The day everyone disappeared. I was
lying in bed, awake, as usual. Every night for the past week I would lay down
and my thoughts would start to run away. Insomnia can be a real killer. Each
day starts to blur together, and time doesn’t feel as real as it used to, two days
ago could seem like weeks; a month ago, only yesterday. I would sit there and
wonder if this was some type of omen. I would leave the window open and stare
out at what few stars I could see. It seems no amount of words can really
explain feelings.
Finally the sun was coming up. I
figured I would drive over to her house and wake her up with the present of a
Red Bull; she was always on my mind. Anywhere I would go, something would
remind me of her. A plastic flower in another girl’s hair, a scent would drift
into my car, as I would drive at night to try and tire myself out, a random dog
sitting on the street corner, a glittering object in the distance, every thrift
store and bookshop. Anytime I would see something I knew she would like I would
be sure to go out of my way to acquire it for her, cost or trade, it didn’t
matter.
Even the car had a scent of her
lingering from the previous night. Just hanging in the air as a reminder of the
possibilities, the dreams, the joys to come. Key in ignition, it started as it
always had, a click, a sputter. The engine jumped to life. I was excited; I’m
always excited to see her. My heart skips a beat just thinking about it. Calm
down, I tell myself. I put the car in reverse and begin the journey to her
home.
Traffic seems exceptionally light,
in fact, I don’t pass a single other car. Is it a holiday? No, I think I would
have remembered that. But then again, my memory is kind of shit at times.
Perhaps there’s a motorcade coming through town today, and I missed the bulletins,
but then there would be police blocking my progress. I turn on to her street.
Her car sits just outside her home. I know I’m just moments away from seeing
the girl I adore beyond any I have known before.
Drinks in hand, I mount the steps of
her porch and knock on the door. There is no reply. I try again, but this time
I bang on the door, figuring she is just asleep. Five minutes go by, then ten,
then twenty, and no response. I am getting concerned. I know she keeps a spare
key tucked away in a fake rock hidden around the back of her house. Her and I
are not quite to the point of really being in each others houses without the
other present, and certainly not uninvited, but something feels really wrong.
What if she fell while taking a shower and is lying there by the bathtub, life
leaving her, and I’m the only chance she has of survival. I figure, in this
case my trespass can be safely excused if I’m wrong.
I whip around the house and find her
spare key, let myself in through the back door and call out her name as I mount
the stairs to the second floor where her bedroom is. There is no response. I
fear the worst. The door to her room creaks slowly under my touch. I crane my
head in, every second an eternity, as I will myself to search the room.
I’d like to believe that she is as
organized as I am. I tend to lead a very bohemian lifestyle. I try to only have
the few items I need and everything else is discarded. My usual rule is if I
haven’t seen an item in three years when I do come across it, I throw it away as
it was just taking up space. I can always get a new one if the need arises.
Her room is piles and piles of books
and clothes. Everywhere in the room is a general disaster. I really don’t want to go poking
through her items, but what if she’s near suffocating underneath one of these
mounds. I don’t know if it’s possible, but each buildup is certainly big enough
to contain her. I figure the best way to handle this is simple prodding with my
hand into each assortment, if I feel something that is other than clothes and
books, I’ll investigate further, otherwise move onto the next pile. Each mass
seems devoid of her, and I am relieved with each one I go through, but in the
back of my mind this does not help. The slipping in the shower theory rears its
head in my thoughts. I quickly abandon her bedroom and rush around the corner
to the bathroom.
The bathroom is empty and unused,
not a drop of water lingering on any part of the shower. A thought occurs to
me; perhaps she was at a party last night and hasn’t returned yet. So I grab my
cell phone out and start dialing furiously. Why hasn’t it occurred to me sooner
to try calling her? Oh right, I like to surprise people. I’ve always felt the
little things; the ones that make being with someone special are the unexpected
little surprises. The ones you think back on for years and years, the ones that
remind you that that person means the world to you. If they tell you they are
going to do something, I feel a bit of that is lost.
The phone rings and in an instant my
heart drops. From her bedroom I hear the sonorous sound of the ringtone she has
set for me. She never is without her phone. It has practically become a part of
her. Everyone that knows her will describe her as the girl in the corner on her
cell phone. I don’t know what to do. I panic. I run through the rest of the
house, looking in every nook and cranny. Nowhere. No signs of life anywhere.
I pull out my phone again and call
the only person I know to call when I have no idea what to do. My mother always
answers when I call, never fail. She always knows the exact thing to say to
calm me, all the way back to when I was a child. In fact, just hearing her
voice is enough to make me relax. The fifth ring goes by and I begin to worry
more. It ends up going to voicemail. This is not helping my current emotional
state.
I need to get out of her house,
think of the places she might be. I hop into my car and start it; the next few
hours are a blur. I drive to every haunt I’ve been to with her, every place she
has described in our long talks that we’ve had. No one is around, not a single
person anywhere. I drive frantically, nearly out of control to each of my usual
haunts, searching for some one, any one. Perhaps someone I have seen in
passing, someone I know. But the streets are empty, the places closed and
locked.
I start to think this is some really
cruel elaborate joke. I start screaming, “Okay guys you got me. You can come
out now!” I know terribly cliché, but what else have I got. My mind falls back
to all the Twilight Zone episodes I have watched where what seems to be
happening in them is happening to me. Perhaps this is just a really bad dream,
a nightmare? I don’t know. I try to will myself awake. It’s never worked in a
dream before for me, so I know it is a futile attempt anyways.
Logically, I am left with two
conclusions: either this is a dream and I will wake up soon enough, or this is
not a dream and I’m alone out here. The easier to accept option lands in my
mind as a focus. This has to be a dream; everything will be okay. I just have
to make it till I wake up. What would I do, I ask myself, if I were all alone
in this world? The answers start coming in quickly.
I go to all the places that were
restricted before. Every closed door I have ever wondered what was behind it, I
open. I know there will be no consequences. I take a trip to D.C. and wonder
through all the hidden parts of the Smithsonian’s. I explore congress and the
hidden places in the archive. Days stretch on. I drive out to Area 51, and
search through it. Surprisingly there’s nothing there of any real interest.
Sometimes my imagination fails me, oh well. I go back home after months of
searching around. I rack my brain for things to do, but everything I think of
I’d rather be doing with someone, sharing memories. Boredom starts to set in.
Then it strikes me, I have always
wanted to drive on the roads at really high speeds and see how good I am at
driving insanely fast. I would need a really good car though. I remember
driving 350Z, a well to do friends car, it handled like a dream, had great
pickup and grabbed the road like it was no ones business.
I drove my crappy car to the closest
dealership that would have one of these cars. Breaking into the dealership is
really easy when you’re sure no one is coming to take you away. I find my
quarry and quickly get it going and out onto the road. I rip through the city
at defying speeds. It gets to the point that I start to scare myself at how
fast I have always been willing to go on these roads, but fear of loosing my
license or hurting someone else has kept me from doing so.
I get this car going? I get myself out to the airport as fast as I can. Runways
are a great place to test your mettle, long and flat and straight. I pull the car to the end of the
runway. I let the engine rip away, the car stutters and grips the tarmac. The
speedometer rises with reckless abandon. I get it up to 150 before I realize
that this is stupid and extremely scary. I start braking, but the breaks lock
up and I spin out of control barreling down the runway spinning. Real fear rips
into my heart.
I think back to my original assessment that this whole
situation is a dream. Right now this is too real. I would have surely woken up
by this point. The car goes off the end of the runway, I’m in grass and dirt,
it comes to an abrupt halt as it smashes into a large pole that I assume pilots
use to assist them getting planes safely on the ground. I pass out. Not sure
how long I’ve been out I awake in the car still, my whole body is sore. I’ve
never been in this much pain in a dream before. This can’t be a dream.
Reality sinks in. This isn’t a cruel
joke, this isn’t a dream, this just is. I get myself unstuck from the inside of
the car. No broken bones, I’ve had those before. I’d be sure if I had any. It’s
a long walk off the runway, but at least airports have rental car places
located nearby. I find a reliable car, and zip off to find food. For some
reason the hunger right now is greater than I’ve had the whole time I’ve been
here. Perhaps I passed out for a longer than I originally thought.
I find a grocery store and ransack
it for anything that is easy to eat and satiate myself. After I stuff myself, I
sit in the isle and stare into the middle distance. I think, is this really it?
This is how it ends for me? I’ll be without anyone to converse with, to hold,
to touch, to share my life with. Alone. I wonder what is it all worth then? Why
even bother? But that’s not the way to think. It’s not futile. There will be something,
possibly someone out there, eventually. I just have to be okay with myself
until then.
I find acceptance in my own head. I
figure if someone eventually comes either I’ll be here, or I won’t and I should
leave something behind for him or her. So I start to paint. I start to record
music. I create. I build sculptures. I find that I by myself will be okay.
Acceptance. At that precise moment, everything starts going dark, my vision, my
hearing, and my feeling. It’s as if I’m slipping through a very fast tunnel.
Sucking my through, compressed and free at the same time.
I look up and there she is. Staring
down at me, tears in her eyes. “You’re finally back.”
“Back?” I reply.
“Yes!” She exclaims. Her warm tears fall on my
face.
-V-
