Lost in Time

Thick as oil, the air is heavy. Am I breathing? Can I breathe, here in this myst? This feels right, am I home? I know no other life when I'm here in this place. This is real to me. I'm not lost, though it's strange. I know the faces, the places. When I awake I wonder if it was real.

The world is in chaos. I walk down the street every day and watch strange people doing odd things, dressed in vibrant colors with twisted crazy hair and expressions. I wonder if I look odd to them and look down at my arms, inspecting my hands, seems normal. I know where I'm going, but then I turn a corner and I don't recognize anything. I turn around again and can't remember where I am. I wonder if this is what Alzheimer's or dementia must feel like.

I see a building that looks familiar and hurry over to it. It's a mess inside, every room looks like something from a Picasso painting, even some of the people, moving slowly, some quickly, running on all fours as swiftly as spiders or sitting and staring off into space. This seems about right, the usual daily happenings.

Then they're gone, everyone, everything. It's just me in a large room with many doors. I'm trying to find my way out. It's dark. There's light coming from the edges of some of the doors. It's eerie and cold. How can I feel cold in a dream?

Then it shifts.

I'm in a long black cotton dress, a noose around my neck, my hair in my face. I feel the air cut off from my lungs. I'm convulsing and shaking, lights popping in front of my eyes. I feel this immense pressure in my brain, and then light.

I'm back in my grandmother's house, wearing a dinner dress that I only wear for nice occasions. The whole family is here, my five-year-old son, my aunts, uncles, and cousins, and my mom is sitting by my grandma in her best bonnet. My grandpa passed away three years ago. I feel the emptiness of his loss. I know something's missing without him here. I kiss my son on his brown, shaggy head. He looks up at me, eyes glistening with a big sticky smile. "When do we get cake?" he asks.

Everything changes again.

I'm in my living room, my favorite bell bottoms flared at the leg with crocheted sunflowers. the room is smokey, and I'm feeling fine. My man should be back any minute. I'm alone and hear a noise outside. I look out the thin, yellow curtains and see a van pull up, a group of men dressed in black with guns jump out and rush into the house. I don't have time to react. They started shooting so fast. There's a flash of searing heat and pain, my vision goes dark.

I'm waiting in line at the bank near our home in Missouri. There are large windows in the front near the door. It's mid-day. My husbands waiting in the truck with the kids. I said I'd only be a second. I need to get some change and buy some stamps. I look down at the brown envelope in my hand dated Sept eighth nineteen thirty-two, seven days before my mom's birthday. I hope it will make it in time.

A man and a woman storm in, with large guns. Their faces are covered. They yell at everybody to get on the ground. I comply without a second thought. The long eight-by-eleven envelope is still in my hand. I set it on the ground and lay with my cheek pressed against it. I hear them hassling the bank attendants. A woman and a few people in front of me are shaking almost uncontrollably. I'm worried they're going to get shot.

I notice that their backs are turned. I'm so close to the door. I scoot a little closer to the counter next to me, inch up a little bit on my knees, and start crawling towards the door. I look behind me, they're still distracted. I get up on my heels and bolt as fast as I can for the door. I hear the deafening pop of a gun. I feel the searing heat again, and the pain shoots through my whole body like lightning. Somebody screams I stumble out into the bright, mid-day sun. Hot liquid pouring out of my back, my husband grabs me and I'm lying in his arms. His face is stricken with panic and pain. He's whispering to hold on and it's going to be okay. The pain leaves, and an all-consuming light, comforting and warm fills my vision.

I'm walking into a meadow, surrounded by huge pine trees. A group of roughnecks, maybe some kind of motorcycle gang are standing and sitting around a large wooden table. They're tall, strong, and huge. I feel infinitely, insignificant in their presence, and I don't belong. I look down at my blue jeans and purple t-shirt wondering where I am. I must have got lost hiking. They all turn to look at me and one of them stomps over grabbing me roughly, pulling me to the man who must have been their leader.

I expect to hear a gruff voice, swear, belittle, and then get beat to a pulp by his massive arms, but that doesn't happen. He looks me over with a puzzled expression, and he says.

"Leave her be, she's a child of the sun, she doesn't belong here." his voice is cultured, refined, and eloquent. I hear another man speak with the expected gruff voice and angry intonations referring to him as Cain.

The other guy, holding me tight by the arm lets go and I run as fast as I can back towards the woods.

I wake up and stare at my ceiling. I turn my head to look at my Echo clock. The red virtual light hovers in the air, three a.m. Why is it always three a.m.?

After a few seconds I sit up and choke as I take a deep breath, feeling the cold air rush into my lungs, it's then I realize that I must have stopped breathing.

I sit up and take a drink. The ice-cold water feels good on my parched throat, and remind myself that this isn't anything new. Every place, every time, like a memory, of life before, or another me in an alternate reality beckons me to remember.

"Why? Just, why?" I whisper.

Or have the souls of past me's left their bodies and joined mine? A cohesive collection of previous lives and memories colliding into one living soul until there's only one of me left elevated with the knowledge of thousands of lives?

Perhaps, or it's all just a dream.