writing

Median Road by James Revels III

I couldn’t stay in that desolate place they called “Society”. Where everyone is smiling only because the whole place is topsy turvy so you can’t tell the difference. They say “the grass is greener on the other side” but I don’t want the other side to the same coin. I want a whole new currency. So, I left everything behind to move forward, toward my present. Rumored to be a LIFE year’s distance at the end of Median Road.

Drawing by James

“Median Road II: Fork in the Road”

I arrived at a fork in the road. I was curious. Who’s fork is that? How did it get there? How long has it been sitting there? I pondered about the fork continuously for hours, until finally I sauntered up to the fork and aggressively kicked it to the side of road. It didn’t matter how much I knew about the fork. All that mattered is that I continue to follow the road and see where it takes me.

Drawing by James

“Median Road III: YNWA”

They yelled “YNWA!” as they grabbed my hand, leading me further down the road. Out of breath, I asked “What the hell does that mean?”

They stopped walking, holding my hand more tightly. “It means ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone” they sang.

“You’ll Never Walk Alone…” I affirmed to myself, time after time as we explored, learned and grew on our journey together. Then one morning after reaching the Gate at the end of the road, I realized, it’s true I didn’t walk alone but we didn’t arrive together.

Drawn by James

“Median Road IV: Gatekeeper”

“This is it.” I whispered to myself. I slowly approached the gate at the end of Median Road, but as come within several yard of the gate something peculiar happened. Shadows began to coalesce in between myself and the gate, taking a humanoid form. As soon as the shadows finished conjoining, two red eyes, like rubies, opened up on the shadows head. No time to hesitate now. “I’ve been waiting for you.” the shadow stated in a deep, guttural voice. I paused for a moment, staring the shadow deep in it’s eyes. “That’s funny…” I began while reaching for my hip. “…so have I.” In a matter of moments, three bullets burst forth from my pistol, ripping through the gatekeepers chest. The gatekeeper looked at his chest then back at me, slowly dissipating, it said.

“I was only trying to tell you-“

“Too Late!” I interrupted. “It’s over now.” The shadow’s ruby eyes slowly lost their glimmer and a voice whispering “And So it is…” echoed away as the last wisps of the gatekeeper disappeared leaving only a keep behind.

“Finally,” I told myself.

“The End of Median Road.”

Drawn by James

“Median Road V: Prodigal Self”

Moment of Truth. I picked up the key from the ground and walk up to a blanched, stone gate with relatively large keyhole. I wondered if you could take a peek inside. I leaned forward placing my eye near the whole and inside I saw a brick path. On this brick path was an old man with a wooden cane, surrounded on both sides with lush, green grass. He was waving at me, smiling. There’s was something oddly familiar about his aura. I became excited, even more curious on what was on the other side of the gate, but as the key touched the hole, the old man calmly, but firmly said, “Trust Me, Go Back.”

I hesitated. Within a matter seconds, the memories of the journey came flooding back: The discontent back in Society, the struggled with the fork in the road, the disappoint of “never walking alone” and the murder of the gatekeeper. I can’t believe I went through all of those trials, only to be told to return. So, with no hesitation, I inserted the key, turned it in the lock. The gate made a whirring sound as it unlocked and opened. As I stepped onto the brick road, the old man’s smiled devolved into a grimace. “Suck it old man.” I thought to myself. After stepping in as the gate closed behind me, the Old Man spike.

“You fucked up.” The old man claimed solemnly. “Or more appropriately, I fucked up…again.” A wave of confusion overcame me.

“What do you mean by that…are you implying…”

“Yes. I’m you. You are me. I am your ‘higher self’ for lack of a better term. “You’re a projection I created in an attempt to right my wrong. I guess it’s inevitable it ended like this. You know what they say about curiosity…”

I scratched my head in confusion. “What are you talking about. I still don’t get it.”

“That road, that path you walked. It’s the path I paved. The path we paved. We initially paved it together to connect with society; to be one with others instead of wasting away alone…but…other people are messy, arrogant, inconsiderate so I began to think about home. I began to miss the beauty of infinity. Despite this, a piece of me wanted to stay and I couldn’t break my own heart. So I left you behind so that I could return home, leaving distractions in hopes that you wouldn’t follow me. I left the fork in the road to confound you. I created ‘YNWA’ to remind you that you never truly walk alone in life so that you might return to society. I even created the shadow and gate to act as final deterrent to scare and intimidate you. All to no avail.”

I stared off blankly. This was so hard to believe, but here I was; returning home as the prodigal self. Despite this, it didn’t feel like a homecoming. I felt a strange tightness in my chest. I clutched my chest in pain, then it dawned on me. I may have prepared for everything on my journey but I left the most important thing behind. I left behind home. I left behind my heart.

Drawn by James

Story borrowed from James Revel III. Check out more of his artistic creations here.

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NaNoWriMo Days 6 to 10

Journal Entry:

I’m constantly trying to make sense of everything but I never feel like I’m getting any closer. And I can’t tell if anything about the dreams is helping or hurting. I mean there is no real concrete evidence that our dreams tell us anything at all, right ? Not that things without tangible proof aren’t real. I know things are real that we simply can’t see like the wind or God. But we can see the effect of them right ? At least what we believe to be the effects. We see tornados. We see miracles. If we recognize them. Maybe I don’t even know what I’m talking about at all. Well here’s how last nights dream went:

I was sitting at a table in what seemed to be the middle of the forest. There aren’t any forests around me in real life so I’m not entirely sure where in the world I was in the dream. I had a feeling of confusion deep inside me but everyone else was pretty relaxed so I didn’t want to make a scene. Everything was cottage core. I had on a floral pink, yellow and white dress. The flowers looked like daisies and sunflowers both. I didn’t particularly like the pattern. It had a frilly collar and frills at the edges of the sleeves. The sleeves came to my elbow. The bottom hem came just below my knees. A respectable length and appropriate for the weather. It was pretty uncomfortable. I had on frilly white socks and black kitten heels. This is something I never would have picked out for myself in real life in a thousand years. That’s how I know for sure it’s a dream.

I have a habit of trying to remind myself while dreaming that it’s definitely a dream that I’m experiencing. Blame it on the movie Inception.

I move my eyes from what I have on to the table in front of me. There were several of what appeared to be maidservants scrambling around. They were setting up for what appeared to be a feast. I looked around for signage. My first thought was that it was a birthday party. I had no idea whose birthday it could have been. But the dishes being placed on the table reminded me of Thanksgiving. I saw stuffing, a whole turkey, pineapple glazed ham, smashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, greens, greens beans and buttered rolls so far. The most peculiar thing is that I couldn’t smell any of it. I didn’t feel sick at all. I think the food just had no smell. Then I noticed it had no color. Then I looked down at my outfit again and noticed it had no color either. I began to panic.

Just then, a small child ran up to me. This little girl seemed to be wearing the exact thing that I was. We even had our hair styled the same. I noticed that I didn’t pay attention to my hair until this moment. But from the top of her head to the bottom of her heels we were dressed exactly the same. Part of me knew that she was supposed to be a younger version of me. Yes, definitely a dream. Because in real life, we don’t meet younger versions of ourselves in the flesh. Anyway, she starts calling me Katara. “Katara, Katara ! They’re waiting for you inside !”

Before I can process what exactly is going on I notice that my body has a mind of its own and my legs are up from the chair that I was in and marching through the woods. Following this little girl who seems to be me. And I guess our name is Katara. And I have the thought that I’m not sure why I even trust her. Because what if she’s not me and this was all a trick. And just then it starts to gradually get darker around us and more cold. And there is color now but only hues of blue and purple. And each variation of the colors feels more menacing. And I’m able to see my breath now because it’s so cold. I wish I’d brought my sweater.

“How much farther is it ?” I ask little maybe me. “Not much !” I yell back. I don’t trust it. I think about going back to where we were. I notice I’m hungry. Starving even. “I know yous hungry,” she said right on cue, “but we can’t go back. All of that food was poison. See, we tried to be careful but they found out. And they don’t take kindly to killin’ kids so they gots to create an accident instead. They poisoned the food and theys was gonna say you had a allergy nobody knewed about.” Then I thought to ask…”What year is it ? Where are we exactly ?”

At this, the little me turned around angrily and grew and grew and grew until she was towering over me. She didn’t look like me anymore. She looked like my mother. And she smelled like my mother. The smell of burning cardboard, cigarettes and miscellaneous chemicals. I got scared. Before she could speak, I turned around and ran. I ran as fast as I could. Little me, although I was still skeptical, was worth trying to trust. But my mother was an addict. There wasn’t a single realm, or dream or reality that I would ever trust her in. I heard her behind me, calling me Katara and telling me to come back. A reminder that this is a dream. That’s not my name so this is definitely a dream.

I make my way back to where I first sat and they were setting up for the feast. By this time, guests were filling into the seats and almost all of the food had been placed. I also see all of the plates, cutlery and cups. I see huge jugs of wine as well. Something told me it was not going to be a great experience. But I convinced myself that it had to be better than whatever my monster of a maybe mom was attempting to lead me too. As I looked for a seat a few people exchanged pleasantries with me. A few every held their arms out to hug me. It’s clear that they remember much more than I do. That, or they’re just friendlier.

That’s when I notice that there are name tags that have appeared since I was over here initially. I’m guessing I should look for the name Katara. I look carefully, trying to ignore people’s niceness while I focus. A few people ask if I need help looking for my name and I respectfully decline. Something is telling me that my name isn’t actually on any of these and if that’s right, I want to find out alone. If that’s right, it also would feel like proof that no one is trying to poison me like mom said. How could they expect to poison me if they didn’t even expect me to eat ?

The table felt like it was at least one mile long. It sat about 110 people. No one was at the very end. So there seemed to be no leader or matriarch or patriarch. Which had me wondering again what exactly this was all for. And why it was outside. And in the middle of the forest. I have to keep reminding myself that this is definitely a dream so that I don’t panic.

Why is it that dreams feel so damn real sometimes ? On the bright side, I woke up in the safest space possible. In my own home, which I keep wildly secure and with my best friend, who is also wildly secure. We never made it to the room and fell asleep in the living room. Right on the couch and in front of the tv. Dusty was still sleep. I was starting to forget the rest of my dream. Maybe it wasn’t worth writing down anyway. Maybe I crave adventure because I don’t have much of a life so I just make my dreams more than they really are.

Most of my dreams include one of my parents and one of my grandparents at least. Maybe dreams are really just a way to process the things we try to avoid while we’re awake. Maybe it’s our higher selves being willing to do the dirty work for us while we’re not lucid enough to contest it. I don’t know. I’m not really an expert in anything. Now that I hear Dusty waking up, I guess I’ll pick back up on this train of thought another time.

“Hey, you.” Dusty says groggily as he lifts his head with his eyes closed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you didn’t watch any of that movie at all. You fell asleep on me almost immediately. And now look at you, awake before me and writing your own move.” He gestured towards my journal which I realized I hadn’t closed yet. I wonder how good his vision is and just hope he didn’t have the kind that allowed him to have read even a single word on this page. That would be so embarrassing. And the thing is, he knows me well enough to know I would think that was very embarrassing so he wouldn’t even tell me that he read it. It would be his own secret within my secret.

“Happy good morning loser ! Of course you’ll never forget. You’re the best grudge holder I’ve ever known.” He flashes me a smile. “Teeth, face, run, breakfast ?” he asks.

“Let’s skip the run.”

“Let’s do the run first.”

“You know I don’t want to go outside.”

“Which is exactly why I’m trying to get you outside. I just want whatever is best for you.”

“What if I told you that what’s best for me is me skipping the run but that I’ll be here with breakfast ready when you get back ?”

“You know what…deal. You cook. I’ll run. Then I’ll eat while you run.” He laughs and playfully pushes my shoulder then heads to the back room to change into his running gear. I guess I am making breakfast today !

NaNoWriMo Day 5

Whenever Dusty and I hang out we have little – traditions, I guess. One of them is that whenever we ride home from work together we ask each other what’s been the highlight of our last 7 days. We used to say “of the week so far,” but on Monday’s that didn’t make much sense.

“So what’s been the highlight of your last 7 days, Terri ?” he asks with a smile as wide as the state of Tennessee.

“Man I know I’m the one that came up with this game but I feel like I never have a good answer.”

“You always have a good answer.” He put extra emphasis on the word always. I know he believes what he’s saying so I won’t call him a liar. We’ll just have to agree to disagree and get on with it. “Soooooo,” his eyebrow is raised in anticipation of my answer.

“Well I saw a pretty good documentary a couple nights ago. I had a bottle of red wine and a pizza to myself while I watched it. That was nice.”

“See ! Always a good answer.”

“A pretty boring answer.”

“Boring can still be good.” He’s still smiling. He’s always smiling. He’s so optimistic, cheery and just overall positive. Maybe I envy that a little. I guess they say opposites attract for a reason. All the reasons I’m attracted to him – in a magnet way, not a romance way – are all the reasons that he should probably stay away from me.

“Whatever, what was your highlight Dustaroo ?”

“The highlight of my last 7 days is when you had your documentary, wine and pizza.” Now he’s laughing and I’m trying not to laugh. Faking rage is another thing I like to do. One of our unofficial traditions. In these games, if he laughs first, I pretend to be annoyed or enraged and then he tries to make me laugh too. So he reaches over and tickles me. I keep nerves of steel for all of 3 seconds before I’m laughing and yelling for him to stop. I keep thinking to myself that this is nice. We’re still the same two dopey kids we were when we were 5, despite what life’s been doing to us lately. Mostly to me. “Really though,” he starts back, “the highlight of my last 7 days was probably Thursday when I got my bonus. I went ahead and put some money away because I’m thinking of doing a backpacking trip. I haven’t decided if it’ll be a solo trip or a group thing but I’m pretty excited.”

“A backpacking trip ? Where ? When ? When were you going to tell me ?”

“Well it’s very much in the idea phase so there wasn’t a reason to really mention it yet.”

“Oh so best friends need reasons to tell each other things now ?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“It was serious enough for you to put away part of your precious bonus for it.”

“I was going to save some money either way. Just wasn’t sure for what.”

“Where are you thinking of going ?”

“That… I’m not sure yet.” By this time, we’re pulling up to my apartment. 111 Oneston Street.

“Wanna come in for a bit ?” I knew he’d say yes. He always does. As a matter of fact, he was getting out of the car already. “I don’t really have anything to do but,” I let my voice trail off. He’s been here a million times but I still get nervous every single time he comes over. It honestly has more to do with the fact that I’m just an anxious person than anything he’s doing.

As I’m settling in, Dusty walks into the kitchen and starts opening cupboards. “I can never remember where the glasses are.” He finally finds them before I can respond and just that fast he’s pouring us two glasses of wine.

I plop on the couch and turn on the tv. “Wanna find another documentary ?” I ask. It’s what we do almost every time he comes over so the question was mostly rhetorical. Of course, we’re going to watch a documentary. Now, this is the highlight of my last 7 days. I always forget that I actually do enjoy human interaction. Sometimes. And mostly just from him. Still. This is nice. As I flip through I start to read the titles and give some commentary.

“Wait, go back up,” he says urgently. I didn’t catch the title but some cover art caught my eye. It looked a little spooky and I think that’s what I’m in the mood for.”

“A spooky documentary is what you’re in the mood for or you wish we would watch a scary movie instead of a documentary for once ?”

“Honesty zone ?”

“Honest zone.”

“Why not both ? I’d watch a spooky documentary or a scary movie this fine evening with my soon to be tipsy best friend.” He loves it when I drink. He says when I’m tipsy it’s more of the real me. Who he thinks I’d be if it wasn’t for all of the anxiety. I haven’t decided how I feel about that assessment yet. No rush to really unpack that either.

“You know what Dustaroo… let’s watch a scary movie this time.” I smile and he smiles. Then we clink our glasses and chug our wine as he finds a scary movie.

Since I genuinely do not want to see this shit (I am strictly a documentary girlie) I let the wine wash over me and take my mind elsewhere. The lights are low. We have a candle lit. I’m in my favorite oversized sweatshirt and I have my fluffiest throw blanket. All I’m really missing is a pillow but if I really need something, his arm or leg will do. Maybe I’ll just fall asleep. I honestly can almost never tell. Before I completely drift off I remember hearing him ask me if I was tired. “Of course I’m tired. I’m always tired, best friend.”

NaNoWriMo Day 4

I see Dusty most when we’re at work. I work there full time and he just picks up shifts here and there as needed on weekends. It’s a customer service call center called Schwifty’s. Our main client right now is a company that provides all of the uniforms for the Air Force base in our region and a few close by.

I started working here during my senior year of high school. I thought it was going to just be a thing that I do while I support myself through college. I was just working part time then. I didn’t plan to retire here or anything crazy but I knew I’d want to eat more than just noodles. I wasn’t sure if that was a myth about college but I wasn’t willing to find out the hard way. So I did stay here all throughout college. I picked up extra hours during winter, spring and summer breaks from school. I worked holidays, opened, closed, weekends and even on my birthday. Because of this, after I got my degree they decided to offer me a full time position. And much to my surprise, I accepted. So I’m still here.

Dusty just started working here last year. We had a few people walk out at once and I asked if my friend could maybe just fill in. Apparently, that’s illegal. But they did put him through the hiring process and pretty much told him that they’ll accept him working whenever he has time until they figure something else out. They never figured out anything else and he just picks up shifts when he has a thing he wants to buy.

Today is one of the days that we get to work together. He’s already there when I walk in. I greet him with a shy smile, per usual. I hate drawing attention to myself even though everyone already knows that we’re best friends and that I’m the one that got him here. I already know it doesn’t make much sense but I just can’t help it. I’m grateful that he doesn’t mind.

We don’t have assigned seats. There are endless rows and columns of cubicles. Each with one desk, one chair, one phone, one computer and one box of tissues. I choose the seat across from his, sitting where we’re able to face each other, in case I feel like talking. I never feel like talking while at work. But I know he’ll want to talk to me and I enjoy making him feel valued, I suppose.

“You look like shit,” he so lovingly points out.

“Gee, thanks. What would I do without you ?”

“You’d be a lot more lame. I can guarantee that.”

Right as I was about to reply, he got a call. Perfect. I actually didn’t know what to say. I really would be a lot more lame without him. I’m okay with the fact that I’m still lame with him too. I’ve always been pretty lame and he’s always been pretty cool. Sometimes that just tricks people into thinking I must be cool too. In a way that’s a secret. A way that they could never discern themselves. So they just trust the proximity of our friendship.

I start settling into my temporary office suite for the day and let my mind wander. I use the term “let” very loosely here. I start wondering if my dad ever worked at a call center. I wonder if he ever had a job at all. Maybe my mom met him at work and they were a normal teenage couple at first and then things just got out of hand. Who knows. Besides them. And maybe my grandma. My grandma. I miss her so much. The dreams I have about her always feel so real. Death is a crazy experience. To witness it in someone else. Maybe there’s a better way to word that. I just can’t get my thoughts completely straight when I start to get anxious. I’m anxious a lot. My words are never right.

Before I know it, Dusty is asking me if I want a ride home. What fucking time is it ? I look at the clock and it’s 5:03 pm. Wow. How does this always happen ?