Sunday, June 28, 2015

Always More Questions

My wife’s action booted me straightaway into my cocoon of human flesh. That’s what I imagined it to be. It was dark, warm, damp, stifling. I was aware but trapped in an unresponsive shell of fleshy clay wanting to open my eyes, wanting light, wanting answers to questions I couldn’t recall asking.

Shell of clay, Clay. I remembered my old buddy and our last moments together fighting that trout. Using it as a reference point, my mind went forward and back in search of active memories.

Clay, I remember.

Those were the last words I remembered speaking, vague as they were, while in a helicopter being flown to a hospital. Right, I wrecked my car and got myself mangled up. What had I recalled, while in a state of shock no less, Clay would want to know? What had he challenged me to remember? Yes, and who kept rolling the file cabinet of my memories to another room?

Imagining myself standing at a chalk board, I wrote my name at the top left. Beneath it, I wrote numbers one through four. Attempting to create some order, I restated my words.

Clay, I remember…I remember…yes! I remember getting my name!

I wrote this beside number one and other questions came to mind, questions formed by some semblance of memory I presumed.

Number two. When did Clay and I first meet, and, not as teens?  

The clue was in a couple childhood dreams I’d had since visiting Clay. Badly beaten by a couple of gangs at a new school, an Ojibweh kid, Clay, came to my aid.

Number three. What connection exists between His Favorite Gal and my wife? 

Clay had told me the story of Gal's name and something about her once belonging to the Grand Medicine Society. I remembered the dream-vision I had back at the Boredman River, of both women’s voices speaking to me in unison. 

I went back to question two and my dreams. They were more than dreams of fantasy, they were actual events, and I was certain of it. Suspended in my coma and emotionally detached, I traveled back through time. I visited the school and watched myself getting pummeled.

Go further back, you need to go home, to getting ready for school,” I told myself.

My mind carried me to a house on the Rez. It seemed familiar and looked like Clay’s. I drifted inside like a ghost. Going from room to room, I tried to identify it as my boyhood home. 

In a living room, I found two old framed pictures. In the larger one was a young Ojibweh couple posed in a mix of traditional and contemporary clothing, a marriage photo I supposed. The second frame showed a much older version of the same man and it sparked a memory, one regarding my naming ceremony.

I was about to rewind and play the scene when something grabbed my ankles and pulled back. Looking down, I saw the large paws of a black bear before falling to the floor. I hit as hard as a dropped feather. Feet first and face down, I zoomed forward in time wanting to see the creature towing me.

After coming to a stop, I rolled over and my captor was gone. Strongly compelled, I entered my body. My spirit, like maple syrup, slowly saturated my body which felt increasingly dense and heavy.

“Look, he’s waking up,” said a young man’s voice.

Yes indeed. I blinked hard a few times and to my surprise spoke clearly.

“Dammit all, I was about to get the answers.”

Copyright © 2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.