Fictional Fridays: Getaway
It was all around me. A sexist remark here. Racial profiling there. Some new government policy that once again sacrifices the wellbeing of the lower class. It is a lot to take in and the flood never seems to subside. Even when the problem discussed wasn’t social or economic, there was still the constant parade of violent imagery that permeates any news outlet.
And I got why of course. In this lovely capitalist society of ours, news corporations have to make a profit in order to keep the lights on. The need to present a balanced and well researched story falls way to click bait and the need to tune at 6, 7 and 8pm. And even if the news wasn’t perverted in this fashion, the planet is still breaming with ignorance. The most seemingly thoughtful among of us can be flippant and cynical once we’ve decided that the “other” doesn’t matter. And the person on the other end never matters. There is a broken system in place and for some reason we all seem content to go right along with it.
I didn’t want to explain my frustrations anymore. I didn’t want to talk about the black experience or the definition of human rights anymore. I didn’t want to sift through the apathy and defensiveness just to reach someone’s empathy center.
I was tired of it all. So I ran away.
It is an easier process than one would think. It is hard for friends and family to find you when you stop paying your cell phone bill. I sold my TV, laptop and radio. I packed one bag with the essentials and then bought enough food to last me at least a month. With my last bit of former bill-paying money, I rented a small boat on the premise that I was going to return it by the end of the weekend. I knew that the boating company would realize I wasn’t back and charge my credit card a bunch of fees, but it really didn’t matter. That wouldn’t matter where I was going.
Now before you get worried, this wasn’t some sort of Eat, Pray, Love expedition to some “native” land where I could find myself. I knew exactly who I was; if there is one thing our society is good for it is reminding you exactly who you are and exactly how you measure up to the mass created imaginary standard.
No, instead I wanted to get away from this group delusion. I thought at first I would just travel to another country, but then realized that people will manifest their ugly everywhere. So instead I pointed my simple ship west and traveled until I found just the right island.
It was a long dangerous trip, but eventually I managed to find this perfect deserted island. I mean it was perfect; as lush as the island on Lost and about 15 times as big as the kind of islands Bugs Bunny would end up on after turning right at Albuquerque. I docked, unpacked and immediately explored the area. I had found paradise. Fresh fruit nearly falling off the vine. Plenty of dry wood to start a fire with. Even the animal life was more adorable than it was threatening.
And best of all, not a single human soul in sight.
For a week I didn’t worry about anyone else. I spent my days gathering fruit, building a small hut and sleeping in the warmth of the sun. I even built a rather impressive sand castle. Soon enough, thoughts of racial profiling and untested rape kits faded from my mind.
In fact, after three more weeks, I stopped thinking about much of anything. With no one around, no sounds of humanity forever playing in the background, I found myself needing less and less. I started to forget to eat regularly. And then to sleep. I stopped planning my day and would just wander around aimlessly. Like a zombie. I just…existed. I even growled at a bird that landed too close to me. It took me a moment to realize I did that because I forgot how to speak. I stopped looking at my reflection in the water because I stopped recognizing the woman that looked back at me.
But this is what I wanted.
So, imagine my surprise when I saw a man walk towards me late one afternoon. Or, at least I thought it was a man, I really can’t be sure right now. I do know that when I saw “him” I shrieked and threw a coconut at him. I missed because I hadn't stopped screaming long enough to focus but I got the feeling even if I had made contact it wouldn’t have mattered. As if my fear was a greeting, he casually walked up to me and sat down.
“Where did you come from?” I yelled, finally remembering to speak. A small voice in me told me to calm down, that this wasn’t a threat, but I still grabbed a stick and stood guarded.
“Does it matter? I’m here now,” the man said. Or at least I’m pretty sure it was a man.
“What do you want?” I asked. I found myself calming down despite myself.
“No, I don’t. Ok, glad we had this talk. See you later,” I moved closer to him and then stopped. He just stared back at me, slightly amused. I found myself sitting down. “Oh…it’s you.”
“Yep,” he or maybe she or maybe it said.
“Sorry, I was startled,” I said.
“It happens to the best of us.”
I looked out to the ocean. The greenish blue waves lapped gently on the shore. The sun was just starting to set. I did not want to have this conversation.
“It’s wonderful here, you know?” I said.
“All that stupidity is a million miles away. I am already forgetting the weight of it all.”
“Separatism does have its advantages,” he said humorlessly.
“So why do I have to go back?” I motion far past the horizon “That place isn’t home. Home doesn’t hurt.” He laughed a little but didn’t interrupt.
“Ok, that was a bit melodramatic but you know what I mean. I don’t have to defend my existence. There’s no one here to make assumptions about me here. I can just be, you know?”
“I do know,” he replied solemnly. We sat in silence for a moment. I started digging my stick into the sand absentmindedly.
“So when are you going home?” he finally asked.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“But why should I? What’s there for me back there?”
“Besides your friends and family, you mean? They are strong enough to suffer through it I suppose?” he or maybe she asked. I paused. I had worked hard not to think about who I left behind. I needed to save myself first. That wasn’t selfish right? I mean that’s what they tell you to do when the plane is going down.
“I’ll go back for them,” I replied. He saw the desperation not to be wrong on my face.
“All of them?” he asked almost as if he didn’t know the answer.
“God I don’t know! What do you want me to say?”
“That no man is an island for starters.”
“Good thing I have two X chromosomes then,” I retorted, smiling weakly. He rolled his eyes and stood up.
“Why?!” I shouted. I lost all my cool in a flash. “No really, why? What more do you want from me? I have ranted, I have cried and I have reasoned. I’m tired. I’m just one person. The world is turning just fine without me. Why can’t you let me rest?”
“I am looking over seven billion people right now. I’m watching a thousand births and a thousand more deaths. But I did you a solid and made a house call. Is that how you are going to talk to me? After I came here like this?” he or she or it motioned over his or her or their body. “In a form that allows you to just begin to process all the information that is me? I would be hurt if I hadn’t already known it was coming.”
“I don’t mean to…” I started.
“…take it out on you. I’m sorry” we finished in union. He smiled. I smiled a little too, but continued to dig my stick further in the sand.
“Yes, there is absolutely no pressure when no one is around. That’s true. And that does make it easier. But easy was never the point and you know it. You’ve created a vacuum for yourself and then get surprised that you can’t live in it.” His/her/its voice was full of compassion. If I had looked at him, I would have started crying. I pushed my stick deeper into the sand and then let it stand on its own. I felt an arm around my shoulder but looked up to see him walking away from me.
“Go home, Jasmine. Nothing can grow or live in a vacuum.”
“But how do I do that if I still have to exist out there? The pain and ignorance is still out there. How do I heal?” I was crying now.
“I waited a whole month before I came to get you, didn’t I?” He asked smiling. I nodded, slowly understanding what was being said. “Retreat and rest from the battle, sure. But you know better than to quit the war.”
The sun dipped below the horizon. God was gone, or at least no longer in a form that I could process. I fell asleep on the still warm beach and dreamt of nothing.
I woke up the next day back in my bed. The Editor in Chief of the magazine I work on called me and asked when I was going to get my next essay to her. Drawing nothing new from the predictably painful news cycle that had continued in my absence, I decided to sit now and write this.
