The Elements of Zion: The Vine, The Branch, and The Thorn

Chapter 3

I reached into the passenger side of the truck and grabbed my rucksack—the one issued to me while in the service. I guess knowing people in supply had its benefits. Worn from deployments, the bag's camo offered little urban concealment. One of the straps still had a faded bloodstain that I could never remove, a grim reminder of a friend who didn't come home.

I slid it onto my back and fastened the buckle across my chest to make it snug. The weight of it was oddly comforting, like a piece of armor I could wear against the world. It was now late afternoon, and I needed to get to Central Park. I stepped off the curb, signaling for a taxi with the ease of a native New Yorker. Within moments, I found myself in the backseat.

A gruff voice broke the silence. "Where ya headed?" asked the driver in a thick Brooklyn accent. His eyes met mine through the rearview mirror.

I leaned forward in the back seat. "Central Park."

"You got it, pal," he said with a nod, and we were off.

We wove through the noise of traffic, the taxi splashing through puddles leftover from an earlier rain. As we passed from the concrete jungle of towering skyscrapers, billboards, and honking horns, the world outside the cab slowly shifted. The packed avenues and relentless energy of Manhattan began to fade, replaced by wide, tree-lined streets and quieter stretches of greenery. The bustling crowds thinned, and the rhythm of the city seemed to slow. I could see people walking their dogs, joggers making their laps, and the distant sounds of children playing. The towering steel and glass buildings that once hemmed me in gave way to the canopy of Central Park's trees, their leaves dappled with the soft, golden light of late afternoon. It was like stepping out of one reality and into another—a temporary reprieve from the chaos outside. Within twenty minutes, the cab pulled to a stop near the park entrance.

As I tried to pay, the driver shook his head and said, "This one is on the house. Thank you for your service."

I tried to smile but could only offer a slight nod and said, "Thank you."

I shut the door, and he pulled away. As I entered the park, an eerie silence followed me, and I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. The scent of hotdogs and pretzels from nearby food trucks lingered, drawing on memories of afternoons spent laughing on the lush green lawns.

Beneath my feet, the cracked pavement transitioned into a dirt trail, pulling me further into this metropolitan wilderness. Sunlight peeked through the canopy of leaves overhead, their glow replacing the abrasive sounds of city traffic with the soothing melody of crickets. Amid the pandemonium, Central Park emerged as a haven, miraculously insulating me from the outer world's tumult.

As I navigated the subsequent curve of the pathway, I found myself before a thin, well-worn bridge. Beneath it lay a vast pond, its placid surface mirroring the distant silhouette of New York's skyline. The striking contrast of this composed oasis against the backdrop of the vast city I had just exited was compelling. This secluded nook of Central Park felt both integrated with, and distinct from the city — a peaceful pocket of surreal detachment. It felt like I'd stepped into another world—like I was walking through a dream, untouched by everything I'd just left behind.. A feeling akin to being poised between bliss and despair inundated me, immersing me in a surge of indefinable emotions.

I shuffled toward a bench stationed near the water's edge, hastily discarding my rucksack. As the pack's weight lifted from my shoulders, a similar relief swept over me, as if the burdens of life had loosened their grip, if only for a moment. My gaze fell on the bench's leg, where a tangled briar patch had slowly wound its way up the metal frame. The thorny vines clung tight, stubborn and sharp, as if defying any attempt to clear them away. I dropped onto the seat, the sharp edges in my peripheral a reflection of the jagged feeling inside me. Opening my bag, I pulled out a half-drained bottle of liquor, the burn in my throat matching the sting of the thorns, though I didn't care. I took a deep draught, feeling the familiar warmth creep through my veins, offering the same empty promise of peace it always did.