Drifters

I have to tell you about this strange thing that happened. It was strange and it was wonderful and even now, years later, it’s impossible to forget but even harder to remember.

It was the night before our world blew up, before smoke and ash rolled through the city streets, before the buildings collapsed, before bodies came down like hailstones and splattered over concrete. It was the night before fear seeped into the air, and oxygen became paranoia. It was the night before everything changed, and the sky was silence.

The Hudson riverbanks are deserted at midnight save for those who drift along the outskirts of society; worn-out hobo’s with no will left to travel further, penniless junkies chewing on empty zip-lock bags, out of business prostitutes and other ghostly figures who merely wait, to die, to let the water sweep off the last remains of life, before swallowing up their bodies, pushing them down to a murky depth where they cannot drift any longer.

I was there, I watched, I observed from underneath a highway bridge cloaked by darkness. The only light came from Manhattan’s skyline, a a light that would soon blaze at its fullest, at its most dangerous, but not now. At this moment it was glowing and bright, a long face with shimmering eyes and sparkling teeth. You could imagine all the people bustling about and yet here, just a river apart, were those who simply waited.

I wasn’t there long before I saw two drifters, a man and a woman, dressed in long rags with hair that fell down to the muddy sand. They sat, encircled by cigarette butts and opened condom wrappers. They sat and stared at the light, at least I thought that’s what they were staring at. I lowered myself onto my knees, safe under the bridge, watching and listening to their monotone conversations, their lifeless voices.

“I’m so tired of waiting”

The man placed a grubby hand over his eyes. He lowered his hand, sighed and then let it fall down into a dent in the sand.

“Nothing changes. No matter how long you close your eyes. Nothing is new, nothing is different. The way I shut my lids, the way my palm hits the sand, the darkness that is always there and the same light that flickers.”

The woman remained statue still, apart from her own hand that moved over his.

“Remember that day we had pancakes?” she asked.

He picked up his free hand, placed it in front of his eyes and let it drop into another sandy dent.

“And the water and the sky and the smell of rotting wood.”

“Do you remember? Or was it French toast?”

“And the same rubbish and the same dying trees”

“I think you had orange juice and I had coffee, maybe I had two. I really liked coffee back then”

“And the moonlight that reflects itself in the same ripples onto the same land from the same night-sky in the same shade of black.”

“You sent your plate back because it wasn’t hot enough. Do you remember? You always liked your pancakes hot, ‘as hot as they can be’, you would always say.”

Their words were swept over by silence; her hand remained on top of his and then unexpectedly, at least for me, his body collapsed. With a loud thud he folded in half onto the sand, his head dropped perfectly into a larger groove. The woman didn’t flinch. I considered going up to them, revealing myself. I felt relieved when I heard him speak.

“Do you think that tonight will be the night?”

“I always think, every night will be the night. You know that.”

I could sense disappointment; the man’s shoulders dug deeper into the sand.

Like a score of threatening music in a horror film, I felt a movement creeping up behind me. I looked back but even my night adjusted eyes couldn’t see anything, which I hoped would mean that whatever was out there couldn’t see me either. The sound became louder and louder and then I knew they were footsteps, fast and heavy, and then heavier and heavier and just when I thought the steps would step and stamp over my own body a shadow drifted past me and landed by the man and woman on the riverbank.

The shadow was a girl, she wasn’t dressed in rags, her hair was short and mostly covered by a wooly hat. She carried a bag with her.

“Who is it?” the man asked the woman.

The woman’s hand had moved to her mouth, clasped to her lips by the other hand. Her back curved.

“We own nothing”, the man bellowed without moving, “You can search us all you want, but you will find nothing.”

The girl cleared her throat.

“I-I-I’m not here to rob you. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Then leave us.”

The girl did not move

“Leave us little girl, this is not a place for you.”

The girl sat down, outside of their littered circle, but close to them.

“I heard that, people come here to die”, she said.

With great effort, the man sat up. The woman let her hands drop.

“It’s not as easy as that little girl.”

With her tick army boots, the girl dug two holes in the sand and shuffled her bottom; she had no intention of leaving.

“I am not a little girl, you know.”

Very slowly, the woman moved her head towards her; she lowered her eyes and examined the young stranger.

“Go home”, the woman said softly, attempting a kinder approach than her companion.

The girl smiled, “It’s not as easy as that.”

“This is not a place for you, dear.”

“Is this a place to die?”

“It is but – “

“Then this is the place for me.”

The man grunted, the woman’s eyes returned to the river. The girl placed her hands behind her body and leaned back. She looked comfortable, basking in the moonlight.

“How long have you been waiting?” she asked them.

The man dropped his body back down with a thump.

“Too long.”

“I hope I won’t have to wait so long.”

“You’re a silly little girl.”

The woman shot him a look. He couldn’t have seen it, but he grew very silent.

The girl broke the quiet with another question.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s better not to ask any questions”

“Oh, I’m sorry”

“It’s alright, dear”

I expected the girl would finally surrender to the stillness of the riverbank, but the girl wasn’t fond of stillness.

“I’ve traveled a great distance to get here.”

“Perhaps it’s best if you go back.”

“No, this is it. This is where I have to be.”

I might have imagined this, my memory is foggy in parts and it’s always the most beautiful that is hardest to remember, but I swear I saw a moonlit tear roll down the woman’s rugged cheek.

“You are too young to know that,” she said.

“I feel too empty to know any different”

The woman continued to stare across the river to the glowing horizon. The girl studied the woman and followed her gaze; she too began to stare at the lights. I stared in the same direction but with no certainty that I had matched their line of view. There were so many lights to stare at, thousands, millions it seemed, which ones had they chosen?

“Do you think it will hurt?”

As much as I enjoyed the girl’s subtle rebellion in asking questions, I did not understand why she insisted on disturbing their peace. The man clearly agreed, with the same grave effort, he sat up straight.

“If you need to ask that question you are not supposed to be here.”

“I was just making conversation. I am not afraid, I am definitely not afraid, I was only wondering, you know, if dying hurts, that’s all.”

“Being hurt involves pain, which involves feeling and feeling something involves connection. When you have been here for as long as we have, little girl, you are not connected to anything, not even to each other. Pain does not concern us.”

“Oh, pain doesn’t concern me either. I told you, I am empty.”

“And what have you experienced in your silly little life that has made you so, empty?”

“I thought it was better to not ask any questions?”

“Don’t try to be smart, girl.”

The girl gave up, and I hoped for her sake she would think again before speaking.

A boat passed. The sight of something that wasn’t there before lead me to notice a chill in the air, a cool midnight breeze had arrived, an unwelcome guest. Wind swept across the riverbank, throwing dust into my eyes, into their eyes but unlike me they didn’t seem to mind, they didn’t rub their faces, all three of them stared trance like into the horizon with eyeballs full of sand.

“I think tonight, may be the night”, the woman said.

“Really?” the man was happy. The rhythmic bitterness in his voice was gone, but the girl wasn’t assured, she took off her hat and fiddled with bits of loose wool.

“How do you know?” she asked.

The woman took the wooly hat from her and placed it back onto her head.

“Be still now dear, be very still”

The man and the woman lowered their entire bodies onto the sand, like sunken logs at the bottom of the ocean. The girl followed suit as if she knew what to do. Perhaps, like me, she had been lurking in the darkness, watching the drifters; perhaps she had been here before.

The dusty wind gained speed, swishing and swooshing over their bodies, it clung on to them and let go, twisting their ragged clothes, throwing their hair to and fro, a confetti of sand fell over their limbs. As I watched them, tying hard to shield my eyes, I felt overwhelmed by a deep tiredness that sent me to a vertical position myself. I knew falling asleep here was a bad idea, I knew it would be a mistake, I knew I had to get up tomorrow, go to work, there were things that needed to be done but I just let my eye lids fall and fall and fall and the lull of sleep swallowed all my uncertainties.

When I woke, the sun had risen, it was morning and I felt wide-awake but no one was on the riverbank. It was deserted, the circle of rubbish had disappeared, the dents in the sand were filled with dust; they were no longer visible and the bodies, the bodies weren’t there any more. I walked out of my tunnel, I walked up to the water, there was no one, I was alone, there was no one. I was alone.

I sunk into the sand, first on my knees, and then I let my entire body drop. I lay there, eye to eye with dust and grains and I traced a circle with my finger. A loud humming noise seemed to come from the sky, but when I looked up the sky was empty. I concentrated on my circle, I had started a new one, I began by my head and traced around my entire body, my arm stretched and stretched until I had reached my head again.

I got up, ready to make my way home, to get back to my life, back to the world. I peered across the river, to look out for the drifters one last time and then I saw it – Manhattan’s two front teeth dangerously ablaze and covered in gray smoke.

I placed my hands in front of my eyes.