The Long Way Back

There is a space very dear to me. It lies somewhere between the heat and the cold, the core and the surface. A place I never knew I was always fighting for. I discovered it once, and I’ve dedicated my entire life to the great inevitable return. I was there. I swear I was there. All that matters now is finding my way back.

My name is Antoine Lemaire. An appropriately French name for one who lives in Louisiana. My parents came from humble beginnings in the east of France and raised me in life-affirming abundance in the great city of New Orleans. I was a happy boy, always playing with abandon whilst at the same time taking great care in the diligent work of growing what I had planted. I loved the energy of the city but knew the day would come when I would seek a place and a path that was of my own making.

After college I found myself running a quaint used bookstore in a small town in the vast space between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. It sounds more ideal than it was. It was very difficult to make ends meet. There were my loyal regulars of course, but the impulse buyers were not flocking to my literary nest as often as I had hoped.

Every Sunday I would close shop in mid-afternoon and go for a bike ride to my favorite spot to flip my unease. It was a quiet collection of willow trees and wildflowers by a large fishing pond. I would eat my lunch, read my poet du jour and attend to my fig tree which I had planted. Although there would be the occasional child or nomad fishing, this patch of land seemed to be the only thing that felt like it was meant for me.

Then that day of an everlasting shift came without so much as a warning. It was another beautiful Sunday morning as I opened my store to the sound of church bells. I always had a stand of coffee and muffins displayed outside as to attract the Sunday strollers.

Before the chimes struck twelve there was a dramatic swing in the pressure of the air. The sky darkened and the winds had harsh words with my shutters. I rushed everything inside and braced for a summer storm. The howling winds and the swirling dust made it almost impossible to make out what was truly transpiring outside. After thirty minutes of unrelenting bombardment, I figured I’d hunker down for the long haul with a good book and a candle to match.

Suddenly, at just about the same time I would close up shop, the violent rumblings ceased. I blew out my candle and headed for the front door. The knob gave me a startle with an icy reception as I slowly swung the door. It was a magical sight to behold. Everything was covered in ice and snow.

“Am I still in Louisiana?!?” I asked myself.

I looked around to see I was not alone in my amazement and disbelief. The townsfolk were walking around in a daze, as if in a conscious reverie. Never in my life had I seen a single snowflake fall on this earth, let alone layers of winter’s gift. I wasn’t even that cold, perhaps due to the euphoria and shock to my system. Then as if all in unison, the people awoke from their reverie and started laughing and playing in the snow.

After a few quips with my neighbors, my thoughts wandered to my sanctuary. I felt concern for my fig tree. The vegetation in these parts would certainly be in for more of a shock than we. So, I boarded my bicycle and made my way to my corner of willows. After slipping a few times I finally decided to walk my bike the rest of the way. My eagerness almost propelled me faster than any speed my transport could afford me.

There it was before me. My land of serenity disguised so completely that I almost passed right by. Even now I can picture it perfectly, the willows draped in a sparkling vanilla frosting like a frozen waterfall held by an ice cream cone. A picture for a thousand words. However, the salivating of nature would have to wait as I ran to my fig tree. It appeared to be unharmed for the time being and looked almost as majestic as its towering elders.

I was about to unearth my plant to bring it home for safe keeping, when suddenly I heard a voice upon the breeze. My gaze was drawn to the open field on the opposite end of the pond. I searched with squinted eyes to see if I could make out a figure in need. There was nothing definitive, so I decided to make my way to the other side to investigate.

As I started to make my way around the large body of water, I finally took notice that it was frozen. Curious that it could freeze so fast. It was a miracle of nature, only enhanced by the vibrant colors of the frozen fish that brimmed from just beneath the surface. I decided to take a chance and walk across this magnificent saucer.

After starting hesitantly slow, I made my way to the end of the pond with a speedy confidence. But as I reached the edge of the glass floor, I heard the sound of water, the sound of a stream. Yet nothing that I could see flowed. I stepped into the field and emerged in a thick forest.

“Where I am?” I said allowed as my senses inflamed.

Straight ahead there was an archway of trees forming a path with a sunset emerging at the end. To my left there was a cove surrounded by a cliff of rocks embracing a waterfall. On my right there was a winding stream encircled by the most golden autumn maples I’d ever seen. At last, when I turned around, I saw the pond, but it was no longer frozen. In fact, it scarcely looked like the same waters at all.

There was fear inside me, but it was focused on my return. I was worried that if I stepped back from where I came, I may lose this moment. My instinct moved me forward, towards the arched path of expressive trees. I became more and more observant and comfortable with each step. Noticing the small forest creatures, the aromas, and the flight of birds, I became at ease with the life that encircled me.

Then I noticed the transformative senses. I could swear I could hear the clouds. I could slow the flow of the waters. I could see the faces in the trees.

I was not only in a foreign land, I was not only in a foreign climate, but I was in a foreign state of existence.

Suddenly, there was a figure emerging from the sunset in the distance. I wasn’t as startled as I might have expected as there was no feeling that I was being watched or that this presence was even aware of my own. I started towards the figure with the friendliest of dispositions. The shadows passed and what was in front of me finally took shape.

It was a woman. Clad in summer garments, a silver bracelet, and a smile of joyful relief. Without a word you could tell she was in the same state of amazement and wonder as I was. Our eyes locked in complete agreement of our mutual relief and predicament.

After what seemed like a lost moment in time of non-verbal rapport, I greeted her. She greeted me back. Yet our mouths did not move. It was beyond a communication that of telepathy. There were no actual words in our thoughts. Only emotional vibrations were sent.

We took each other by the hand and set out to discover this mysterious realm. We feasted on the fruits by the stream, refreshed in the waters by the falls, and rested under the sun and arch from the trees. We could find nothing more beyond these three divisions, yet they went on for an eternity.

Days, weeks, or months went by. I could not say, as time has no compatibility with the moment. Neither of us had forgotten about our lives that came before. Far from it. We spent every day sharing our memories in the unique way we were gifted. She told me her name but putting it into words would not do it justice. We created makeshift hammocks, fireplaces, and games to pass the time.

We made love, yes. But not only when our bodies became one. We made love every time our eyes met in the sheen of gloaming, every time our fingers touched in synchronicity. Perhaps this is what was meant to be all along.

There was a fleeting feeling for a moment that this was all a dream and that I was not worthy of such an existence, but it immediately passed by the hand of the most powerful truths. This is what I’ve been fighting for.

Then came the morning of a million beats. I awoke to find my companion absent from my side. I did not panic as I had assumed she went for an early swim. Yet after several hours of searching the woods, my throat began to swell. I had covered most of the spots we frequented and found nothing that could tell a story. But there was one place I avoided in my search. The entrance to the pond.

As soon as approached the pond my heart sank. There on the ground lay her silver bracelet. Perhaps something pulled her away and this was her way of leaving a trace of direction.

I had no choice. I had to step through. This land was not mine. It was ours. The most hollow of heavens without her grace.

I took the long step forward and there I was. Back on the frozen pond. The only chill I felt was inside. Suddenly, I was overtaken by anxiety so I ran back from the edge of the water but there was no emergence this time. I was simply on the open field that occupies the land beyond the pond. It is in that moment of disgust and utter frustration that I felt drops fall on my head. The ice and snow were melting. I had lost. The bitter warmth had vanquished me.

I returned home to discover that I had been missing for five days. This immediately returned a jump to my step as it was validation that I did not hallucinate my journey. I had discovered the life that was meant for me, and I was determined to get it back, no matter the cost.

For the next fifty years I visited the pond every day, hoping it would be frozen, praying that the opening would reemerge. I intensely observed the weather forecasts and looked for signs of similar happenings in other parts of the world. Most importantly, I looked for her. In every face, in every reflection, in every obituary. I spent most of my days searching social media and random sites to see if she was living on the other end of the earth.

Now as an old man I sit here looking out my kitchen window. I’ve finally come to realize. I didn’t want to admit to myself the saddest truth. That for a while I’d stay in bed every night wondering if it was all a mistake, wondering if I’d ever stop thinking about her. Now I can barely remember what she looks like. Her face. It’s just gone.

They say to live for moments you can’t put into words. Well, I did. The problem is I kept living for them after they are gone.

Well look at that. There’s frost in the corner of my window.