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Manifest Thirst |
| Written by Patrick O. | |
| Tuesday, 01 April 2008 | |
Manifest Thirst
Thirst has never been something I feared, though I do now. Magnifying this fear is my concern that quenching it may not occur soon, if ever again. Left and right; it doesn't matter which way I look, there is no relief in sight.
From my waist hangs a bottle; my emergency supply. Making that determination triggers a chuckle from my chapped lips. Emergency huh, at what point in my plight do I declare an emergency and guzzle one or all of those final four ounces?
While scanning the horizon further; I subconsciously grope the bottle hanging at my side. Unaware I've broken this scan to look down at it; I know that I am lucky to have anything to drink now. But, as thirsty as I am, surely I can't be at the point of absolute need. Want, yes, but need, no.
Above the sun is high. Somewhere just past noon, maybe one or one-thirty. Instinctively I look at my expensive wrist watch for verification; 1:36 p.m., at least I haven't lost all sense of my surroundings. Time may be all I still have sense of though. Out there, everywhere I look, I see nothing but sand and rocks."Why did I let this happen?" I snap through dry, clenched teeth.
To the west is the road leading in straight from where I came. If I knew its name before I awoke, then I forgot it during my slumber. Staring at the barren road I foggily recall the last town being a good two or three hour drive back, maybe more. I am completely unsure. Pondering that further I figure a forty or fifty hour walk back I guess further."No thanks," I mutter decisively" turning in the opposite direction. The lone road flanked by nothing but sand terminates the same way into the east horizon.
In this extreme mid-day desert heat I haven't sweat in a couple hours. However the growing bleakness of all around me has shocked my system to produce a few semi-cool beads of sweat on my brow. Their emergence near-startling, I wipe them dry. Within mere seconds I see the sweat on my palm dry completely before my eyes. Stunned by the deserts fury my breathing quickens. Running my fingers through my hair hoping to wet them again, but nothing, they were drier than dust.
Disgusted, I drop my hands to my sides and pace in a small imaginary box alongside the crest atop the large sand dune which I had just ascended. Hopes of seeing a way out of my predicament had evaporated. Confusion clouds my mind and hinders whatever help the pacing was supposed to bring me. My thoughts disconnect from my actions, I pace quicker, and the larger and odder the shape my imaginary pacing box becomes.
One second my mind races, contemplating that long walk back, the next it rattles and rolls with the rest of my body. Tumbling head over tail first over the crest and then down the dunes steep slip-face.Sand which has been long silent erupts all about. Fine grains sting my scorched skin and assail my mouth, nostrils, ears and eyes. Four, five, six times my body tumbles. Fear consumes me causing me to lose. My heart races staying in sync with the increasing speed of my fall.
A sharp pain scours across my left forearm just before my body slams left-shoulder first into a mass of sand covered rock. Another half roll and I come to a complete stop. My ears hear little of the shriek my sand-caked mouth bellows in answer to these new and unwelcome sensations in pain. From the pain racing up and down my left arm and shoulder I know that I have injured it greatly. How bad I can not tell as I can't open my sand-filled eyes. With my right-hand fingers I hastily work to clear my eyes. Shaking my head back and forth does little to help my eyes but it did clear my ears and nose.Slowly some strands of light make their way inside but not fast enough to ease my panic.
Flailing, I shoot upright onto my knees, burying them in unsteady soft and shifting sand. Once there I lean back and let out a scream more primal than anything my being had ever released. Two quick desperate breaths return me to silence. Quickly, I go back to work on my eyes and within a minute the job became easier to complete thanks to the addition of a brief surge of tears.
Able to see my fingers again, my eyes blink frantically to keep them clear. Looking over my arm and shoulder I find that contrary to the immense pain only few ugly but shallow scratches upon my left arm and shoulder. Looking up from the rock upon which I now sit, I look back up the dune. The jagged line which my body had scratched into the slip-face is a long and violent reminder.Before my unwelcome descent the dune's crest hadn't seemed to be the 200 feet it now appeared from my seat at its base.
Curious I look back at the rugged rock upon which I landed. Dozens of others like it litter the area. Lifting my left arm, I inspect my scratches again and then the rest of my body to be sure I haven't missed any other injuries. Nothing too major found, I shake my head gingerly in amazement these rocks hadn't ended me. Finally, I relax, moving forward to lean against the sand opposite this rock and let out a slow sigh.
"How lucky am I?" I wonder aloud. "Huh", I immediately check myself. Here I sit, drying up in this desert which I chose to come to, sort-of. A near death fall and no rescue in sight, that's luck? Perhaps a quick out from a hard head shot against that rock would have been the luckier result.
After a spell of dejected sighs while catching my breath, I think to take notice of the bottle at my side. It is in tact having survived my tumbling act. Catching notice of the sunlight reflecting oddly off my wrist watch, "What the..." it no longer reflects blindingly off the now cracked crystal. Cracked in every direction from its center, it was amazing it hadn't disintegrated. A short stare back at the rock in front of me, obviously my favorite wrist watch joined my forearm in the direct hit to it, cracking the crystal and... Inspecting the watch more closely, my reasoning stops instantly. Sure enough, it has stopped dead too.
"Son of A *****!", I shout at the top of my parched voice.
Standing up, I hold my wrist at eye level and stare blankly at the now inexpensive wrist watch. Being the type who always felt lost or naked without a watch, this should have been a more disturbing occurrence.But in the seconds following the understanding that my watch was now useless, I calmed. An easing comes from taking stock of my watches condition and the strong emotions I have attached to it.
It is broke and can't tell time, so what. Is telling time going to help me now? "No", I exclaim plainly.A weak smile purses my lips upon recalling that this watch which I've cherished so for the past half-dozen years had been given to me my newly ex-wife. "Anniversary gift I think, wasn't it?" I question myself.It is frustrating that I am unable to recall the exact event she chose to give me such a great gift, but it isn't hard to rank it among one of only a mere handful of bright moments in our tumultuous marriage.
Sand between the two dual clasps of the band makes undoing it a stubborn chore.Abruptly the clasp frees, one of the pins holding the silver band to the heavy watch-head simultaneously give way causing the watch to quickly slide freely down my wrist, over my hand and off. Feebly I try to react and catch it as it falls but to no avail. Gravity takes it swiftly to the desert floor where the impact upon soft sand buries all but the clasp and couple sections of the band.My mind wants to laugh, but the energy to do so isn't there. Yet a smile grows across my face with the relief I now enjoy in being rid of yet another memory from a life I've wanted to forget.And then it was gone, disappearing for good beneath the sands surface with a firm stomp upon that memory. With arms raised signaling triumph, I stand and stride off to the other side of these gracious rocks.
Now what? Up, around or other; which way to go to get out of here? It would be impossible to climb back up the dunes slip-face and there is no reason to return to the crest either. Maybe going back to the car and just waiting for help to arrive makes sense.Or, do I just start walking that nameless road back to town? If I do, can I really walk all the way back? "Or!", hope rebounds with curiosity of whether my hazy mind has forgotten passing, "a lone gas station, a house, or something - any place between here and there with a phone, water, a ride", I hurriedly wonder to myself.
Nothing came to memory from my long look back at the road. Then again, what could my brain have recalled from my drunken drive into the desert? My mind was not tuned into the surroundings of my escape after that fight and ejection from the bar to which I had gone to numb my most recent pain. So I can't remember. Do I really have any other options? Running through these unanswerable questions evaporates my short-lived gratification and hope.
Unsure of what to do, I stand here in sand too hot to be stood in and lack the desire to debate myself further. Without further thought I set off around the dune from which I fell and head back towards the car. At least there I'll find shade, I think, to sit in and sort this out. Or pray, maybe I'll just pray when I get there. No better, or worse, of an idea than any other I've had today, or yesterday, of for the past twenty years I muse.
No oasis awaits me inside my gas deprived eleven-year old sedan. If the heat outside is the 110 degrees Fahrenheit I imagine it to be then inside it must be 150 or more. A twenty-second dash inside to scrounge again for a cigarette is all I can manage. The same two empty crushed cigarette boxes on the floor amidst the empty beer cans were all I'd find, again. Earlier I had made a more thorough rummage for a smoke here after awakening a dozen or so yards away by an old fire pit at the slope side of the dune's base. Even after those first few confusing moments when coming out of a drunken slumber, finding myself laying face down in hot sand, cooking in a blinding sun high in the sky and dressed in just my watch, jeans and shoes; even then my waking desire was for a cigarette. Hunger, thirst and rescue were secondary concerns sadly. Now, still unable to find one in the car, another quarter-inch butt found nearer the fire pit is what feeds my addiction.
Shade becomes the next fear to take on my mind once the shot of nicotine has done its best to calm my nerves. Found at the tail end of my ride, the shade isn't much. But any sliver of much needed refuge big enough to sit in will have to do. In reality the space offers minimal relief from the fierce heat however it does allow just enough to put fear aside for now.
A post-smoke cat nap follows; at least I think it is just a brief cat nap. "Arrgh", I moan meekly after my head bobs back up from my chest to bang on the trunk latch. A few firm rubs to my fresh headache dulls the pain and brings worry back to mind, or was it the knock against the trunk that did so? Frustration sets in and shows itself with a quick elbow jab into the rear bumper. The jab isn't hard and causes no pain. But it does bring to mind the fact that this car really isn't mine. It too had been purchased by her.Back then the only way we could get a second car was to purchase it in her name due to my bad credit rating. "Back then, was different from now how?" I whisper seriously, sitting up, knowing I had let go these thoughts and resume solving my mess.
Looking back at the road itself I take notice that it isn't much of a road. No concrete, asphalt or whatever they make roads out of. Appears to be just compacted sand, maybe some gravel from who knows how long ago. Barren barely seems to describe its appearance. Still, no doubt someone will drive by today, eventually, or tomorrow, right? "Maybe not," I mumble, continuing my road inspection. The only sign of tire tracks in the roads loose sand covering were mine. Thus why it looks barren! Even so, there must be an active crossroads somewhere out there, right? Unsure as ever about my surroundings, I slump back against the car and close my eyes. Another cat nap is the only response I can muster.
Always slow to learn from mistakes, another rap of my head against the trunk latch brings the desert back again. My eyes open and instantly fall upon another dune. "Hhmmm", I express, noticing for the first time the dune across the desert road and off a half-mile of so, maybe more. Rubbing my head again, my mind working, in the distance it looks much taller than this one I just fell off of. Therefore, could I...
Wondering curiously in its direction, hoping for some sort of validation of my fast forming idea, I sit forward for several long minutes.Quickly I jump to my feet and spend a few moments peering down each length of the long road. If I knew which direction to head in before I go, my chances of rescue will be all the better. Scanning around 360 degrees hurriedly before snapping my eyes back to the just seen larger dune, I smile. "Ok!" I exclaimed convincingly.
Excitement returns, my aches abate some and my mouth even moistens some. Standing in the center of the road now, I hold a thumb up to the closer dune's peak, "Maybe 150, 200 yards." I guess. Turning and thumbing the larger dune, "Um, wow, seems farther now. Say, a mile or, yeah a mile, can't be much more." I determine.
Looking up a brief second at the sun before turning away abruptly to rub the glare out of my eyes. Blinking, I imagine even in this heat, enduring nasty hunger and thirst, I figure I can get there in an hour at most. Though I know an hour here will feel like ten.
Decision made; three steps forward and then I stop. Unhooking my sacred bottle, "It is time", I declare. Carefully I drink, trying and measure just a third of the hot, musty smelling beer into my mouth and not a drop more. Lifting the cobalt blue bottle up high, the suns reflection plays like the bad ‘80's music videos I used to cherish through the etched ‘Fast Leo's Lube' logo and the two remaining ounces. Those short seconds of entertainment give way to a rewind of this morning's post-smoke search for a drink which only netted some backwash from a few fireside littered beer cans. Now, I mentally praise myself for having had the sense earlier to pour this stale beer into an empty water bottle I had in the back seat. There three others like it, a host of pens, lighters, key chains, and other promotional items lay in the box containing my personal effects, hand tools and whatever else I grabbed when clearing my locker out from my latest ex-employer.
Swish, stop, swish, swallow slowly, smile; this has been the best part of my day. "Well, close." I report. Accepting this, I close and hook the bottle back to my side, "Next time, if there is a next time; I'll just have an ounce." For a brief second I was tempted to just finish it all, but somehow, I believed I had to make it last.
Onward I march, continuing my trek riding a new high of energy and optimism. Less than a quarter of the way there my high fades and doubt stirs. Legs grow more tired from the fight with ever shifting sand, but I don't stop to sit and rest. Not because I don't want to, simply there is no where to sit but on hot sand. Instead I do stop a few times to bend over and catch my breath which is desperately hard to do in air this hot. What I predicted to take one hour drags on past the feeling of a second and then third hour.With no means of really knowing I fantasize of the new watch I'll buy myself if I get out of here.
Arriving at my destination, I drop to my knees at the base of the dune's slope side. Crawling upward on all fours relieves the throbbing stress within my legs. Crawling is probably just as fast and only the laying of a palm or knee cap upon a buried rock provides added problem to this final stretch of my journey to the dunes crest. My head hangs low the entire thirty, maybe forty, minute climb to the top.
Finally at the top, I come to a few safe feet from the crests edge and pull myself to my feet to search what I came here for.Fascination grips me with the long view down both directions of the road. "Nothing!" I bark between gasps for air. Nothing at all in either direction, how can this be? Sand, rock, and well, there is the first dune I camped at, climbed and fell from. "Oh, hey", there's my car and the long empty road. "Nothing?" I question further aloud. But it is true; I see nothing new or helpful to me. Except for my being all the way up here now, all is the same, no different than it was four or five hours ago.
Too tired for the panic attack forming inside, I sit and roll over on my side, unsure of what else to do. Lying here, emotions abound; I'm afraid, tired, hungry and thirsty...pissed, and clueless at how I let my life come to this and how the hell to rescue it from ending here. Through teary eyes I watch the evening sunlight dim and give way to a stunning moon-rise.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, the temperature dropped dramatically leaving me bothered by the cold now more so than I had been from the heat of the day. Rippling chills against my bright red sun-burned skin bring me out of my slumber. Uncertain where my shirt and I had parted company the night before, I begin shifting around in the sand in effort to capture its escaping warmth, I can't help but think how I would have been better off staying back at my car where I believe I had a blanket in the trunk.
Sleep is erratic the rest of the night. When I did doze off my dreams are vibrant and alarming with scenes of my youth growing up in the shadows of Hollywood. Teachers, doctors, and long deceased family members visit me this night. Doctors warn me not to eat poorly or I'll get fatter, teachers lecture me to wise up or my dreams of becoming anything from an actor to a writer or an artist to a teacher will never be realized, and grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles heap shallow praise upon me no matter what my mischief.
Daybreak's dawn brings the night's brightest dream. Visions run quickly by of me kneeling in my parent's dimly lit attic while stabbing an old wooden trunk with a pencil. Each dreamy stab comes with a real life lurch of my body in its bed of sand. Sometimes I hit the trunk, and others I miss wildly. Each hit causes a chunk of the trunk to break off which I quickly pick up and stack; one chunk on top of the other.
Suddenly my pencil pierces into the trunks interior exposing a brilliant light preceding a violent eruption which shatters the trunk into dozens of chunks. Instantly I have them gathered, and stacked, all except for one. Proudly I sit next the six foot high stack. Holding that one chunk up, I bring it close to my eyes, opened it and begin reading through the notebook which I wrote in almost twenty years ago. When done, I set it aside and from the stack I take another chunk and do the same; bring it in close, open and read the writing in that notebook. One notebook after another, I relive the dozens of short stories, opinion columns and that nearly complete novel about an airplane hi-jack thriller.
Screams take my eyes off the final chunk. Where were they coming from, whose screams are they? I look left, right and the attic walls blur in becoming a crowded plane's fuselage. Faces race past, until I realize, everyone is staring at me. The faces slow and then stop to hover before me. All appear flushed with anger, terror, and panic. One angrier than the rest grows large. I speak, or try to, but I hear no words come out. "Quiet!" shouts the angry face before it flies forward instantly slamming up against my own. "Nobody hears you, helps you, or tells you when it is time! But can you?"
A burning pain surges up from my stomach, across my skin from my chest to my forehead. Eyes wide open, a blinding light rushes in. I scream, this time hearing myself fully. Rolling over from my sleeping position, I sit up in the sand, "What the...," I can't catch my breath, hyperventilating, heart pounding, head throbbing. Standing sends another burning torrent across my skin. "ARRrrrggghh," I scream so fiercely that I scare myself to tears.
As abruptly I had awakened I stop and stand still. Standing without regard for the wrath from my intense sunburn, I look out afar but see only her, him and it. The sand, the dune, that desolate road that had been my surrounding, each is not visible now. Hazy, vapor like images of my ex-wife, the hijacker, and my parent's trunk against a swirling background are all I can see.
My mind races to catch up to my straining eyes. Before they can validate the images before me the image fade and my night's dreams flash vividly back through my conscious mind, "Wait", I whisper. "She had read my work way back when", breathing has yet to steady, "Last of which was my novel." Talking takes too much air so I continue my reflection in silence. That short and silent shrug, which was her trademark response, was her reaction to all of my work. So I packed that novel, it's year's work and all before it away in that trunk and left it behind to pursue life with her, to live her life, here in Arizona.
My eyes still watering from the blurring images are shut tight. Tired of trying to breathe I take in a long forced breath. Opening, I see sand, the dune, and that desolate road. Another forced breath returns my breathing closer to normal. It all still looks dreary and improbable get out of, but somehow it all makes sense, I know why I am here. And I know I why I must escape.
A slow, constant drone takes my mind away from the sunburns returning presence. After a casual glance along the length of road I realize the pain that will be the walk back to the car. The drone does not stop; it just hangs there, though fading in and out in varying degrees throughout my clumsy side stepping down the dune's slope. Am I too late? This noise, is this the start of the end for my mind?
Oddly, the thought of losing my mind now brings me to laugh. But realizing that laughing at this is itself mad, I try to hold back the desire to do so. Unsuccessful at this as well, I burst into a long hardy laugh which stops me in my tracks. Never before have I laughed in such a hysterical manner. Bent over, my hands hold on to the sand to keep me from falling on my face, trace amounts of tears and saliva flow with the laughter to the desert floor.
Suddenly I cannot breathe again and hurriedly stand upright in effort to inhale. Momentum continues my head and torso pivot backwards on the fulcrum that is my pelvis brining me to look into the bright blue sky. The resulting stumble provides the jolt which allows my body to take in air again. Recovering my balance, I breathe; but my eyes do not turn away from the sky. High above the sand I count, "Two, no three, three," I announce faintly.Excitement bolsters my stance; had I just missed noticing them yesterday? Laughter resumes with the relief I've found; it didn't matter what was or wasn't there yesterday, they were there now!
"I have a chance!" I affirm firmly. Without haste I free my bottle, take a quick swig and swallow.Checking my result, one ounce left, perfect! Off I go, stepping off from the dune and walking in a pain filled march without stopping all the way back to the car.
The drone from the planes above subsides and then recurs just before arriving back at the car. Why, I wonder, why do some come with noise, and others not? How high are they? Where are they coming from and more importantly where are they going? Los Angeles, San Diego, Hawaii, I could only guess. Such were the thoughts that kept me busy all the way back.
Coming to the shaded side of the car, I drop into its shelter and gasp for several minutes, satisfied to have made it back in what feels like decent time. The sun is still high, a single contrail remains in sight, no time to rest further.
An hour later, maybe two, engine grime and oil have joined the sand upon my hands, arms and legs. Would this work? It had to work I kept telling myself every time I asked myself that question. With my favorite wrench in one hand, the corner of the card board box containing my tools and stuff in the other, I stagger slowly around to the side of that nearest dune which I had first climbed. Finally there, I set down the box which is starting to fall apart and drop myself beside it.
All but my last strands of energy went into this chore. Sitting there, scanning the sky and listening intently for the right moment, it came not even a minute later. Into the box I drop the wrench, grab the photographs, get back up and go.
Holding the photos of us, one from our honeymoon and the other of us at a company Christmas party, I flick twice to get a flame and light a single corner of each. Turning them on their sides, the flames begin to run across the photos. Bubbles form in the flames path on the photo paper and the images quickly begin to disappear.A quick toss of one lands it onto the oil and grease coated passenger seat. Stepping sideways, I drop the other inside the similarly prepared trunk. Not a second later her car is ablaze, giving off an oily, thick, black plume of smoke.
Instantly the intense heat forces me to scamper back to my safe spot at the dune's side. Once there, it is unbearably hot here too. Needing a new spot from which to sit and watch the fire and scan the road from I quickly drag my box to the dune's far side. While now safely shielded from the fire's heat, moving here has the road and blaze out of my view.
Standing tall to look upward, my legs shake and my hands quiver. Shading my eyes and ears to the sky above, blinking constantly for focus, I find one quickly and then another a moment later. They are barely visible and their drone is silent against the rumbling from the fully consumed car. "Perfect!" I exclaim.
In the midst of increasingly foul air, heat, and exhaustion, I manage a smile of satisfaction."No need to move to see the road, not yet." I convince myself, grabbing up my precious bottle, "Ok to, to just wait and..." I take the final drink, drop the empty bottle into what is left of my box and relax my body to sit down besides it. Half way down, all goes dark.
"Sir, more coffee?" asks the diner waitress.
"No, one cup is enough. Thank the cook for breakfast and thank you for the chat." I answer, having sincerely enjoyed both the food and the first conversation in weeks with someone other than the likes of an interrogating doctor, nurse or police officer. Continuously answering the same questions about my insane sunburn, innumerable injuries, ill-fated time in the desert, rescue from it or reason for being there had been the most annoying part of the whole experience.
She looked over her shoulder to the clock on the wall, "Your bus leaves in just a few"', reminding me in a rushed tone. "Nice talking to you too".
Smiling back at her politely, I grab my hospital provided drawstring bag, rise and fish from my wallet four of my last twenty-seven dollars. A short walk towards the register brings me to view the diner's only other patron. A few stools up around the counters bend he quickly sips his coffee between nervous chews on a cigarette between his lips. Once at the register I see the source of his agitation; a stubborn last match from a well worn book. It sparks but does not light, freezing his jaw and leaving him to stare at the half dozen others like it scattered across the counter before him.
"Here you go," I offer the barely dressed, unclean gentleman, pulling my old lighter from the pocket of my newly purchased thrift store jeans and toss it to him, "you can have this, I don't need it anymore".
He misses the catch but pins it between his forearm and thigh before it can fall to the floor. "Really, thanks". The towns local vagabond put it right to work.Calming smoke exhales slowly from his nostrils, "You sure?" he asks.
Looking away, I answer that question for myself first; No, what I need has been locked away for too long.Looking back to him, "Quite sure", I reassure him.
Counting my bills again before I hand them out for the waitress, "John, please call me John." I ask.
She smiles, taking the bills from my hand, "Ok, John, that was nice what you did, thank you. Hope to see you again when you get back from, from, where did you say you were going again?"
"It's Hollywood, well West Hollywood actually," I reply with a quick double check of her name badge. "Ever been there Sarah?"
She shakes her head ‘no' before answering, "Nope, never been far from home, I've been trapped in Arizona all my life."
Taking in that unexpected answer to a question I had asked just for conversation sake, I stare back at her plainly. Momentarily I find myself interested in her story. Then it dawns on me that what interests me is not her story but her explanation. It better fits my story for I too have been trapped here, trapped for years by my own hand.
"Have you, John", she has to ask twice to bring me out of my daze, "Been there?"
Her face which still has that same smile and no doubt accounts for half her tips returns to view. "Trapped?" I ask hesitantly, "Oh, you mean Hollywood." A chuckle shortened deep breath buys me the moment I need to speak again.
"West Hollywood is where I lived before Arizona, and it is where I am going back to." I answer awkwardly, not sure how to share what I now felt so sure about."It's where my family is. Also my doctors and teachers and..." I continue before stopping short. With a smirk and a confident grin I turn to leave, "And it is where I need to call home and live my life again. Good Bye Sarah."
"Good bye John"
Passing through the diner door I whisper, "No, it's Hello John!" Copyright 2008 Patrick O. |
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