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.
