armory, an assortment of clips and knives and guns, to her minimalist attire. She wore her vibrant vest that foretold of her intentions and protected her from those of a like mindset but apart from that, she was wearing a bathing suit, a two piece, also hunter orange (another Sports Illustrated influence bearing down on my subconscious). The trek through uncultivated land took its toll on her unprotected flesh. She was scratched and bleeding and dirty but her face was unblemished and ever smiling. Her eyes were focused on some distant thought she seemed to track over the sky. It came to rest on me.
My thoughts too had wandered off… but not to the skies. My thoughts remained one step ahead of me, and now slightly behind and to the side, coupled with Angelica. They were, after all, now one in the same. It had come to pass that when I thought, I thought of her, and when I dreamed, I dreamt of her, and even being in her shadow, I thought of the touch of her hand, and when her hand brushed against me, I thought of the smell of her hair, and when the wind carried it to me, I thought of the taste of… well, I’m sure you get the idea. Nonetheless, I was quite content to be led by the one I’d follow anywhere. And as we stood in silent wonder at the awesome magnitude of life and all that is in this world to behold, I knew that I was the happiest I’d ever been. It was rather all of a sudden it dawned on me that a great weight rested on my shoulders; when I turned to tell her so, and saw her looking at me with those big green eyes, through the crosshairs of a scope aimed down the barrel of a loaded thirty-thirty, something clicked.
It was the chamber. The weight on my shoulders was a startling revelation as well. I was so startled by the sight of the sights right there in front of my nose that I jerked my head back. In doing so something else clicked. It was the barrel of the gun getting butted by my antlers. I think Angelica was rather surprised too. She lost her balance and was pitched forwards and to the side, keeping hold of her gun as I jerked it free myself stumbling in the process. It's a very painful thing when one lands facing the sky in a net of thorns and bristles and needles and other oddly located jagged limbs and the like. Falling into nothing is far more comfortable, at least initially, which is probably why the expression on Angelica's face as she fell off of the precipice was one of astonishment and not agony. She made no sound as she fell. I, on the other hand, screamed. Or I wanted to, but no sound would form within me. My heart was screaming, but without a venue to vocalize my loss, I sought some other means to express it. It came in the form of panic. Panic is difficult to localize, especially in a form one is unaccustomed to, so in my panic, I ended up following my love, off of the cliff, into the depths of the water awaiting far below.
As an aside, for those who’ve never known the joys of free falling the way Tom Petty sings about it, I recommend cliff jumping. The highest I’ve jumped from at the time of my writing this is about seventy-seven feet, eighty when I’m telling the story after a beer or two. I don’t recommend starting at such heights. For a beginner thrill-seeker twenty should more than suffice. There’s something about leaping from the solid earth fifty feet into the loving arms of daring adventure that leaves you with a sense of invincibility… until you make a mistake. I made my first mistake at seventy-seven feet. It was subtle, but enough to teach me a lasting respect for risk and why it carries the reputation it does. I didn’t cross my legs, and just before I hit the water, my swimsuit ballooned out and that was one of those distinct “oh shit” moments in my life. To make a long, painful story rather short, those swimming trunks that blew apart upon contact with the water have been kept as a reminder of the worst enema of my life, and also as a symbol of what it means to risk and that I’d do it again in a second.
That said, this was no seventy-seven feet. It wasn’t eighty either. It seemed eternal. There’s also a question of intent, in this case there being none, that makes this one of the most thrilling recollections of my imaginary life. If I did find such a place as this in the world, and had this dream in mind, I’d jump. This is in retrospect… in the dream I was scared as hell. I hadn’t jumped. I fell. However, as I fell, I developed purpose and intent. Angelica had fallen… sort of. I had actually kind of pushed her, inadvertently thrown her even! As I accelerated towards the crystal blue I decided that I would save my beloved or die trying.
After my graceful entry into the lake (I just kind of remember falling and then being in the lake, so I’m sure it was a graceful entry…) I began my search. I searched for my shining light in the cold consuming dark. I groped in the suffocating endless vast lifeless well of despair for my one beacon of hope. I was fighting death looking for my reason to live. I found her, not in the water, on the shore. She was basking in the sun. When I approached, exhausted and elated, she grabbed her gun and shot at me without a second’s hesitation. The waterlogged firearm failed. She unsheathed a knife and raced towards me. Finally, I did what comes instinctively to all prey, and ran, white tail in air. She chased me mercilessly through forests, over hills, under endless skies and eventually into a dirty city street. The gutter clogged with various decaying paraphernalia from unknown after-dark escapades. She cornered me when a beeping truck reversed its way onto my escape route. She smiled. It was the same smile… but this time it scared me.
She said something. I couldn’t hear what it was due to the incessant beeping in my ear from the truck.
“What was that?”
I truly did want to know what it was that had driven the girl of my dreams to hunt me down, but she wouldn’t stop rambling on and on in her melodious voice… and that beeping would not give up. All my senses began to pulsate with the truck’s rhythmic warning. Angelica eventually finished her rant and approached for the kill, knife gleaming. As she raised it to strike I heard the truck driver yell something out of the window. As the knife plunged into my heart, and made its niche, the beeping stopped long enough for the driver to say the last words I would ever hear.
“Please hang up, and try your call again. This is a recording.”
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