This has to be close to the most uncomfortable time I can ever remember waking. I am hanging from a yellow rope that is tied to my right wrist. The pain hasn't actually woken me. It was the blood streaming down my arm and on to my face. I don't think I can feel my arm any longer. I don't know how long I have been dangling from this rope. An hour? A day? I have almost no concept of real time here. It is not yet dawn yet but close to it. I can see I am on the eastern shore of somewhere. The suns light is very slowly changing the black horizon to a deep purple hue. I look down below and see a sandy white beach. Above, I see that stupid rope climbing past my vision and into the fast moving clouds. The wind pushes me towards the water then back to the shore in a perfectly lazy rhythm. It is almost peaceful. The blood has made a path across my face and no matter how I twist or turn I can't keep it from splashing in my eyes, nose and mouth. I have to get down from here before high tide returns and leaves me a perfectly bloody mess for a hungry shark. I inspect the rope as best as I can from my point of view. It is a slipknot which is better than I hoped for. At least I have a chance to get out of my predicament, strength willing. I swing my left arm above the knot and pull myself up so that my face is level with the trapped wrist. Using my teeth, I pull the slack on the slip and my right arm slides out of the loop like a dead snake. Now I am hanging by my left arm a couple feet higher than I was at first and, looking down, I have lost the courage to just drop the dozen feet or so. Depending on my timing, I could be in the water or on the sand. It seems higher than it was a few minutes ago either way. My left arm is not willing to hang on too long and begins to slide down the nylon rope resulting in a painful burning in my palm. Damn this rope. I let go first. I look down second. I land half way in the sand and water but roll out towards the sea when my knees give out from under me. Very aware of my blood still seasoning the warm waters, I scramble onto the sand through broken shells and scattered seaweed. I lie on the cool sand trying to gain feeling back into my right arm. It is almost completely numb but I think it will be better with time.
The yellow rope is still hanging above me but is no longer swaying with the ocean breeze. It seems to point directly at me. The sun is breaking over the horizon casting my shadow almost as far as the sand dunes beyond. A banana tree sways in the wind, trying to lull me towards it, daring me to climb it and steal its precious fruit. I consider it but decide not to try. I am out of banana tree climbing practice by about twenty five years. I close my eyes and listen to the jungle behind wake from its own dreams as it probably has every morning for the last million years. I only hear birds chirping and an occasional simian hoot. It doesn't sound very dangerous. At least there is no roaring or screaming going on. Nothing to incite a flight (most likely) or fight (mostly unlikely) response from my tired body. I don't know what the odds would be in favor of an unarmed twenty-nine year old killing a tiger, snake, gorilla or lone chubacabra but I am betting double or nothing on the thing that isn't worried about getting wrinkles on its forehead to win the fight. My mind rests without my permission but I can't stay here for long. The tide is already starting to lap at my feet. My head turns in the direction I want my body to follow and the left arm obeys, at least, flapping in front of me like a handicapped seal. The right arm is still on strike. I push myself up on to my knees and try to brush off the wet sand that has caked into every crevice of my body. I thought after returning from my beach adventures last week that I would like sand more. I don't. Being alone at this beach has a completely different effect on me than being here with some gorgeous bikini wrapped woman. The rope thing didn't help either. Thinking of the rope, vaguely remembering that it had some kind of importance, I look up to see it still pointing straight towards me. It looks as if it is trying to live its life as a lightening bolt but it's failing to shock me, literally or figuratively. Before I can smile at my wittiness the rope falls out of the sky and coils around my knees like an olympically released turd. It looks to be about twelve feet long right now. Long enough to give it some weight and annoy me while I carry it around. Damn yellow rope. I notice that there is a tattered piece of linen tied to one end. It says "look in the hole again, fucker" in a waxy red crayola medium. I am bewildered as to what this means but I have this feeling that tells me to hang in there (rope humor, hehe) so I do.
Standing on my feet wasn't as difficult as my body lead me to believe. The surroundings are gorgeous but not helpful at all. It seems that I am in a bay of some sort. At least when looking to my left or right, the shore curves out in both directions. Maybe this is an illusion: one of those inane facts about beaches I have never heard of. I decide to walk north, or to my left. Being left or right handed can help make a lot of subconscious decisions when you least expect it. So left it is. The jungle is still moderately quiet even though the sun has now risen to at least double its own height. I walk as close to the water as possible just in case. Nothing stands out to be mentioned. Everything here could be another carpet tile on an airport floor. I walk for some time. The land in front of me doesn't change its direction or degree of curvature. I stop for a moment and listen to the wind, waves and competing wildlife. Nothing to do but continue walking north. I walk for what seems to be hours. Judging by the position of the sun it is around noon and its UV rays are a searing paste brushed over my recently tanned skin. I need shade and some water. I need a fucking banana. I keep walking. In the distance I see something moving on the beach. I can't make out what it is yet but it is definitely alive. No hurry. I will get there sooner or later. My right arm feels much better than before and I can't find any cuts to explain the blood either. It looks like the thing I saw in the distance was a crab. I can't be sure but there is a huge hole in the sand that looks freshly dug. This guy must be really big too. The hole is around the size of basketball. I push a wedge of sand into the hole with the edge of my shoe and step back to watch what happens. Sure enough, the sand is flicked out by unseen arms. Maybe it is a turtle. I have nothing else to do so I sit and rest and hope this thing comes out of its hole before I need to leave again. I plop down on to the sand and wiggle my body into a comfortable sand Lazy Boy. The clouds have covered the sun giving me a temporary break from achieving the illustrious orange Hulk Hogan tan I secretly always wanted. The rope seems to have shrunk in size. It is only about six feet long now and is much thinner in width. The linen is still exactly the same dirty, wind torn fabric tied to the end of the rope. I remembered the message. look in the hole again, fucker. So I do exactly that. I see nothing but the stark darkness contrasted against the white sand. I don't want to get too close and have my face sniped off by a claw or beak so I shade my eyes and squint, trying to get a better view from where I am crouching. No luck. There is nothing going on in the foyer. Obviously the real party is deep inside where the rude two-legged sand kickers can't reach. I throw a shell into the hole. Nothing happens. I shovel more sand into the hole. Nothing happens. I decide to snake my rope into the hole. I slide about half of it in to the darkness. There is a quick jerk followed by a very slow but constant pull. I'm fishing for what exactly? I try to pull back but there is zero give on my end. It feels as if my rope has been caught in some powerful machines conveyer belt and is destined to be pooped out the other end as something industrially different and boring. I can't lose my rope now. I still think I need it. I quickly loop the slipknot onto my left wrist and plant my feet directly on both sides of this hole trying to recall the tug-of-war winning stance. Nothing I do slows the pull. I can not win this battle. I give up fighting and wish my rope goodfuckingluck. I pull the slip away from my wrist, I try to pull the slip away from my wrist, and it doesn't budge. I can not get the knot loose! The rope slowly but surely disappears into this hole which doesn't seem big at all anymore. "Damn you yellow rope! Why did I ever take you with me?" I am starting to panic. I can't escape this. I am on my knees now still fighting the pull without success. My fingers are being swallowed by shadow. Now my hand. I lie down on my stomach and blindly grab a shell with my right hand hoping to use it as a weapon against whatever is down there. The creature might be surprised to find a sun-kissed monkey in its hole in a few minutes. I have to expect the worst. My hand is enveloped by something wet and warm. Honestly, the best way to describe the feeling is like this, it is a very Adult feeling (wink wink). In other situations, I would have welcomed something like this. My hand is inside this thing. It is losing its feeling but I wouldn't call it numbness. It is more like a drug slipping you into a deep sleep. I am losing memory of my hand and now arm. I don't fight it anymore. I hear music growing in my head. "Staring at the sun, standing in the sea, your mouth is open wide, the lover is inside, and all the tumults done, collided with the sign" I am slipping into something I can't escape from. I don't think I would want to escape if I could at this point. Tears slide down my sun burnt cheeks and, they feel like ice, they are so damned cold. The rope is still trailing beside me. The linen is now replaced with a stapled-on see-through plastic price tag. It says "Dreams are free for you and me when reality costs a serious fortune, see you on the other side, fucker" I carry this message into oblivion with my shell and damned yellow rope.
April 13th, 2007
No comments:
Post a Comment