The Event

Walking fast, music blasting from tinny speakers mounted to wooden utility poles, in a crowd of people crowding together in small groups all walking in the same direction. I look for openings between groups. My eyes dart back and forth, scanning. I turn sidewise to slide between two people. I pick up my gait when an empty twenty feet of hard packed dirt opens up. It takes just seconds to catch up to the next jumble of people. I hear French, Spanish and Swedish coming from groups I pass. Half of Sweden must be here or there are several languages that sound like Swedish to me. The second is most likely. The crowding thickens as I near the actual event. Booths selling crafts, foods or philosophies appear as the dirt under my feet turns to asphalt. My walk is slowed. Bodies bump mine. After each bump I check to see if my wallet is still in my back pocket, a bad habit. Checking for your wallet tells the pick-pocket where you keep your wallet, I have been told, probably by a pick-pocket. I try to keep my hand away but after each bump I check. I have a plan. If I find my wallet gone I plan to turn and shout, “Hey at least give me my driver’s license back!”
I nudge my way through a solid wall of people. Some of the mass of people are just standing now, they have reached their destination. Other members of the mass circle around looking for the reason this is their destination. I continue to walk, this is not my goal. The crowd thins in much the same way it thickened. I move from nudging through a solid mass to moving from gap to gap but walking against traffic now. The mass of people is behind me. The music fades until it is almost something a person could listen too. A few stragglers ask for directions in Swedish, or something that sounds like Swedish to me, I point toward the crowd behind me, I hope that answers their question. Another five minutes and I reach the sand. I take off my shoes and socks, push the socks into the shoes and just stand for a few second letting the sand warm my toes. The beach in front of me is almost empty. I walk to the water’s edge, which is not as easy as it sounds because it is constantly changing. I walk north always aware of where the water has been and where it will be next. I determine that each time the water comes in it comes in not quite as far. As the minutes go by the beach becomes larger, I’m sure the ocean compensates somehow.

A True Story

“Sometimes you just need to get out there and get started. Sometimes all you see is the next step and no farther,” I think it was just his way of pushing me away. His way of getting me out of the door and out of his life but it worked. I took that first step and then another.

Almost in a dream I was on a long, soft, warm, sandy pathway, the ocean on my right hand. I came upon a creek bed, dry now but covered with rock instead of sand. The rocks hurt my bare feet but I made it across the creek bed and back to the soft sand on the other side. I walked on the path in the sand until I came to the end of the beach, a line of red tinged black rocks stretching out into the ocean and up into the foothills. I turned around and walked with the waves to my left. I came to the creek bed and viewed the rocks, most were round but some had ruff edges. I walked across the creek bed being careful to avoid the sharp edges but failing from time to time. My feet hurt but I made it to the sand on the other side. The soft, warm, sand felt good between the toes of my feet. I stood for a moment at the waters edge. The gentle breeze off the ocean, the sun a few feet above the horizon, I paused there for just a moment. I walked along the path until I came to the opposite end of the cove. A wall of rock towered fifty feet above my head, the sand path tried to follow between red tinged black rocks but failed after just a few feet. I turned. I walked drinking in the joy of a sand path and salted air. I came to the creek bed. The rocks slipped under my steps and hurt my feet but I made it to the other side.

Tide

Just as the water returns, when the clear water is only about an inch deep, the shift in direction disturbs the flat sand, just a little. The sand moves in long parallel ripples an inch or two to the west. Focusing just on the patch of sand, it’s like when you’re pulling slowly into a parking spot and a huge black SUV is slowly pulling out of the next spot. For a split second it feels like you’re going twice as fast. All the ripples of sand moving to the west together, vertigo, just for a second and then walking, waiting for the next wave to wash by and the next glimpse into the universe next door.

All Alone, part two – things start to get silly.

“What’s this Angie?” The very white girl in a very tiny white bikini asks as she nudges the large, purple, lump of goo with her sandaled foot.

“I’ve never seen anything like it Sally,” replies Angie’s friend, a beautiful, five-foot tall one hundred pound product of Mexico City. “Don’t touch it!” she warns her friend. “I think it moved!”

My dream comes to an abrupt end. My center orifice tightens and the sensing dangle strings around the circumference of my brain oval stand out straight.

“Guank soo intome. Com saybot?” I vibrate out of my speaking tube. The taller human stops pushing on my ovelbee with it’s foot and steps back a couple feet.

“It’s alive,” says Sally as she jumps back

“Its making weird noises,” says Angie as she takes a position of safety behind her braver friend. “Get a stick. Poke it with a stick.” Angie looks around Sally’s shoulder to seen what the living lump of goo will do next. She is prepared to run.

I cannot understand why they choose to ignore my question so I ask again, “Guank soo intome. Com saybot?” and then I remember to speak in English. “Do not hurt me. I am friendly.” The smaller of the two human girls falls flat on her back and seems to be asleep.

“Is someone in there?” the tall girl asks as she resumes pushing on my ovelbee with her foot.

“There is only me,” I say, wondering if this will explain anything. “Please quit pushing on my ovelbee, it is not proper.” She pulls her foot away and kneels down to get a better look at me.

“You are all purple and look like a lump of goo,” she says as thought this is something to be concerned about.

“You are very white and have almost no hair at all,” I respond with my center orifice almost all the way open, trying to make her aware of her rudeness. It doesn’t seem to work.

“Where are you from?” she asks. Her friend wakes up and pushes herself into a sitting position.

“Who are you talking too?” Angie asks Sally. She sees me and flattens onto the sand once more, sound asleep.

“I’m not from around here,” I answer, not wanting to take the time to get out the star charts. “I need some help getting away from this shore. The sand is much to hot for my points.” At this point two things happened: I extended my slenders, so she can see my points and Angie wakes-up. I rose to my full height of four feet two inches and Angie once more pushes herself up and rests on her elbows. When Angie sees my purple self held aloft by my four pointed spindles she lets out a quiet yelp and makes the choice to go back to sleep. “Your friend should get more rest,” I suggest. Sally looks at her friend laying flat on the soft sand and nods in the affirmative.

“We can walk in the shade of the pier up to the road. I can get something to cover your Points? out of the back of mycar.” She looks over at her friend who seemed to be coming to for the third time. Sally bends down beside her friend, ready to suggest she find a better place to sleep. As Angie starts to wake up Sally keeps herself between the two of us.

“Angie, Angie,” Sally pushes on her shoulder, trying to wake her, “Angie.” Angie opens her eyes and tries to get another look at me. “No, Angie, look at me! It’s some kind monster but he’s all right – he’s friendly.” I’m not a monster, but it seems to help Angie stay awake, so I say nothing. Sally helps Angie to her feet and we start making our way in the shade of the pier. The sand is not hot but it still seems to be rubbing away some of my fur. It doesn’t really hurt. Angie seems to be pretending I do not exist so I help her out by keeping my silence. As the sand becomes drier my points sunk deeper and I walk slower until a last we make it to the dark, low, last ten feet of the pier.

“Let me see one of your points,” Sally reaches over, grabbs one of my slenders, and takes a long look and my front right point. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” and without waiting for a reply she runs off with Angie. I pull in my slenders and plop down on the sand. After what seems to be an hour Sally returns. She has covered her self with light blue cloth and looks much better. Blue is very close to purple.

“Here,” Sally says. She hands me a plastic bag filled with long woven cotton tubes, tube socks, three dozen is written on the plastic bag. “I couldn’t find anything in the car so we went to Target,” she said. I look around for the we. “Angie went home, she needed some time to think,” Sally says answering my unspoken question. I turned my attention to the socks. I pulled one out and looked it over. “Pull them on over your points and pull them up your…”

“Slenders,” I said answering her unspoken question.

“Put several on each slender until you think it is enough to protect your points,” she says with obvious pride in her new vocabulary. I pull five tube socks onto each of my four slenders, even in the sand I can tell they are going to provide a comfortable alternative.

All Alone

My points stick in the hot, wet, salty sand. My movement is slowed. I would leave if it weren’t for the waves. Waves of cold, salted water wash over my points and half way up my slenders every thirty seconds. As the water recedes my points sink deeper into the sand. I have to pull each of my four points out one at a time before I can continue my walk along Earth’s largest ocean’s East coast. If I move away from the water the sand becomes unbearable, not just the heat, but it feels like it is rubbing the purple fur from my slenders. I want to stop walking but I have nowhere to go and if I stop I’ll have to admit my defeat and that makes my center orifice drip the green slobber. A wooden structure presents itself. Fifty foot wide, half a mile long, and twenty feet above my head – the pier runs from the edge of the beach and into the Ocean, there is shade underneath. The shade is cool. The sand is cold. I find a place just above the waters reach, clear it of seaweed with my laser, pull up my slenders and lean against a skinned tree trunk. I fall into sleep almost instantly. I dream of the home world, so far away, so unachievable.