The death of a moon cowboy

I am a somewhat-youth with ideas and thoughts and too many dreams that sometimes overflow as these little dribblings from my fingertips. I guess you can try to collect and capture them.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

The end

We were on vacation in Mexico in a small coastal city. We had taken the bus all the way there; this bus that became our friend as it traveled with us everywhere. Myself, Dad, Amy, and Jarom. We were about to leave; the waves were getting bigger. The bus was loaded with people and ready to leave, but they were waiting for me. I was helping some of the guys from Rubicon who had their red Toyota pickup stuck in the ocean. The waves washed it right-side up and I singlehandedly pushed it upshore and back into a warehouse room.

By then it was too late; it was my fault for making them wait. The ocean grew restless right before our eyes. The waves were growing in size, so much that the bus couldn't drive through all the water that washed ashore. We had to wait it out. Hopefully this would all pass soon. As we waited - the bus sitting alongside some sort of retaining wall which paralleled the shore - the waves washed so high above the wall that the water flew over our heads. The flowers that strung the base of the wall sat idly by, ignorant and helpless. We remained dry somehow, for some time. We could see miles ahead of us, to the city, where cars were beaten about with the power of the waves.

The waves came not one singly after the other, but rather in a predictably sequential manner. It appeared we had approximately five minutes between each of the largest waves. They fiercely thrashed the wall behind our heads. We lay up against it, as if the lateral strength applied by our lean human bodies would somehow reinforce the fate of our simple wall. And the sea brewed. I was worried about the water soaking some of my electronic valuables, my Gameboy, my digital camera, worthless worries. I couldn't wait for the ocean to recede. The weather and the world had been so strange lately. Endless rain, tsunamis, earthquakes, weeks of snowstorms. This was all just part of it.

Soon the water flew so high and so far over our heads that something had to be done, there was no obvious alternative. Someone had to get information or help. Four of us took some dirt bikes from the back, and made our way up the hills to the rear of the hotel. We knew the water couldn't reach us up on the hills - plus, if the ocean levels rose permanently, they surely wouldn't surpass the base of the hill behind the hotel. We rode with the tide at our heels, towards the city and the hopes of some sort of helpful information. These situations don't happen to us, we are the terribly normalest of people.

The disaster was far from over, as we soon found. The dirt bike crew rode into the city only to find the waves were still coming higher and more destructive than before. The monstrous waves were somewhat forgiving to the people, not washing them away but throwing them around nonetheless. It was silly, these huge waves not even tearing the people off their feet but crunching buildings together and rumbling the earth. I was worried as to the fate of the people I loved who I left hoping to help. I could see the ants that were people fleeing the small alleyways where water came lastly, but where the buildings above that created the alleyways were rushing headlong towards each other. There were screams and wailing all around.

And I saw Amy and Dad, but I didn't see Jarom. Incredibly I asked about the fate of our camera. Amy didn't have it. There go all the great vacation photos. Such a drag. This ocean has really been causing some problems. At least my Gameboy still works, although it is quite wet. Some luck after all.

With my hands on the handlebars of that worthless bike, I stared at the beckoning sea. My mind appeared to freeze the picture in front of me, the frothy waves burbling a hundred feet in the air, the arc of the water tower a miracle of nature but a beast to the simple man. And I was confronted with the thoughts and gazes of all the time i had invested in this existence. And I realized that this ocean that has frozen in front of me, well, it has truly frozen in front of me. The crackling sound thundered in heartbeats that reverberated throughout the emptying city walls, resounding through the cracked foundations of skyscrapers and thatch huts and flat hotels. I could see portions of those same recognizable frothy waves flash freeze as the cold overtook them, the sound of the instant freezing sending cacophonous booms, one after the other.

I numbly watched as the water surrounding my life and my love froze, mere yards in front of me. There must be some way out. I felt the ocean water that had grown warm to me, thick with salt and fat with destruction. I knew that we would get out - after all, we were on vacation. The seawater around me became ice; the water encompassing me froze solid.

We were on vacation. It's been so warm here. I couldn't even feel the cold.

[This was a dream I had in early February 2005. I have a habit of writing down dreams when they are vivid. I wrote this one down, then elaborated on it slightly, making it flow more like a story. I've only embellished descriptions here, all events and feelings are very true to this strange and sad dream. Originally posted on The Reluctant Conquistador.]