Three.

3

It’s bright.

Dirt.

Why? Where am I?

My night walk. It wasn’t a dream. That voice… I uncurl from my balled up position along the cramped dirt path. From the feeling in my joints I must have spent the entire night in that posture. The dirt dusting only my left side validates the hypothesis. I lean up on my free left hand and swivel into a cross-legged sitting position. The grass that frames the path is taller then me in this position. I don’t mind. I need a moment to collect the scattered bits of my conscience.

There is a bone in my hand cradled in my crossed legs. For a baffled minute I can do nothing but stare at it. I am not panicked. Not anything really. Only lost. My right fist firmly grasps the long horse rib about halfway. My left sits in my lap beneath it. Palm open, but without contact. My hand observes from a distance. My hand feels wise. The surface of the bone is an off white. Its surface is like fine white bark. Long shallow grooves run its length. Dark soil fills these hairline fissures. My fist is likewise powdered in this dirt. Between my knuckles the dirt is caked to my skin in cracked streambeds of my blood. The dirt turns it as black as the bed of Dead Calf. I peel my fingers slowly back from the bone. There is a second of pain as my scab peels. The wet blood had solidified my cut palm to the bone overnight. A dark patch mars the white surface. The creases in my palm are visible in my palm print of blood; like a rubber stamp on paper. What do I do with it? How did I even get it?

I lean to the side and hoist myself up. The grass parts on either side of me. The grass shows its true colors. A pale gold. The fields are a lot less menacing during the day. The lake off to my left glitters peacefully. No; mockingly. It teases. It saw my fright and laughs.  I jerk backwards and fling the rib as far as I can out into the lake. It lands among the swampy lily pads with a very unsatisfactory splash. My sudden anger drains out in a little laugh that sounds like a sigh. Childish.

I see the wind before I feel it. Grass along the shore bends towards me. The field is a golden ocean in a storm. The surface is wrought with turbulent waves. Then it hits me. My hair pulls back and whips at my temples. The corners of my eyes grow heavy and my eyes slit. I turn away and let it caress my cheek. My hair smears along my jaw and covers my eyes. Tickling my eyelashes. I sigh.

Where did my brother go? I wonder if he is around here also. Asleep in the grass perhaps. I slowly rotate. The grass seems unmarred by human disruption. He probably went home after he scared me. Didn’t realize I fainted. He is probably laughing right now thinking about it over breakfast.

“Hello?” If only my voice had such confidence the night before.

No response. The world seems to be peacefully ignorant of my minute existence. Everything seems so normal this morning. Helps me shake off the night’s odd moments as my overactive imagination. I should head home. Mom is probably wondering where I am.

It’s not really home. My grandparents owned the property, appropriately named Lily Lake after the lake with its skirt of lily pads. My family has an annual trip out here to the Colorado Mountains in the summer. We’ll we used to have an annual trip. It is my first time back in eight years. I was twelve last time I was here. We fly for three hours to Denver and then have a five-hour drive up into the mountains. All that travel for a weeks stay, then an eight-hour trip home. I can’t complain. I love this place and I take any chance I get to see it.

I turn homeward along last night’s path. This place is graceful during the day. The same landscape that terrified me last night spreads out around me almost peacefully. Almost. The world is alive with noise. The grass sighs in the wind. A duck splashes through the lily pads with a chain of ducklings struggling to keep up. Behind me a few birds argue amongst the branches. Arguing politics I suppose.

The thought bends my lips into a smile as I set off. The dirt path opens up in front of me and I let my fingers play along the tops of the tall grass beside me. The sun warms my side as it slowly rises above the trees. My hair gently tosses in the breeze. Without all the dirt and the bleeding palm I feel like a Colorado postcard. ‘Greetings from Colorado.’

The small path dead-ends into the main road. It isn’t quite a road. It is pretty much just parallel tire ruts with weeds growing up in the middle but it does the trick. It doesn’t feel as intrusive on the landscape like a paved road would. Intrusive and out of place.

The house comes into sight as I come around a bend. Metallic roof shining in the sunlight like a beacon nestled in the mountainside. As I get closer the house grows from a miniature into the massive two-story log cabin that it is. I walk past our parked car and the basement door from which I left last night. It is a nice basement. Carpeted and well kept. I’m especially happy for the carpet. With the house full we run out of beds quickly. I end up in a sleeping bag on the basement floor. I don’t mind. I prefer it actually. I get to sleep-in down here in the dark. No sun to blind me when I awake.

I pass it now though. It’s to late for me to go back to bed. I should head to up to the kitchen. Maybe they haven’t finished breakfast yet. I normally skip out on breakfast. Sleep through it mostly, but my walk back has made me quite hungry. I head up the side stairs and onto the large wrap-around porch. The door stands open. No surprise, without the humidity we don’t have to worry about letting the air-conditioning out like we do back home.

The house is surprisingly quite as I near the open door. I expected to hear laughing children and chattering adults. I walk in a survey the chaotic living room. The pillows litter the floor and the books on the coffee table have been swept off. The tracks of the perpetrators litter the entire room in the form of toys. My young cousins are usually the reason I wake up in the mornings. They chase each other around up here and their little feet amplify into the basement.

“Hello?” I feel silly. The house is clearly empty and it feels like ‘hello’ is the only thing I ever say. I cross the chaos and peer into the dinning room and kitchen. The place is indeed empty save for a sticky-note taped to the fridge between a group picture from 2003 and a child’s drawing of a horse. That’s new.

I pull it down. The note is packed with my mom’s tiny scrawl with “i’s” that look like colons. It’s a near-illegible blur of dots and swoops.

Good morning early birds. The kids were getting restless so we packed lunch and went down the mountain to the river. There is food in the fridge for the two of you and I put some Cokes in to get cold before I left. yw. <3 Mom.

And then at the very bottom squeezed into the remaining space:

Sticky note lost its sticky. Had to get creative. Impressive right?

That explains the tape. I guess my brother is still asleep. I’m spared the immediate embarrassment that comes with a retelling of last night’s prank. If he is still in bed I should wake him. It is late in the day. Also it’d be nice to get a little payback scare.

I shift my thumb on the note and a smear of dirt is left in the wake. My hands are filthy. More then my hands actually. A set of dirt shoe prints lead back to the door. I should clean up first. I pull off my shoes and leave them at the back door. I need to wash my hands off first. No sense trying to clean when everything I touch collects dirty handprints. I walk out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom, careful to not touch the walls like I am usually inclined to do. The bathroom door stands ajar and a shoulder it open awkwardly with my right shoulder to avoid using my filthy left side. My fingers leave dirt smudges all over the porcelain cold-water knob. I scrub my hands off and the water turns dark and gritty as it swirls down the drain. The cut on my palm isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m surprised it bled so much. I cup my hands and shovel water over the knob to rinse it. Little streams circle the faucet and knobs then carry the sediment down into the bowl.

I look up into the mirror for the first time. My left cheek resembles the rest of my left side and is covered in dirt from where it remained pressed in the soil all night. I look like I’m wearing a masquerade half mask. A single line cuts through it. A tear track to my jaw line. Like scar tissue on tanned flesh. I let the dirt wash down before I plug the drain and let the water level rise. I cut the water off and lean against the sink. With a forearm on either side I peer into the rippling surface. I pause for a moment and close my eyes. I breathe in and lower my face into the water. My hands grip the edge of the sink. My elbows stick up awkwardly like plucked chicken wings.

The water feels so refreshing. My skin was parchment-dry from lying in the sun and dust for so long. I can practically feel my skin gulping in the moisture. I open my eyes. The water is slightly murky, but it appears that most of the dirt will require some scrubbing to remove. I try to sigh but the result is a noisy gurgle. Smooth. The water turns slightly pinkish on the right side. It spreads through the basin before I register its existence and goes two shades darker before I realize my grip on the sink must have started my hand bleeding once more.

I reluctantly pull my face from the dirty water. The right side of the sink sprouted red veins while I was submerged. They trickle down the side and pool on the tiles. I pull the plug and let the water spiral away dirt and my blood. I’m making a lot of messes today. I run the water again and wipe the last dirt from my face; a task made difficult with my still bleeding palm. Must be a deeper cut then I thought. I wrap my hand in toilet paper temporarily and wipe off my face one handed. I search out the first-aid kit. A double layer of gauze secured with medical tape finally stops the bleeding.

The bathroom is speckled with blood now. Looks like someone had to be amputated in the sink. The lightly humming fluorescents above the counter add to this imagery. How on earth did I bleed so much? I grab some generic cleaner from under the counter and begin to clean.