Burnout (Part III)

Dear Reader:
          Have you ever traveled through The Land of Burnout? Have you stopped for a meal at Slim’s Bar and Grill? Perhaps you’ve forgotten it all. Perhaps your memories got jumbled as mine did.
          I kept notes on my latest trip—hopefully my last. Afterward, I reassembled the fragmented pieces. Judge me not too harshly, for the words were written deep in the Valley and under the influence of poison fumes, or else immediately after my escape. Forgive me, too, if my descriptions feel to you like a hodgepodge. I’m sure I missed many details. Write to me anytime and share your experience.

*          *          *

          After perhaps a year in the Valley, Slim threw me out of the Bar and Grill, with nothing but a canteen, my worn clothes, and the crumpled letter from Joy, which I had just read to him. Joy had told him to listen for the Music and follow me out of the Valley. If he pressed through the archway, she would meet him there. Slim resented both the messenger and the message.
          I lay in the dust next to the lizards, wondering which way to go. No direction seemed better than any other.
          So I headed out. Aimlessly, I ascended. The moment I grew thirsty, I turned back. I drank from the cistern behind Slim’s place, but this time it left me thirstier than ever.
          With my throat parched and my body sore, I slept restlessly on rocky ground beneath the open sky. The moon and stars never penetrated the haze, so I waited for the dawn.
          On the second day, I climbed further, only to be struck by a man wearing a yellow cap hurtling into the Valley on his sled. He knocked me clear back to the cistern.
          “Sorry about that, mate. Watch yourself.”
          The third day, the yellow-capped man strode past me as I climbed once more. “Hey, mate. Aren’t you the one who ran into me yesterday?”
          “We ran into each other, don’t you think?”
          “Sums it up. Hope you’re all right. See ya.”
          “Wait! You know the way out of here?”
          “A course I do. I never stay in one place. Name’s Exeter, and I can exit any place I enter. I’m only back for the thrill o’ the slide.”
          “Mind if I follow you out?”
          “Suit yourself, but I ain’t waitin around.” And off he went.
          I pursued him as long as I could. Exeter followed a zigzag course between clumps of green grasses, as tall as a man, each surrounded by hornets. “Hornet grass!” he shouted back to me, laughing. Between the clumps, Exeter dug a narrow trench until he found water with the most refreshing taste I ever knew. I filled my canteen.
          The grass disappeared, and Exeter vanished. I kept ascending but found no more hornet grass. Thoroughly lost, I descended once more to the Bar and Grill.
          Slim met me there, frowning, arms akimbo. “I don’t wanna see you here ever again.”
          “I don’t want to be here. But how do I get out?”
          Slim sniffed me and snatched my canteen. He drank the last few drops . . . and then his head snapped sharply up.
          “We follow the Music,” he said, confidently.
          The change washed over him so suddenly, I briefly wondered if he was the same man from before. I cupped my ears, hoping to hear whatever he did. Having no success, I next plugged my ears, as if to block the silence and amplify whatever mysterious guidance he sensed. Same results.
          Slim headed up the path taken by Exeter, and I stuck to his heels. Between clumps of hornet grass, Slim lost his awareness of the Music. I dug deep until I struck the refreshing, hidden water and refilled our canteen. Slim drank, his eyes brightened, and we continued.
          Slim half muttered, half cursed with amazement. “You don’t hear nothing?”
          I threw up my hands, and he did the same. If we hadn’t been in the Valley, we would have laughed at ourselves. I wish we had managed it—a great big belly-aching, eye-watering laugh—but nobody laughs in the Valley.
          Joy’s letter said Slim should follow me, but with every step, I trailed after him. Once the hornet grass ended, Slim kept on marching, certain of his direction.
          We passed a round, yellow cloth.
          “Exeter’s cap,” I said, pointing.
          Slim set the hat on a lone cactus, half dead. “Could be handy.”
          We finally struck a cliff face, impassable, except for one narrow stone archway through. The sign overhead, carved in stone, read, “Thank you for visiting Burnout. Please come again.”
          Slim pressed his wide body into the archway, but he didn’t fit.
          “Turn sideways, like Joy told you.”
          “I don’t turn,” Slim said. “I am who I am. Same as always. If the gate ever changes, I’ll go through. You can try if you want, but I’m done.” He spun on a heel and took off.
          I slid my head through the archway, contorted my shoulders, let out all my air, and scraped through. Immediately, the Music found me—the voice of Joy.
          “Come back, Slim!” I shouted. “We’re almost out.” In the distance, I spotted Joy galloping our way with her double set of knees and one missing arm. “Joy’s right there! She has come to meet us.”
          Slim, with our empty canteen on his hip, heard the Music no longer. He reached the cactus with extraordinary speed, snatched Exeter’s cap, and fitted it carefully to his head. I hollered after him three more times, but he kept descending and never looked back.

*          *          *

          Joy grabbed me with her single arm, guided me firmly to a shelter, sat me down, and bound up my wounds. I didn’t know how badly I had been injured. She brought me food, drink, clothes, and writing materials of the highest quality.
          “How did you get this cut-ta?” she said. “And this bruise-za?”
          “I don’t recall.”
          “You’re still brain-addled-a. You will need months to recover-ra. In the meantime, you write-ta.” She handed me the paper and stylus, her dark face glowing from the light of her golden hair. “That is your duty until you heal-a.”
          My jaw hung slack.
          “Isn’t it funny-a? How I get to be part of your work-ka?”
          I still couldn’t think. She waited patiently while I finished eating.
          She sat before me, her eyes flowing like a river. “Now you must talk to me, TAT-ta.”
          “I found Slim and read him your letter. I almost forgot about it.”
          She teared up. “Go on-na.”
          “Slim disapproved of the message. But when he drank the good water, he heard your voice and pursued.”
          Joy nodded, her single hand clutching her right arm stump. With her chin forward and her lips tight, she absorbed each of my words like a last bite of food.
          “Slim and I climbed all day until we reached the arch. He leaned into the opening but wouldn’t turn sideways. I squeezed through and heard your voice. But by then, Slim was already gone.”
          Joy blotted her eyes. “You brought him all the way-a.”
          “It was the opposite. I followed him. Did you never see him there?”
          “I only see people once they come through-wa.”
          “That’s strange.”
          “Not strain-ja. You have hands to dig. Slim has ears to hear. I have lips to sing-a.”
          “Are you saying there might be others with eyes to see—clear through the smog?”
          “Perhaps. My part is to sing and heal-la. Yours is to think and write-ta. You must tell our stories-a—all the stories we can gather-a.”
          “I can do that.”
          Joy smiled. “Thank you for delivering my letter-a.”
          “You’re welcome. If it hadn’t been for your note, I might not have made it out.”
          “Exactly-a. Slim might make it out next time-ma. I will keep trying to reach him-ma.”
          “Have you met Exeter? He slides into the Valley regularly, “For the thrill!” Who would do that? Perhaps he could take your next message to Slim.”
          “Exeter can never deliver a message-ja. Only those who stay too long. Those poisoned by the Whisperer do it best-a. That’s why I put my hope in you-wa.”
          In the days and weeks that followed, I thought about Joy and the Whisperer, two contrasting women who had impacted me so profoundly. Each was alluring in her own way. I imagined them facing each other, their purposes utterly opposed, their powers of persuasion equally matched. How many times had I been taken in by the confidence and charm of the Whisperer, listening to her instead of Joy.
          My rescuer could have said, “See, you should have listened to me.” But she never did. Quite the opposite, she spoke gratefully to me. Not once did she neglect her post, yet she visited me daily during my convalescence. She sang for me, my pain subsided, and I healed faster. Meanwhile, she rescued many from Burnout.
          After considerable healing, I left my shelter and joined her near the arch, interacting with those emerging from the Valley. I asked the travelers, once they had healed enough to talk comfortably, “Could you please tell me something about your stay in Burnout? What do you most remember? What critical new thing did you learn? Joy and I have both lived there for years, but the air, the heat, and the drink clouded our minds. We’d appreciate your help understanding the finer details of the place.”
          With rare exceptions, the travelers said nothing. Nobody talked excessively. One old soldier said, “I lump my time in Burnout with the War. It’s over, and I don’t wanna think about it. Nobody can make sense of it, so why bot’er?”
          One woman with a crooked mouth said, “I took my whole family down there, and that’s where we raised our kids.”
          A younger woman, a geologist by trade, said, “All I remember is the mud.” She showed me one of her old boots and picked at it with a fingernail. “I call this Burnout Mud. It dries clear on any footwear and builds up in layers. After a few weeks, you can barely walk, but you don’t know why.”

*          *          *

          Dear Reader, I have lived in Burnout. More than once, I overstayed my welcome. Finally, I have emerged again, hopefully for the last time. I never escaped purely on my own strength, but always with the help of others—Joy most of all. Since then, I have helped a few people escape, some by accident, others by intention, and I’d like to help more. I have reflected long on the nature of the Valley—the descent, the stay, and the exit—and here is the conclusion of the matter, my final thoughts.

To Be Continued . . .

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