I meditate a lot, and sometimes I forget where I am, or how I got somewhere. I'm looking at the stubs of what used to be a building, a home. The road is barely noticeable in the dunes, beach grass, and scrub. The wind is blowing and is cold.
"Was this the place?" says my grandson.
"Yes."
There is blue smoke in the air, from the fishing shacks that are 4 miles down near the bay.
"We stayed here, the teenagers had a 'girl-cave' in the bottom of the house." I say, to make it more reasonable we are here.
"People fish here still. Incredible!"
"Yes."
"Do they eat the fish, too?"
"Yes."
The fishing shacks are more like hovels, built with no discernible pattern. The wood they are built out of looks dull grey, and silver. We can see specks, people, that seem to limp or crawl about.
"We should be going."
"Yes."
We hear a strangled cat-like noise, and there is a person who has come from around a dune. It looks like a woman. She is maimed, blistered, and dressed in rags. She holds her arms out to us plaintively.
My grandson moves quickly to be between me and the woman. He takes a silver thing out of his pocket. She stands there, looking over his shoulder at me.
"We should be going."
"Yes."
As we trace our way back, she just stands there arms still wide open like a statue, only her old rags moving when the wind blows. She never stops looking at me.
I look back a few times, when I think my grandson is not looking at me.
My grandson sees anyways.
*
We're standing by the car. My grandson is calm.
"Before we go, use the bag, Gramps. Get in all the way this time, and press the green button."
"And wait 45 seconds." I say, wanting to please him, have him feel better about the upset.
"Exactly."
We both do the routine with the Clean Bag.
When we are done, I see the pooling dark and I can see the moon rising, with a star, over the ocean. We take off.
Not a speck of dirt or sand in the car this time.
*
Halfway back, as the car calculates, my grandson speaks.
"My mom is going to go
nuts."
"How so?"
"Grandpa - you know she told me to keep an eye on you."
We don't say anything for the rest of the way.
When I get out, he waves at me wordlessly, and is gone before I get to the exit.
When I lay down, I can't sleep.
----
Bodega Bay
Zone 2 /
Rengszal Retirement Village
September 2055
