Into the Following, Parts 2 & 3
Time passes differently traveling with this man who belongs. Before, it was the heaviness of the pack that determined the day, when I would stop, how much longer I could go before I slumped into the grass beneath my feet. I worried about finding a stream, or a small town to buy food in. But most of all the sight of the three landscapes in front of me would cause a deep dread, a dread that weighed and wore down my soul like the pack wore down my shoulders. It felt as though my worry was what kept me moving through time, what made me take one step forward, what was getting me to my destination. It was my responsibility to keep going, and worry kept me one step ahead of the clock.
But now, I find myself thinking less about the stream or town or even the passing of time. I’m following this man who seems to know the way and isn’t worried about it.
I notice the grass thinning and the ground becoming a little rockier. Before long, I am scrambling up a small slope, seeing my guide already at the top. He’s stopped there, looking out, and I cannot wait to summit this peak to see the beautiful view.
I cut my knee on a rock and wince. I’m tired, and in pain, but it’s the thought of the view that keeps me going, to see the beauty once I reach the top.
I reach him, and look out, and my heart drops to my stomach. A gorge stretches out in front of us, so deep I can’t see the bottom, so long I can’t see its end. The vastness of it makes me feel small in a way that terrifies me.
I immediately start searching for a way to cross. There is a bridge, but it’s missing planks, the rope is fraying, and it looks as though it would crumble beneath our weight. “Do we have to cross that?” I ask. He doesn’t respond, so words continue to spill as I continue, “We can also go around. I can’t see the end, but surely it doesn’t stretch forever? That would take days, though, and we don’t have nearly enough food…” my words falter as I turn to look at him. His gaze stops the worry tumbling from my lips, making me feel small in a way that causes inexplicable peace. “I can find food for us tonight. We’ll stop here to rest and move on in the morning.”
“Ok,” I breathe, reminding myself I don’t need to worry. “So should we cross the bridge or go around? I trust you. Just tell me which way to go.”
He stands there for a while, looking out at the gorge. “The bridge will fall and going around is too dangerous,” he murmurs. He turns to look at me. “There’s another path. It will be hard but it’s the only way.
“Ok, which way?” I say, suddenly feeling anticipation all over.
“Down,” he replies, pointing to a small landing right below the edge of the cliff. Fear grips me as I process what this means for our journey. “Didn’t think of that,” I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood. “It’ll be alright,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “I know the way.”
//
Light doesn’t touch these places. I can’t see my hand if I reach it out in front of me, let alone the one I am following. But I have been walking with my guide long enough to know the sound of his footsteps. It’s how I follow him now.
I think time must pass differently down here, because I can’t remember the last time we stopped to rest. I’m strangely not tired, but scared. My body has gotten stronger throughout this journey, and I think less about the way my legs feel sore. I had almost forgotten about the pack.
It’s my thoughts that plague me now. Doubt feels like the fog around me, and I second guess everything, even the sound of his footsteps. I could call out, but it’s so silent here I’m scared to cut the thickness of it with my voice. Perhaps I’m more afraid he won’t respond.
The fear of my potential loneliness slowly begins to feel like reality, and my breath comes quicker as I imagine the repercussions of being alone here.
I’ll surely be lost.
I don’t know the way.
I couldn’t even if I could see, which I can’t.
My fear gains momentum and my feet slow. I stop. In an act of desperation I cut the silence softly. “Help.”
My voice startles me. I strangely was already calmer after asking before he answered me.
“I’m here,” I hear his voice before I see a small flash, and then a steady flame, a candle held in his hand. He turns, the light flickers across his face and my heart soars. I nearly forgot beauty.
I startle myself with a sob that shatters the fog, and I double over into his arms, shaking in relief. “I didn’t know if you were still here,” I whisper once raw emotion tames. “I thought I was alone.”
My guide pulls back to look at me, eyes finding mine. “You need but ask, child.” I look down in shame at my own fear and forgetfulness.
“Look at me,” it’s a command, almost forceful. And so I look, with fear, at his face, his eyes, and I see the reflection from the candlelight dancing in them, or maybe not reflections at all…
“This isn’t dark to you, is it?” I ask.
“It is not.” He answers. “But it’s dark to you, isn’t it?”
I nod, tears in my eyes.
“You can hold this,” he offers his light. “By the time it burns out, you won’t need it anymore.”
Before I can process what that means, he turns forward and I shudder. I didn’t realize how looking at his face felt like staring at the sun. I look down at the little candle in my hand, flame dancing, and take a step forward.
