homeward bound - part one

Homeward Bound

’Sometimes the lights all shinin on me;
Other times I can barely see.
Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.’
(quote from Grateful Dead: Trucking)

1.
To the left, there’s emptiness. A meadow, perhaps. From the right, trees were coming into sight. Patches of trees; trunks, bushes in blob patterns. Autumn used an eraser. The trees used to be there all the time, but were invisible. Dark, grey stripes, part of strips along the road.

Fog started to clear up around seven in the morning. I got up at four, and I’ve been on the road ever since. It takes at least another two hours to get there.

I reached to the passenger’s seat and fished for a cd underneath a red folder. With one hand I opened and shoved it into the player. For a brief moment I had to close my eyes.

I saw a horseman on the field, along my car. A young white horse ridden by a strong man – but his face was covered by his long, wavy hair – or was it the fog?

I wished to talk to them, but I minded the road, because I felt a sudden jolt. My car faced a thick barricade of hawthorn and blackberries.
Beside the bushes, I saw a young woman. Frighteningly close to the hood. She looked swaying, her hands tightly folded in front of her stomach.
Have I just ran over her?

She was wearing a long, orange dress and a coarse scarf. She had that dreamy look in her eyes.

I grabbed my warm sweater, got out of the car and said:
- Uhm, hello, good morning. Are you all right?
- Good morning. – She replied, watching something between the car and the bushes.
- What happened? Do you need my help?
- My son was run over.

My forehead felt like ice and I hardly could speak:
- Was it me?
The woman looked on the ground, somewhere under the bushes. The sole of her soft sandals were soaking wet in the November fog. She let her folded hands move. They flew like a bird released. They circled in the air and finally, her palm rested in front of her face.
She was crying.

There was nothing on the ground.
Well, there were grass, fallen twigs, berries. Dew. Fading leaves and black berries. Greyish-green blades of grass. Droplets of dew in neat order along the edges of grass. A couple more days and the frost bites.

The orange dress flew in the wind. I gulped once again.
- Was it me?

She let her hands down. She was definitely looking at something on the road. I checked, but the road was empty. She began to speak. Her words came out very slowly.
- It happened two years ago. My son was sitting next to me. I shouldn’t have let him.
She began to cry again.

- Please, have a seat in my car. It’s cold. Let me take you home.
The woman shook her head and continued:
- He was so small.
Her hands created a cradle. She was looking at the baby. The place of the baby within her hands.
- I should have put him into his baby seat.
A tuft fell from her knot of hair. She let it loose. She did not fixed it.
- He wanted to sit on the front. Mom, right beside you! – that’s what he said.

I shivered in the fog and reached for her hands.
- Let me take you home.

The woman was looking at the brown leaves on the ground. She saw something that I did not. Finally, she looked me in the eye:
- I’d rather stay for a while, but thank you anyway.

Two mothers. Two women.
We kept looking into each other’s eyes for a long time.
I saw a long, winding road in her iris. A narrow ribbon of road, bordered by bushes. There was a distant bell from a church. Cornflowers swayed in the wind. A ribbon of road. Cornflowers.
A small garden lake.
A kid’s bicycle, painted red, lying in the grass.
Butterflies chasing each other above cabbages.
The smell of tomatoes.
- Mom!
A foggy road. A slow wagon on the left side of the road. Brown, heavey horses. Hay. Brake creaking. Passing. A toy dog, rocking beneath the mirror. Two cars from the front. Passing.
- Mom!
Silence. A silence too long.

I sighed. Or was it she who sighed? I remained silent for a while and put my hands on her shoulders to say goodbye:
- Take good care.
I returned to my car. I started the engine slowly so that I could wave her again.
To say goodbye to her, whose name I failed to ask.
But she was already gone.