NIGHT
Chapter 1
Sometimes you must let go of the life
you had planned in order to make room
for the life ahead of you.
Five seconds can alter your life forever. It can change the
course of your dreams and wipe out everything you’d
ever hoped for. It can send you into the wilderness, in
search of nothing.
Three days into the Nevada desert I felt the soles of
my shoes melting. I stopped, turned one foot upside
down, and examined the bottom of my sneaker. The
rubber fibers seemed to be on fire, heating to higher
temperatures with each step.
Waves of heat rose off of the surface of the red sands.
It was miles outside of Amargosa near Death Valley,
the driest place on earth. I didn’t know when I’d find
nourishment, and I didn’t care.
I knew from my research in neurobiology that the
brain could last several days without water. The dendrites
would repair themselves; the synapses would still
fire. The brain was an amazing organ with the ability to
repair itself against even the worst circumstances. But if
I didn’t find water soon, dehydration would set in, and
my brain could lapse into confusion. I’d start seeing
things, hearing things . . .
I took a step forward through an arroyo, scanning
the landscape for a cactus. Inside would be gallons of
water, and some species had sustained the lives of ancient
Indian tribes wandering the desert for years. I walked
for another five minutes until I found a craggy rock
and sat down, lowering my head into the palm of my
hands.
I had no plan and no desire for one. When I’d started
out, I had wanted only to escape.
Before I had set out on my journey, they’d insisted
on throwing a small farewell gathering for me, and,
amidst the chaos, I heard something muttered from the
back of the room.
“It’s almost as if his life has been divided into two
sections: before the accident and after.”
It was true. I was a different man now. I felt like a
cadaver divided down the middle with a Stryker saw, my
breastbone cut open, exposing the organs. Like a body
during an autopsy, my heart had been ripped out and
placed on top of my chest for examination. The blood
had ceased to flow. I was a cadaver.
Hollow.
I considered eating the small energy bar I had left in
my backpack, but I knew that if I did there was a chance
it would make things worse. My insides would tighten.
Water was needed for digestion, and the food wouldn’t
get through the small intestine without it.
“You okay?”
The voice startled me, and I looked up into the sun. I
rubbed my eyes and swallowed hard, my throat parched
and sore.
Was the process beginning?
“Here’s some water if you need it.” The voice was
gruff, yet distinctly female. Through the glare I saw that
she had graying hair and a creviced jaw darkened with
lines. She held the slim canteen toward me. “The waters
hot, but it’s better than nothing. Only a fool comes out
here without a canteen.”
I took it and unscrewed the metal top, downing it.
“You lost?” she asked.
I shook my head, “No.”
“No one sane comes this far,” she said. “Must be lost.
In one way or another.”
The woman wore brown shorts and a long-sleeved
cotton shirt with pockets and snaps down the front and
on the arms. A large black camera hung from a leather
strap around her neck. She kicked at the dirt with her
boots to make a small clearing, something I’d once
read about in a desert manual. Experienced trail guides
did it to check for scorpions and rattlers before they sat
down.
“You got a name?” she asked.
I held the canteen a little longer, considered drinking,
then wondered if it was all she had.
“Jonathan,” I said. “Jonathan Taylor.”
“Jonathan, do you realize that it’s 115 degrees out
here?”
I said nothing and shrugged.
“You need more than a t-shirt,” she continued. “And
jeans aren’t the best thing for the desert.
“I’ve got a tent over there,” she said, pointing to a
small clearing of trees. She tapped the camera. “You
can rest in the shade as long as you want. I’m here for
a week, taking pictures.” She looked intently at my face.
“You’ve got a bad wound there. You need something
for it?”
I touched the left side of my jaw. It had been two
months now, but the wound wouldn’t heal. I shook my
head.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she replied.
“So why are you here?” I asked. “Why the desert? It’s
pretty desolate out here, and there’s not much to see.”
“I’m a psychologist,” she said. “Former, that is.
Always wanted to be a photographer, but it’s the one
dream I never fulfilled. I’ve always loved the open space
of the desert, and I guess you could say I’ve escaped my
life to come to this place. To shoot my last photos.”
“Your last?” I looked at her curiously.
“I’m dying,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Aren’t we all?” I replied.
As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back.
I looked at her dark expression and knew it was true. She
really was dying.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The woman just laughed.
“Don’t be. It’s not about being sorry. We all have a
beginning, and we all have an end.”
“But is there a cure? What’s wrong with you?”
“I have cancer, and it’s terminal,” she said flatly.
“Ironically, it’s a brain tumor. Imagine that, a psychologist
who uses her brain all her life, with a brain tumor.
There is no cure. But it’s okay, Jonathan. I’ve made peace
with it. I’ve chosen to come here.” She turned to look
straight at me. “And you?”
“I flew in and just started walking. I walked for days,
slept outside. That’s about it. I ended up here kinda by
accident.”
She pondered that for a moment, then stood and took
the canteen from my hand.
“There are no accidents,” she said, motioning me to
follow. “We may think that there are, but there aren’t.
You have a family?”
I stood and walked slowly, following her toward the
tree clearing where she had set up camp, and pondered
the irony of her words.
There are no accidents.
What the hell? I thought about my wife and daughter.
Yes, I said silently. There are accidents.
“See, I’m taking photos of that rock outcropping as
the sun sets,” the woman said, pointing to a distant
canyon. The mountain range was wide and distinct, with
tall peaks jutting high into the heavens. “It’s very different
from the kind of work I’ve done my whole life. I’ve
found my passion now. I’ve discovered my destiny. I may
not have more than a few weeks to live it, but that’s not
important.” She sounded sincere.
“What kind of work did you do in psychology?”
“Hemispheric integration.”
“Hemispheric what?”
“I helped people understand the wide capacity of
their minds.”
“My wife was a first-year neurologist,” I said. “But
I’ve never heard that term.”
“Was?”
I looked down into the brown sand.
“Was,” I said firmly.
“Well, when we experience an event in our lives,” the
woman explained, “we record in our memory two
separate and unique pictorial representations—one in
each of the brain’s hemispheres. The left hemisphere is
responsible for logical, linear thinking. The right is more
concerned with spatial relationships and concepts such as
personal safety.”
“And?” I replied, intrigued.
“And if we consistently use the perception from only
one side of the brain, our choices are limited, and personal
issues remain unresolved. Learning conscious
control over which hemispheric image to utilize broadens
our range of choices, and more responses become available
to us. Imagine being able to understand and access
the brain as it was designed to be used.
“Accessing this second hemisphere opens doors that
we didn’t even know existed.”
I shrugged.
I wondered if there was some way I could change my
own way of thinking, reprogram my brain to see the
events of the past one hundred days entirely differently.
If I could drive by that intersection just one more time
and experience nothing—instead of seeing the image of
them lying in the road, that last breath . . .
Maybe my life could change.
Maybe I could rewind, go back to the old job, go
back to the house, back to the former friends, and act
as if life were just a series of peaks and valleys. Maybe
I would be able to overcome the valley. Get remarried.
Be like the others in our society who are so good at
reincarnating, adopting second lives.
I could have a whole new wife, a new kid, and justify
it all by saying there are no accidents, and reach the
understanding that it was destined to be. Feel as if I were
destined to be with this new person, destined to bring
another life into this world. Ignore the fact that the first
family ever existed and got wiped away in a single
moment.
Problem was, I could see none of it. I was hollow.
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