They spread amongst the sky. Glittering like mica in dark riverbank sand. Life seemed to be still, save for the crunch of gravel underneath the lone night wander's flip flop. A dot of light in the distant dark, foreboding wood, signaling the sudden trip to the bathroom. For the most part, however, only my thoughts could be heard, overpowering, cascading. To think. A dangerous proposition. The inner philosopher, never helpful. Debilitating most times. I closed my eyes, pulled my sleeping bag more snug, and tried to fall quickly to sleep. My thoughts decided to explode. They moved from the silent Californian gravel parking lot, and thrust me back into the heat of the desert, the frigid night, the worry, the despair, a story over told, a story never fully expressed, a story always slightly hidden by anxiety, by a want to forget, an unwillingness to accept.
Peru. I speak of it only when asked. I drink to forget it. I think of it constantly.
I could hear them talking outside. I could hear the crackle of flames in the distance. The sudden explosion of gas, screams, silence. The thud of boots upon the cracked and blistered earth. The whimpering of the child behind me. The soft snores of the man in front. The fear in my heart. The feeling of entrapment, of being alone. My arms were wrapped like the tight coils of a snake around my backpack, my hand clutching my knife. They had locked the bus doors at night, keeping "danger" out. Allowing for the dangers of the mind to fill the bus. I could not sleep. Not after today. Not after the stress, heat, sudden acts of violence, the calm to the sudden storm, the vicious nature of this place. I would die here. I knew it. I had to face my mortality. Another day without food or water would surely weaken me enough to be assaulted. To be singled out. To be targeted. I was already a target. My hair, clothes, foreign look. "I live only five kilometers away" Fredie, a newly made Peruvian friend had said yesterday, as he stood outside the bus. "I am going to walk home. If you leave the bus you will die. Stay with the bus and do not leave, it is dangerous here."
I begged my brain not to translate those words. I wanted the façade of peace. Being stuck in the desert alone, as roadblocks burned, and police stood poised to unleash the inhumanity of violence, allowed me to realize that survival would be my only goal. A lofty one at that. The next few days changed me. Stayed with me. Even as I boarded the plane a week later and fled the country, I never left.
I close my eyes, I am back in the bus, shivering, scared, alone, clutching my backpack, while the world disintegrates around me. I close my eyes, I see the flames, I see his foot, I see the sandal, I see his life stolen. I close my eyes, I feel the hunger, the swollen tongue, the heat. I close my eyes, I smell the urine, the gas, the sweat, the dust, the faint aroma of food. I close my eyes, I see my own death.
I sprung from my sleeping bag, sweat pouring from my brow. The chilly fall September night suddenly fell hot, uncomfortable, terrifying. I stared into the eternity of my mortality. I saw the swirling black, purple, blue of death. To die. To die. It was not far away. All around me. I had seen death. I am not afraid of the end. I am petrified with the thought of eternity. Time, its endless nature is as powerful as the currents in a swollen flooded river. I dropped my head to my sweaty palms, they slid through my ever lengthening locks of sun bleached hair. I laid back down, fear in my heart, no liquid to lessen the fear. Just fear. Fear and sleep. Dreams quickly to follow. Dreams to fill the peace of sleep with confusion, stress, and a new life.
The last year had been hard. I have been told that my prose is full of angst. It takes an unnecessary self loathing tone. It takes situations of adventure and draws pain from them. It takes an average life and turns it depressing. I however, seem to be lost in my mind. Lost in the desert. Somewhere, fighting for survival. One day I will come home. Find my peace. No longer fear the night. No longer dream. No longer write to expel feelings which flood from my swollen brain. No longer allow the blackness to lull me to sleep. No longer feel panic with hunger, danger with thirst. I will be in Chile soon, I will be in happiness, I will be home.
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