Into The Rabbit Hole

I awake to find myself on the bus.  It is crowded here.  People stare at me, the white woman, finding herself there, on the back of the bus, wondering how the hell I got there and where we are all going.

There is an ebb and flow of people, getting on and off at each stop.  I can’t see the street names.  I look around to orient myself, but the signs are all fuzzy, and I don’t recognize the buildings. 

Being sober has a strange effect on me.  I am in and out of surreal experiences, waking up in places, not knowing how I’ve come to be where I’m at.  I can never tell if I’m dreaming.  My lucidity is shot.  Maybe it’s because when I am putting intoxicants in my blood I am actively aware that I need to remain aware of what’s happening.  Maybe.

So this is what life is like.  I peer down the aisles of the bus, watching the knees of the other patrons moving in and out of the center as people slide in, standing room only, finding their place amongst strangers.

There are glimmers and flashes of light poking their heads through the skylights, and with each flash, I am blinded, catching myself having memories that I don’t remember– memories I don’t own.

Being human is so difficult for me sometimes.  So this is what it’s like, this is life on this planet.  There’s so much I don’t know, don’t understand, and so much I want to know more of.  With a single flash, I am transformed into a feather that flits around the traffic, in and out of wheel wells, under the bus, down into the sewer, popping back out at another drainage grate… this is what it’s like to be alive. 

*flash* now I am the child, running ahead of her mother, whispering, “catch me, mommy,” and the mother isn’t looking, she’s watching the cars stream past her, honking, and I can’t seem to catch her attention, so I bolt into the street.

*flash* there is a man sitting behind me.  He is wearing a baggy, shiny, silver jacket over his massive body.  There are black skulls on his shirt, and he is listening to loud music, so loud we can all hear it.  The black girl sitting next to me cringes when the man starts rapping with the music, “White woman, sitting in the back of the bus, she won’t look at us, she ain’t one of us.”  I bite my lip.  It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with him, but everyone seems to be uncomfortable with me. 

A young mother with her three children stream onto the bus at the next stop.  She has to direct them to stand close to her, but they are curious.  Prejudice and ignorance are learned behaviors.  The youngest child, a boy no more than two years old, smiles at me.  “Hello little man,” I say.

*flash* “Next stop,” *garbled* No use in worrying where I’m at.  I’m disoriented, it doesn’t matter where I am. 

My mind wanders to a memory of my lover, lying in bed with just the cotton sheet wrapped around him.  His breathing moves the sheet.  Under the sheet, his hair wraps around his body, and I can see it rise and fall as he sleeps sweetly.  

I am not alone here.  I can feel their presence everywhere… the others like me.  I can see it in your eyes.  I can hear it in your words.  A man up the aisle latches onto my eyes, he’s been watching me watch another.  He doesn’t smile, just stares. 

Time is no longer waiting for me.  My days last for years.  My seconds click by disheartingly slowly.  I can see the pulse of a man sitting in front of me.  His jugular throbs a silent cry.  beatBeat, beatBeat, beatBeat. “White woman, her pants fit so nice, I want to slap her ass and show her who’s boss.”

Suddenly the bus is silent.   Everyone’s bustle falls into a deafening silence.  “Sharon, we need you to come to the front.”

I get up.  My name isn’t Sharon.  But I can’t stop myself.  I can’t make my legs sit me back down on my seat.  I am walking forward, pressing myself through the crowd of people standing in the walk way.  I hear whispers.  I hear gum snapping.  I hear the thumping of his headphones, sitting in his lap.  He’s taken them off of his head; he wants to see what happens.

“Next stop,”

I get off the bus.  I watch the bus drive away.  The streets are empty now.  I begin to walk.  I have no idea where I’m going.  I am not lost, though.  I keep walking.  For hours, I push myself forward, one step at a time.  I ignore the ache in my side, the blisters rubbing against my shoes.  I look down, and instead of seeing my adult body, I see a child’s.  I touch my hair, and it feels soft.  I keep walking. 

There is a man, now.  He is riding a bicycle, walking his dog.  He goes into a shop, and disappears.  The building is old, crumbling.  The pillars are painted purple.  I follow him.

My fingertips press the heavy door in front of me.  It creaks open.  I step inside, and it is dark again. So dark that I can see nothing.

I hear nothing.  There seems to be a vacuum of sound in this room, a vacuum so powerful that I cannot hear my own breath.  I try to speak, to hear something– anything.  I can’t even hear my footsteps.

I say my name, “Ash.”

I can’t hear it outside of my mind.

I awake to find myself on the bus.  It is crowded here.  People stare at me, the white woman, finding herself there, on the back of the bus, wondering how the hell I got there and where we are all going.