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-
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