Road to Arcadia: the Path East

Chapter Twenty-four: Nightshift Secrets

The Frankenstein monster that was the cafeteria-gym-auditorium combo had also decided to turn in for the night. There were only a couple dimly lit emergency lights on, enough to illuminate the way in and around the sleeping refugees, but soft enough that their slumber wouldn't be disturbed.

Alayna Baz sat near the entrance, eyes carefully trained, but with the intensity Jey Keo had scanned the room. Her gaze was more contemplative. She didn't say anything to Kai as he passed. He silently took his seat at a table towards the middle of the room under one of the dim orange emergency lights.

He was still at first, scanning the space around him to get a feel for his surroundings. There wasn't much to observe, but he supposed the extra set of eyes was good to have, just in case. He waited a few minutes before carefully opening his notebook to a fresh page.

--------------------------------------

Cuz,

I think I get it now.

And maybe that's a gross understatement to the things you've seen, but I think I should say now that I always had a picture in my head. There was this image of the things you saw, of the things you went through. I'm no painter, but the colors in the easel of my mind were so vibrant I could feel the rubber of dried acrylic.

But it was all speculation.

Until today, that is.

You see, because I saw it. I saw what it looks like to have a house cave in around you. I witnessed what the inside of a living room wall looks like. I was always averse to anatomy, but I didn't realize that also extended to the anatomy of inorganic things. It's easier when it's not your anatomy, when it's not your possessions stripped away until they are unrecognizable fibers. I'm aware. Destruction is so much easier to view in the third person. Our luxury in the R&R is not having to embody the horrors we see. Many of us can turn down our own empathy for the sake of making it through the next however many minutes. Grief is not quieted so easily.

I know what it looks like, Dani, but I don't know what it feels like. That feeling is still yours, though shared by countless other people who now share the same home you do. Maybe it's selfish of me to say, but I hope I never know. I am content with spending a lifetime throwing myself into other people's tragedies if it means mine stay limited. Maybe that's obvious. Maybe that's what anyone would do. But at the same time, there aren't many who willingly subject themselves to see the things we see out here. There's meaning in that, I think. There's meaning in the willingness to be the blanket for another person's collapse if it means you get to break their fall.

I wasn't there for the quiet part.

Before we left, I was still accompanied by the rushing of blood to my ears and the sounds of people around me. I didn't have to be there when the buses left and the rain stopped and the bodies stilled.

I can't imagine that silence without feeling sick. I don't know how you did it.

I appreciate you so immensely. Not only for the things you've seen or the things you went through, but just you. I don't say it enough because those words never translate well in casual conversation, but I literally would not be where I am today without you. Not just because of your map, but because of your perseverance.

Thank you for hoping out loud.

I miss you.
KG

----------------

Kai lingered on the final words, barely tracing shapes in the margins. There was more he wanted to say, more that he felt, but he couldn't find words. Sometimes it was better not to elaborate. Thinking was often the enemy of writing.