confusion

as I walk the scenery changes, first my eyes show me the lush green shades of a primeval forest, I smell the dampness in the air, the smell of crisp new life, I close my eyes to enjoy the peace, and feel the sting of hot sand burning the soles of my feet, I open my eyes and see only the endless expance of a sea of sand, the remains of once mighty mountains, the wind stings my face with the tiny grains, I start to walk, looking for shelter, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, till I find myself running full speed to escape the stinging sands, the scorching sun, I shield my eyes with my arms, looking down I see the earth change again,the sea of sand becomes a sea of grass, stopping I look around and see rolling hills covered in grasses waving in the wind, streching as far as my eyes can see, behind me the same, no sand, only grass, I walk on, wondering how I got here, slowly the hills rise higher, become snow covered mountains, over the mountains, I walk on, past the mountains, through lands dotted with trees, past rivers, the sun rises, sets, rises again, over and over, never a sign of life, then in the distance streching across the horizon before me, a dark line appears, as I walk on through rocky badlands, the line grows, becoming clearer, a featureless black wall, taller than the tallest mountains, finally splashing through a swamp, I come the the base of the wall, massive blocks of obsidian stacked high enough to dwarf all the worlds mountains, longer then all the rivers, I walk along the wall trying to find some way through the impossable barrier, beneath the wall I know not the setting of the sun, only when it rises beside me and banishes the shadows from my path do I reckon time, days pass, unknown weeks as I walk along the base of the wall, feeling it’s smooth surface under my fingers, stumbling along in the dark of night, blinded by the sun in the day, then beneath my hands the wall vanishes, no, not the whole wall, only part of it, I use my hands to find the extent of this hole and for the first time I notice the cold, because a warm breeze is blowing from the void, the sharp edges of the obsidian cut my hands as I crawl into the wall, shivering, I curl up, I can smell the dampness, taste the air, it is stale, I rest for a time, the sun striking me as it rises, the night enveloping me again soon afterwards, my strength returns as I rest, then in the darkness a voice calls to me, beckoning for me to come deeper into the wall, I follow it, moving deeper into the wall, ever deeper into darkness, no longer does the sun shine from behind me, there is only darkness, and as I struggle on, the voice bocomes deafening, still I crawl on, dragging myself along till I reach the end of my strength, then a pin point of light appears far off before me, I force my hands and feet to continue on, the light becomes brighter till my sight is filled with a blinding white light that burns through my eyelids, I no longer feel the sharpness of the obsidian, I no longer smell the dampness of the stone, I no longer taste the dust in my mouth, I no longer hear my voice calling me…

nothingness, absolute nothingness, I cannot see, hear, taste, smell or feel my world, only the wall exists to me and I forever crawl through the passage of my mind, here at last I have found myself.

Years later, as the school bus drove past David’s old stop, I would wonder. Why, when I remembered David, did I not feel sad? Why did I remember David’s birthday party, at his house down that driveway, where David had a full head of wheat blond hair and a big smile on his face? Why did I not remember the bald David, string off into nothingness with those tired eyes? The weak eyes of someone who is fighting for their life, the chemotherapy steeling all their strength.

I don’t remember exactly when David died, I know it was in fifth grade. Mrs. Vinning’s class, where David sat in the back corner—when he came to school, which was less and less often. His leukemia was bad, had been since the year before. That year, fourth grade, we sent David to Disney World, or at least we helped. Our class designed some little pictures and had them printed on some little pads. I designed one of them, a simple scroll that said “David” and had some stars on it. We also had some pencils and erasers that said “David” on them. In the mornings before school we would stand at a table in the lobby and sell these things to the other students as they got off the bus. They would buy a few with the money their mother or father had given them for it, because the school had sent home a piece of paper explaining what we where doing and why we where doing it.

What we where doing was trying to raise enough money to send David and his family, his mother, father and younger sister, to Disney World—his dream. We did not even know how much it cost, but we where determined to send them. Each of us bought something every morning, even if we did not need it, even if we had bought one the day before.

In the end we did raise some money, I don’t know how much but we gave it to David’s parents so they could take him to Disney World. The Starlight Foundation payed for the rest, airplane tickets, tickets to Disney World, hotel, and even a limo to pick David up from school to go to the airport. That was a great day, the end of forth grade, and everyone in our class outside of school waving to the limo as it drove David and his family off to the airport.

I do remember the phone call. It must have been a holiday, maybe spring break, because it was sunny and nice outside and my mom called from work. She told me that David has “passed away.” This was not the first time that someone I had known had “passed away” but this was the first time it was not someone old, it was the first time it was someone I saw more than a few times a year and it was the first time one of my friends had “passed away.” This was someone my age, this was someone who was not supposed to die. Even though David had been sick for years and getting worse the idea that he would not get better had never occurred to me. This was the first time I really came face to face with mortality.

I cried, and my mom tried to comfort me over the phone. She also said that she thought it would be better if I did not go the to funeral, she would go but I should stay home. I tried to argue, I said I wanted to go, that David was my friend. But she convinced me that it would be better if I stayed home, if my last memories of David where happy ones not ones of his funeral. She said I did not really want to see David like that.

So I did not go to David’s funeral and the next week we went back to school. Nothing changed in our daily routine except that the counselor came in and talked to our class, and we got the chance to talk to him one-on-one. But something imperceptible did change, the desk in the back of the room took on a new significance. It embodied the struggle of life and death in a way that science class could not and looking back at it brought you face to face with mortality. From this desk, for a long time, the icy finger of reality could come up and tap you unexpectedly on the shoulder and make your eyes swell with tears.

But years later, as the bus drove past David’s driveway I did not think of any of this. I did not think of David, bald, tired, dieing. I thought of David, happy, smiling, laughing, full of life at his birthday party. And the bus drove by David’s stop everyday, and my life went on, and David is still my friend.