Buried Treasure

"Where are you?" I awake to Frank's questions. Everything's starting to come back into focus. I remember everything now; how I got here, where I went, everything that's happened. The clarity of it all is deafening. I open my eyes and see the burn of the flourescent lights and the barred windows and the white washed walls. Too much color means too much excitement. I climb back up on my bed, slowly regaining conciousness to reality. "Do you know who you are?" Frank asked with a tinge of hope in his voice, seeing that the haze of confusion is gone from my eyes.

"Patient 271, Seattle Hospital, Mental ward." Frank smiles at me.

"Do you know why you're here?" Frank still seemed concerened. "Will you walk me through it."

"Funny way of phrasing that really," I said halfway giggling, "walk me through it. It seems a bit ironic with this journey we just took."

"We didn't take a journey," Frank looked hopeless, "we never left this room."

"I remember it all, Frank." I begin to explain how I got in the mental hospital, and my entire journey. I let my memories speak for me, and let them guide me through. I let my mind finish its journey, and find my long, lost memories that were repressed for so long.
When I was a small child, my mom and brother and I lived in that small house on the corner of that street. My mother was no angel, she was a heroine addict who was beginning to lose control of her life. She pushed away her mother toward the end, and the only thing that became important to her was her next fix. The incident happened on Christmas Eve. We set up the tree with the beautiful silver angel on top, and my brother, being two years older than I, accidentally knocked down the whole tree while he was running around. My mother, waiting to shoot up her drugs until after the tree was set was out of her mind. In a crazed, drug-feening state, she beat my brother with a shovel that was sitting by the fireplace in the house. I watched her kill him. I watched it happen. I was only five years old.
"Yes. Then what happened?" Frank interrupted my thought process as I flashed back into reality. "I know it's painful."
She yelled at me to clean up the mess. She made me drag him into the backyard, enclosed in a fence, with that terrifying rotweiler she got to scare her drug dealers when they came over. She never fed it. Its eyes pierced through your soul when it looked at you. It just looked at you like you were its next meal. Mom couldn't afford to feed it, let alone pay the heating bill. So here I am, five years old, burying a hole in the backyard to bury my murdered brother. I was just doing what momma said. I didn't know it was wrong. There's blood all over the dirt and snow. I drag him in the shallow grave dug from a child. As I'm getting out, I feel a sharp sting in my right shoulder.
I snap back into reality for a second and look down at my shoulder. It's completely mangled. The skin never healed together properly, and there are chucks of muscle detatched under my torn, stretched skin. No wonder it hurts all the time.
I crawled away from this savage beast. I made it back into the house. My mother was on the couch, with a tourniquette around her arm and she's slumped in her usual position. I remember being so cold, all I could do was take my left arm and try to pull her passed out, barely concious body over me so I could keep warm. "You're a good boy," she mumbled in her inebriated state, "and good boys get their presents at Christmas." I passed out from exhaustion and cold. When I woke in the morning, I was covered in vomit from my mothers overdose. She was dead. I thought she was just still sleeping. She would sleep for days sometimes. I opened the only present under the tree. Then I remember walking outside, down the street, and my grandmother found me covered in blood and vomit.
"And now I'm here." I said. "I'm here because of how long I searched for those memories."

"Yes." Frank said relieved. "Welcome back to reality."

Home

I hate sleeping on busses. You never know the person next to you, and it takes a certain amount of trust that I don't have in that person to be unconcious around them. I didn't care this time, it was just Frank and I in this seat, though I was a little worried he wasn't going to wake me when we got there. I figured he might just keep on riding until he got home, (wherever that is). When we got to Seattle, Frank woke me up and we got off the bus. It's like any other day, but today I know we come to the end of our journey. I know my answer lies here. When I was sleeping, I dreamt of a small house, sort-of dreary, covered in moss from all of the rain here. It's a perfect little house in a terrible neighborhood. It looked dangerous, but I've survived it once. It has to be my final destination. It has to be where my treasure lies. We begin the final stretch of our journey after failing inspecting another locker in the bus station.

"So where are we now?" Frank asked. Of course, I took it as a child asking, are we there yet?, but I know that's not what he meant. I'm just a little irritated because my shoulder is screaming in pain. It seems worse now that we're closer to the goal. It's like the closer we get, the more my brain is telling my shoulder to hurt. Maybe it's because I know we're near the end, but I wish the pain wasn't so present.

"It's right around this corner," I said, "we're so close now." Frank knows I'm excited.

"Are you remembering any of this?" There's a strange question. Frank has some doozies, but this one seemed a bit more direct.

"Of course I do," I say as we round the corner, "I grew up here." Then it dawned on me. I grew up here. I lived here. I was a child here. I started running toward this broken down shack of a house. The roof is sagging and the windows are all boarded up. I start pacing around the front yard frantically, wondering what's become of the place where I used to live. Wasn't it thriving? What of the perfect little house I dreamt of? Now it looks as run down as the rest of this neighborhood.

"What do you see?" Frank asked. "What can you remember? What is this place?" Frank's questions all cut me very deep. Suddenly, I felt like a sharp knife ripped through my shoulder and into my brain. There's pain here, in this place. I run to the door and find a small lock that looks like a lock you would put on a train locker. I reach into my bag and pull that little locker key out. Did the woman on the train know I was her grandson? Did she single me out, knowing where I was going?

"Where are you?" Frank seems like he's yelling from the end of a tunnel. I turn the key and the lock opens.

"What is this place?" Frank yells again. I push open the door. "WHERE ARE YOU?" Frank yells as I walk through the front door. My brain feels like its being ripped from my head. I take a couple steps in and everything starts turning. I can feel my feet go numb. "Where are you?" His questions feel as loud as my heartbeat. I can't breathe. Everything's turning white. I fall to my knees. I feel like every ounce of blood has been drained from my body.

"I remember everything Frank." I say with my last bit of strength. My face hits the ground and I fade back out of consciousness. At least I'm home.

Just a Walk to the Bus

"Hhhuuuuuhhhhhh," I breathe in like I haven't had breath for weeks. As I suddenly come to, I'm blinsided by all these memories swirling around in my head. I'm from Seattle. I know this, but why can't I remember anything about it? I remember now that's where my journey began. So why can't I remember what I'm searching for? This has been the most exciting object by far. I know this angel is mine. I had it when I was a child. I remember wanting to put it on the tree, but I wasn't tall enough, and I got the silver glitter all over me. I remember having it with me when I first started walking. To anyone else, this wouldn't make much sense, but to me, this angel was my angel. She was my saving grace. Only the memory of her would carry me through the day to the end of my journey.

"You're awake," Frank sounded so delighted, like he saved the day, "I wasn't sure where you went off to. What happened with you? It looked like ten million thoughts hit your head all at once and your brain couldn't take it, so you passed out."

"I'm ok..." still coming too. "I have to make it to Seattle. It's there, Frank."

"Great," Frank is displeased, I can tell. The more time you spend with someone, the more you get to know their little querks. I could careless, I'm nearing the end of my journey. "Let's get moving as soon as you're ready. You've slept nearly half the day away."

So I gather my newly found angel, my bag and things, and we start walking toward the city. That bus station is only like ten miles away, and I'm pretty sure we can take that straight to Seattle. I'm extremely exhausted, and every step feels like it could be my last. The only thing at this point that's keeping me going is the wings of the angel on my back. She wants me to finish this journey as badly as I do. Onward I tread.

Frank is tired, too. I can tell. There's nothing I can do about that. He can tell my excitement by the pace I've set on the way to the station. I want to go home. As we get to the station, the sun is starting to set. It's comfortably familiar. I've seen this skyline before. It's like everything is in it's right place. I'm excited, I'm happy. I wouldn't tell Frank in a million years. He always asks me how I'm feeling. It drives me crazy. I'm pretty sure he can tell anyways. It's not everyday I've got a smile on my face. I think Frank's happy too. He knows we're nearing the end. He knows my angel will guide us.

The bus seems slower than it ever has. The roads aren't bad. I wish they'd hurry. But for tonight, I think I'll get some sleep, knowing that when we get to Seattle, we're in the city this treasure is buried. I'm almost done.

Wrestling With Demons

I can't sleep. My eyes fixated in the distance, I stare into the eyes of this savage animal. It follows me, it always has. I can feel him when he's near. It never comes close, just watches from a distance, but I always feel like it's breathing on the back of my neck. It's a looming presence clutching on to my everyday like a demon attached to my very soul. Still, I press on. Still, I wander the earth searching for my treasure. I have to push through my obstacles; through my demons. The sun's starting to rise, morning will come soon. I should wake Frank.

"Frank," I whisper, "wake up, man. I can't sleep anyways. Let's get moving."

"Let me sleep," his voice sounds more tired than I feel probably, "I just need sleep."

"I want to go, I don't like this place..."

"You were the one that brought us here!" This is probably the most emotion he's shown since I've known him. He usually just asks me a bunch of stupid questions. "Why would you want to leave? You said this place was safe. You said you've stayed here before. Why is tonight different from any other night you've stayed here? Does this have something to do with the lady on the train? You still haven't told me what you two talked about."

"I knew the questions would come..." God, he irritates me. He asked "What?" like he didn't hear me. I think he knows that even the simple question of what is just another point of annoyance for me. I think sometimes he annoys me on purpose just to push for conversation. There's just no way he's that smart. Someone with an intelligence level worth talking to just doesn't ask that many questions. "Let's just go."

I know I should let him sleep. We're both tired, and I guess I just feel a little jealous that I can't sleep and he can. If I get up, I think he'll probably follow anyways. The sun's coming up, maybe I'll just take a quick look around. If I remember this place, there must be a reason. I walk outside and keep thinking about Frank's stupid questions. He's never been so blunt before. I'll just shove this off too. There's no use thinking about Frank's questions, I've got enough on my mind trying to remember why I'm even out here. Not to mention the key I got from that lady on the bus. I can finish her quest, and I should. How could she sleep peacefully knowing that she wasted her life?

........There's a rustle behind me. I completely forgot about it; the beast, my demon. It's probably right behind me, ready to pounce, ready to gnaw at my weathered flesh, ready to tear my already torn limbs. I can't explain the amount of fear that is shooting through my spine. I turn around slowly, unwilling and not ready to face my death. I will fight. I have too much to do. These few seconds have seemed like I've been wrestling for hours. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and my heart feels like it's about to give out from all the excitement. I turn around, and to my surprise, there's nothing there. All of my breath escapes me at the same time, like I just held my breath for minutes. I could've sworn I heard something. I'm searching frantically in every direction, but with no avail.

As my nerves begin to settle, I keep looking around for some savage beast. I still have no peace about where I am. I just need to sleep, I think. I'm starting to hear things. I'll go back inside, Frank's still there, there's safety in numbers. As I'm walking around the side of the barn, still looking around cautiously, my eye catches something glistening off of the new sunlight. There's something in a room inside the barn, but I don't see a door to that room. That side of the barn has collapsed on itself.

"Frank! Come take a look at this." I yell at him from down the hall. "I think I found something."

"I see it." He's right beside me. Don't know when he got there. "I think I can get this board loose." And he does. He just looks at me and I slide between the boards into this hidden room. On the table in front of me is a Christmas tree topper. It's a glitter-covered, silver angel that looks like something that you'd see in an old Catholic Mass Hall. It pick it up and spin it around. The back of it has a small handprint stained by blood. I'm confused. I know the angel is mine. I recognize it. The blood is what worries me. Where did I get the angel, and who's blood is that. My head starts spinning with all the crazy possibilities. Did that beast get a hold of someone? I know no one else has been here, this barn's been abandoned for years. My head is swirling with questions. All my muscles are tensing up. My shoulder tightens up so much it feels like there's no blood getting to my brain. I'm dizzy. I look back at Frank and he asks if I'm ok. I look back at the bloody handprint on the back of the angel, I'm seeing double. I look up at the halo and notice a small inscription that says Seattle, WA. Then everything goes black.

The Barn

Portland has never been my scene, yet, here I am. On my ever-present quest, searching for God only knows. The train station is always busy here. I must be running around in circles. Everything is too familiar. Frank's at my side, spouting about how interested he was about my interactions with the woman on the train. "I don't know," I tell him, "I just felt compelled." There was something strangely familiar about her. She tried to get too personal though. How could I remind her of her past? We've never seen each other before. I'm glad that train ride is over, though. It's time to get away from all these people. I can't take another train. Too many people, too crowded. I've stayed outside Portland many times. I know the perfect place.

"Where to?" Frank asked. I keep him out of most of my thoughts, I suppose that gets boring for him.

"I know a place," he need some information, "maybe ten miles out of the city. There's a barn I know is safe. I've stayed there before."

Frank just shrugs and follows along, like he always does. He's like a lost puppy, just waiting to be acknowledged or pet or something. I'm beginning to build a certain distain for his presence. Some days I'm glad he's here I guess, but his questions always seem irrelevant. As we walk out of the train station, Frank and I stop by the lockers and try 271. Of course, the key didn't fit. I think I'll just hold on to this key and try all over. Frank thinks it's odd I would do this dying woman any favors, but no one else was going to do it, and she didn't have any times left. I'm going all over the country, I was her best option.

The walk to the barn was Frank throwing a myraid of questions at me. I can't think hardly. Usually, I spend all this travel time in my own thoughts. Frank just felt talkative today. It was driving me crazy. I also know the more time I spend in my own thoughts, I would go even crazier. Having someone to talk to is a blessing, but it's in a hell of a disguise. Today isn't about finding anything, I just need a familiar place I can go and think at. It's nearing nighttime, and we're nearly there. For some reason, I can't stop thinking we're being followed. I know it's a little paranoid, I mean, who cares about a couple of drifting nomads? We're not hurting anybody. Still, my eyes are sharp tonight. I keep thinking I'm seeing an animal's eyes in the distance, almost like something is hunting us; stalking it's prey.

We approach the barn in the dark. Frank complains on how run down it is. I don't mind. It's a roof over my head in a rainy part of the world. I'll take shelter in a run down barn anyday over sleeping out in the bugs and the rain. My shoulder hurts more in the rain. I feel it in my bones. I feel a little more secure anyways with those stalking eyes in the night. I try to tell Frank; he keeps saying it's all in my head. Morning will come soon, anyways. I've got to sleep on what to do next. Tonight, I'll stare in the distance. I'll stay awake and make sure we're safe. We've come too far to get eaten by some rabid beast.

Stangers on a Train

I've always just gone where the wind has taken me. There's never been much sense of direction, I've always just been looking. For the first time since I can remember, I have a sense of purpose, a sense of direction. Then why am I so miserable still? Why am I not more excited about this? I suppose I know this isn't the end of my journey. This is merely another beginning of sorts. After so many miles and so many months travelling, it's hard to get excited about finding a hidden toy train set, but nonetheless I have a new reason to keep going. Purpose is the most important reason for this journey anyways.

I hate waiting for trains. I rode on them for years, but I was just riding in the wrong direction. I know I have to go north. Always go toward the sun, that's been my policy. Frank thinks I know where I'm going. It's a matter of selling my security with him sometimes. He seems to respond better with my decisions when I'm sure of myself. I guess anyone would, but Frank more than most. It makes me wonder why he follows me when I have so many questions about where I am going and who I am. I guess it doesn't matter. At least I can watch other people while I'm here. I always wonder if anyone is on as big as a journey as me. I like creating stories in my head about my fellow passengers. I can't help it. Maybe it's a comfort thing. I think if all these other people are as lost as I am, then finding my treasure would somehow motivate them. Maybe my story will get out there.

"AAALLLLLL AABOOOOOAAARRRDDDD!" My thoughts are interrupted by the conductor. I've been so lost looking through this sea of faces, seeing musicians and old couples and young business people, it all is so interesting this world. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of how much I don't belong in this world. As I reach my seat I notice an elderly lady sitting alone crying. Something inside me makes me want to talk to her. She looks as lonely as I probably do. I sit next to her and say nothing. Maybe she'll initiate conversation. She looks up briefly and tries to cover her eyes. They're so full of pain and regret. She glances back briefly and gives me a fake smile.

"I'm dying." She says without hesitation. It sort of startles me. She's so poignant, maybe she can tell I'm not much for conversation. I can't really bring myself to say words back to her. "That's why you're here, right? To ask how I was doing?" She stares at me blankly.

"Not really," I said uncomfortably, not wanting to deal with her stare any longer, "well, maybe. You look like you needed to talk to someone. I'm not much of a talker, but I can listen."

"You seem like the type." It's like she knows me. She knows I don't like shallow conversations. "It's cancer, I've only got a few months to live." I'm sorry, even though I can't bring myself to say. "Worst part about the whole thing, is that I feel like I've barely lived. I worked in a small office my whole life and never done anything very exiting. I've had only one daughter, who has already passed.....in a terrible tragedy." Her pause made me curious but I didn't want to ask. "She had two children, I didn't even know until after it was too late. They were put under the state's supervision after the...accident."

"Are you going to tell me what happened or just keep skating around it?" I couldn't take it after two pauses. She obviously wanted to talk about it.

"I don't actually know. Police couldn't tell me. Something about abuse cases and such. I wasn't involved in her life anyways. I never knew her after she moved to the city." She seemed more hurt about this than the cancer. Amazing to me the heart of a mother. I never knew mine. This woman cares more about her dead daughter than she does about her wasted life. "She was the only good thing I did in my life. She was my only adventure. I can see you're on quite the adventure yourself." She looked at me inquisitively.

"I've been searching forever." I said out of obligation.

"You have her eyes." That took me off guard. "I didn't mean to throw you off there. You are the only person that's taken interest on this entire train. You'd think an elderly woman crying on a train would attract more attention. Nobody cares in this world. Nobody has the heart to follow their instincts."

"That's all I do."

"I know," she looked me up and down, "someone like you is exactly who I've been looking for. I want you to have this key." She hands me a keychain with a little tag that says the number 271. "It's nothing, it belonged to my grandson I guess, I found it in their abandoned house after the accident. It's just a train station locker key, but I came to connect with this child I've never met. Problem is, I can't find what train station it's from. Maybe along your journey you can find it."

The train came to a stop. "Thanks." I said hesitantly, knowing I have yet another useless objective. "I'll keep an eye out."

"I hope you find what you're looking for." She caught me off-gaurd again. Hope, there's a concept I haven't felt in a while. I guess I'll find Frank and keep going. Maybe I'll just stop by the lockers on the way out. 271 sounds like a good number. The woman was friendly enough, and I felt sorry for her. Not because she's dying, everyone dies, but because she couldn't finish her adventure. Since that's all I do, I'll help her finish hers.

Midnight Train

Night has always been the hardest part. I'm haunted by the past. My subconcious won't shut down, it won't let me sleep. Terrifying, horrible, disgusting nightmares that haunt my waking life every moment. I can't hardly talk about it, Frank's asked me about it, he's woke me up from sleep, caught me doing strange things. He finds me trying to dig holes in the ground, trying to uncover this treasure or whatever. I'm haunted by the ghost of this quest. I'm always searching, always trying to find this answer, even in my dreams.

As my eyes open, I survey the current scene. Fire still smoking from the night before, sunlight desperately trying to break through the tall redwood trees, and the dirt bed I slept on. I'm covered in red bumps from the bug-infested rotted bark I had to use as my blanket. God, I wish I had answers, I wish I knew what I was looking for. I'm itchy, I'm hurting, my shoulder is killing me, I hate that I have to sleep on that side. None of it matters I suppose, I should get up. I look across the fire and see where Frank is sleeping, but he's not there. Every time he disappears I hope he just got wise and left me to my own devices. I never understood why he joined me in this quest anyways. Still, sometimes I wish his presence was more reliable, I sort of wonder whether or not he's been killed by some wild animal.

I turn to push myself off of the ground, my shoulder is killing me today, and covered in bites. Nothing matters except the quest, the truth, the answer. I guess I'll walk. There's a road nearby, I could follow that and maybe get picked up hitch hiking. I can't help but feel like I've been here before. I've seen this area. I feel like I'm walking in circles. I've spent so many nights in these wooded areas, still this one seems more familiar than I've felt in a long time. I remember this place. I've been here before. Am I walking in circles? Or is this actually a lost memory resurfacing?

My mind starts swirling. I haven't tread on familiar ground since long before I can remember. I always just travel, always searching. Something tells me I just have to look around. Some of these trees are hollowed out and things can be hidden in, and there are so many small hiding places. Excitement overtakes me. I start tearing bark off of some trees like a wild animal looking for a meal after hibernating. I know something's here, something has to be here. There has to be some reason that I remember this place.

Hours pass. This no longer looks like a campsite, it's more of a nature-filled crime scene. Trees with their skin ripped right off of them, leaves and needles scattered everywhere like the blood of the trees spilled on the ground, and I'm covered in sap. I'm exhausted. Throwing all this tree mess around like a savage beast wore me out. I haven't found anything. I wish I could just find whatever is here. I flop into a seated position in a pile of leaves that accumulated. Tears burst forth at some point, I hadn't even noticed. The frustration of it all sent the emotions to the foreground without a prewarning. Bastard things, these emotions. They never get you anywhere, never do you any good, just a useless, genetic virus that every human just has to deal with.

"Hey, look what I found this morn..." Frank walked in as my emotions surfaced, "ing....what the hell happened here?"

"Nothing, Frank, leave it alone." I don't know why I'm always pushing him away.

"Nothing looks a lot like an emotional tantrum targeted at these trees. What's going on here?

"I...thought I remembered this place, thought I left something here...a long time ago maybe.

"Could it be this?" Frank holds up a train set. It's tattered, beaten up like it's been played with by a child who loved this toy very much. It also look like it's been buried for many years.

"Where have you been? I always wonder where you go."

"Why? You worried about me?" Frank said jokingly. He knows I keep him at a distance.

"I remember this place, I remember this toy, it was mine."

"Woah!" Frank is excited, this is our first big lead. "So what does it mean, then? Is our adventure over? Is this what you've been looking for?"

"If it was I wouldn't know, Frank. Stop all the questions. This is important, I have to think."

"Are you crying? (damn, he noticed) "what's going on with you? Frank's all too concerned.

"Just leave it alone, stop asking questions. I've got to figure this out." My speech inflects my annoyance and resolve. This train set is not what I'm looking for. But i think it's part of it. It has to be if I left it here, it's supposed to tell me something. All I know is that this little train set, with which I played with for hours as a child, feels like a piece of me. I wouldn't have thrown it away. It means there's more. So to answer your question Frank, if this is the end of my journey, I would have to actually have to answer, this is just the beginning.

"How so?" Frank asked.

"It's a clue, from me. We need to get to the city."

The Beginning

I guess the best way to start the story is at the beginning, if I knew what it was. My whole life I’ve been searching for the same thing; an answer, an object, an existence. Something to fulfill my past and concrete my future. I’ve never been able to move forward because I just feel like this key to unlocking the future lies in my past. All I know is that somewhere in this vast world there is a secret the universe is hiding from me. It’s like a splinter in my mind and it’s holding me back from becoming who I need to be. With everything in me, I have to find it. I need to find it. It’s my purpose, it’s my reason for being until I find it.

Now, of course, with every great journey, I have a companion, a friend who actually cares about me. Don’t ask me how. I don’t remember. I’ve tried to piece it together, but for the life of me I don’t know where he came from. The nomad’s life is mostly a lonely one. For as long as I can remember, he’s been with me. I suppose I appreciate the company, he’s better with people anyway. I don’t care for people much. They seem to look right through me and treat me like I’m some lost soul wandering through life, like it’s a disease to find yourself. Maybe it is, I don’t know, frankly, I don’t care. Hell, it’s better than being stuck on these concrete highways and being a mindless drone, working your life away and not knowing why. At least my purpose is real…I mean, I hope it is. The search is real. That much I know. His name is Frank. We don’t talk much, he doesn’t seem like much of a talker unless I initiate the conversation. It’s like he’s awaiting for words in my every breath.

Sometimes I guess I wonder why he’s here. He says he believes in my journey, that he feels more alive travelling and helping me uncover my past than he did stuck in some office somewhere. I feel like I’ve had that conversation with him numerous times. We’ve been travelling so long I hardly remember what I did yesterday. He doesn’t blame me though, he knows I’ve been on the road forever. Sometimes I think he even cares more about whatever I’m trying to find than I do. Maybe he’s a friend, maybe he thinks he can truly help me. Maybe he thinks it’s some buried treasure and he’s in it for all the money and gold. These thoughts make me laugh. How exciting would it be to find buried treasure? I’d be rich, I’d be famous. Then all those drones that waste their life away would be jealous, maybe it would even inspire some of them to search for their own treasure, but I digress, I’m not in it for some grandiose prize or treasure, I just want to know what it is. Honestly, I could care less who or what it is, just as long as I find it.

I’m weathered. I’ve felt pain in my body for years. Somewhere along the line, my right shoulder felt like the earth chewed it up and spit it out. My back seems crooked and worn. I’m only twenty-three, yet my body feels as deteriorated as a dying man’s would in his last stretch. I have to press on though. At least I have Frank to do the heavy lifting. Nothing can stop me from learning my past. Not the rain or snow, not the feeling of failure after every pointless clue that leads me nowhere, not even the fact my body is torn and tattered from the miles I’ve put on it. Oh, how I wish we could just find this and be done with it. The days are so blurred together.

“Where do you think we are?” I ask Frank.

“Oh,” I hated that he started every sentence with oh, “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen a map in a while. It’s not like we’re travelling on roads here. How ‘bout you?” I am curious why he would ask me the same stupid question. “Where do you think we are?”

I say nothing, I’m done talking. That was useless to even open my mouth. A waste of breath if you ask me; talking. I try to keep to myself mostly because I believe everyone has only one life, with a finite amount of breath, with a finite amount of time. It’s a blessing, or in my case, a curse. At least today I feel like that. Some places seem prettier than others.

“If I had to guess,” I finally broke the silence just out of sheer boredom of my own thoughts, “I’d say we’re somewhere on the west coast, maybe northern California.”

“Oh, really?” There’s that oh again. “Why would you say that?” Frank was always so inquisitive.

“The trees man,” I’m so irritated, “look how big the trees are.” Frank just nods because he can tell my current distain. We were somewhere in the redwoods. “I think we should rest here for the night, seems as good a place as any. Some of these trees are hollowed out, they’d make for good shelter.”

So we build a small fire and bed down for the night. The night gets sort of cold for me. I’m always fighting the dark. I’m always looking for something to keep warm. I have to sleep on my right side because if I need anything I have to have my left arm free to grab it. Usually it’s a cover of some sort. A big, rotting piece of redwood bark is my blanket tonight. I don’t care about the bugs, I’d like to think of myself as a houseguest, and I always treat their territory as if it were mine. At least it’s wet enough that I can try to stay near the fire. We should sleep fine tonight.