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Midnight at the Crossroads
Just got back from the Writer's Circle Meeting for January. Our writing assignment for this month was as follows: "The theme for the January meeting is "beginnings and endings." This month's topic is inspired by the Roman god, Janus. Mythology tells us that Janus, the guardian of gates and doors, has the ability to look forward and backward. He is often depicted with two faces (one bearded, the other clean shaven.) Janus was worshipped at harvest, planting, marriage, birth, and any important event in a person's life. Members are invited to share poems, journal entries, memoirs, fiction, essays or laments on the January theme. It's helpful to remember that Janus is also representative of the transition between primitive life and civilization, between the countryside and the city and between peace and war. In his right hand he holds a key. You take it from there...."
And here is what I came up with:
"Midnight at the Crossroads"
It was an unusually warm evening in early January. I would often take late night walks despite the season, just to clear my lungs with fresh air before bed. Tonight's walk was slightly uncomfortable; I had overdressed, expecting cooler conditions. I loosened my jacket, pulled off my toque and took a deep breath as the light breeze caressed the smooth skin of my freshly shorn head. Only scant traces of dirty snow remained along the edge of the road where it been tossed by the snowplow several weeks earlier.
My hometown (and I use the term "town" loosely), consisted of perhaps twenty homes and one general store. It sprung up along an otherwise uninteresting stretch of tertiary highway and was crossed about halfway through by a back road of the partially maintained sort that ubiquitously define the concession lines of our small island.
Tracing a meandering pace I slowly made my way to this crossroads, with the idea in mind that I may turn south at the corner, away from the glare of the streetlights and into the murky winter countryside.
The corner was an unusual contrast between the past, present and future. Erected on the nearly faded foundation of an ancient store, small billboards were huddled on the northeast corner, tempting summer tourists who dared to venture down the winding road to the north with fudge and other sweet delights.
On the opposite northern corner was the stark grey cinderblock foundation and two-by-four skeleton of a new house which somehow had been in a perpetual state of construction since I first moved into my little house three years ago.
Typar or some other plastic house wrap from the construction site flapped gently in the breeze as I turned my gaze to the rusting and decrepit machines that lay scattered around the open lot on the southwest corner, opposite the small white church that completed quadrilateral assembly that defined our crossroads.
On a symbolic level, the "crossed roads" present a fascinating stage for many folk tales. My favorite legends have always involved meeting, quote, "The Devil" at such places, usually at some significant chronological marker, such as the stroke of midnight. Much like the modern mythology of infamous blues singer Robert Johnson, who it was said met and bargained his soul to the Devil at some long forgotten crossroads on Mississippi Delta.
What happened next was completely unexpected. I have no rational explanation for the events that I am about to relate. Quite honestly, I would like to believe that I am just a casual and rational cataloguer of mythology, whatever its form. This is why I refuse to classify the following events as meeting, quote, "The Devil". I will simply say that I met somebody that night who, depending on your perspective, could have been labelled "The Devil" or "Old Scratch" or "Coyote" or "Loki" or any other of the myriad names that humanity has bestowed upon the figure of the Trickster over the millennia.
The streetlight flickered and went out as I approached the corner, the breeze fell and the night grew silent in the eerie way that only a winter's night can grow silent. In the half shadows, leaning against the old stop sign, was the indistinct form of a tall person, who was apparently dressed in a long black trench coat. Their face was completely hidden by shadows, so I was quite startled when a sensual and unfamiliar female voice asked "Hey, Dave, got a light?"
"Sorry, no, I gave that up a few years ago. Ummm, do I know you?" I fought the urge to check my grandfather's gold watch for the time. It currently sat in the pocket of my jeans with an impossibly heavy weight generated by the knowledge that surely both hands were at that very moment stuck exactly on midnight.
"Yes, but we've never spoken before, at least not directly." She replied as she pulled herself forward and slithered closer.
I realized now that she wasn't dressed in a trench coat as I had first assumed, but was actually clad in dark robes and the reason that I couldn't see her face was because it obscured in the deeps folds and shadows of a hood or cowl that seemed to be attached to her robes.
She raised her slim hand, long, fire engine red fingernails flashed as she brought a anthracite black cigarette to her still obfuscated face. There was a pinpoint flash of orange coal from under her hood as she took a long, slow drag and then blew sweet smelling clove smoke in my face. "It's ok, I brought my own, light that is".
"Are you the Grim Reaper?" I asked, resisting the urge to make a dumb joke about her apparent lack of a scythe, expecting that this dangerous figure could have pulled just about any weapon or antique farm implement that she wished from thin air.
"No" she replied, "However, like Death, I am an anthropomorphic personification."
"Huh?" I mumbled.
"That means that I'm a personification of an essential element of the universe that you live in and that you see me exactly as think you should see me." She whispered, taking another slow drag and seemingly looking me up and down in a very deliberate manner.
"Who put you up to this? Was it Howard? He knows that I like to take walks at night. Say, aren't you his cousin, Mavis? I knew he was still ticked off because of our last poker night." I looked around, the streetlight's flickering had ceased and now the corner by the stop sign was lit only by the glow of lights from further up the street, which somehow seemed more distant and blurry than I remembered it. In fact, everything outside of the immediate area seemed to be somehow out of focus, the church, the machinery, the billboards.
Ignoring my questions she continued, "Which is very much like Death, because in death you find exactly what you expect to find, nothing more, nothing less."
My head spun a little with so little to focus on and far too much heavy philosophy and large words being flung about for the day's end
"Anyhow, enough of that, I am here to offer you what you desire the most: the chance to fix absolutely everything that's wrong with your life."
"Howard! Howard, are you in the bushes!? Howard! The joke's over now!"
She raised her hand and there was a blinding flash as the most peculiar thing in the universe suddenly materialized before us. Well, it wasn't actually the most peculiar thing in the universe, but it was surely the oddest thing to ever suddenly pop into existence in the middle of an island crossroads.
A door set in a frame. Oak by the look of it, new, freshly oiled and waxed, brass hinges and knobs glittering brightly for several seconds after the initial flash of light.
"My offer is a simple bargain, step through this door and you will have the opportunity to start fresh. Every mistake you've ever made will be erased; every ache, every pain. You will have the chance to fix everything that ever went wrong with your life."
She reminded me of an oddly adorned Carney, trying to entice the young folk to waste their quarters playing crooked carnival games on the midway. With a nonchalant flick, she tossed and stamped out her black cigarette with a clack that sounded far too much like a horse's hoof striking pavement. Even without a proper view of her face, I could feel her wicked grin as her hand slipped from some unseen pocket to reveal a shiny brass key.
"That's a helluva deal lady, what will it cost me? My soul? If every mistake is erased, what will happen to me? My mistakes, as much as they hurt, are the only things I can truly call my own. Sorry, the price is too high and the reward far too vague. Scars and calluses exist for a reason"
Silently she strode around to the other side of the door; a single finger beckoned me to follow as she disappeared from my site for a moment. Curiosity over took my better judgement at this point, I had little choice but to follow.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I found on the back side of the door: Another door set in a frame, oak again, but this time nearly black with the patina of many a lifetime, rusted hinges, cobwebs and a doorknob that surely had not been touched by human hands for centuries. However, a million times more startling was the visage that now stood beside the door, still clad in flowing midnight robes was the countenance of the most beauti… "Surprised to see me, darling?" she chortled in a flirty English accent.
"Wait a minute, aren't you Liz Hur…" I stammered as she interrupted "No, I'm not, but I can certainly see who has watched the remake of Bedazzled on DVD one too many times."
She smiled and then continued "You may be no Brendan Fraser, but I like you, darling, so I'm giving you a second chance." She continued "Ok, so you don't want to lose who you are, that's understandable, but can you resist becoming all you could be?" Her smile was intoxicating and masterfully devious as she held up a much older, tarnished brass key.
"Through this door is all the knowledge that you could ever want. An entire lifetime at your fingertips, just imagine what you could do with all that knowledge!" She purred.
The temptation was beyond belief for a self-styled seeker of knowledge, such as myself. That is until I finally snapped back to my senses, "Wait a minute, if I gain an entire lifetime's worth of knowledge in an instant, then what is there left to live for? Heck, knowing you, I would walk through that door and find myself old, decrepit and on my deathbed. Wise, perhaps, but the only way to gain the knowledge of a lifetime is to actually live a lifetime. Shortcuts are never what they seem and your offer sounds like nothing more than the fast track to a quick demise."
Her frown was heartbreaking, "Oh, come on darling, take a chance! Live! How about you just try a little test drive?" Her eyes danced as she held up both keys.
"Lady, I am living, here, now, you can't fool me, in the end, the past is just a shadow and the future is just a dream, all that truly exists is now." I nodded my head to her, politely, before turning around and starting back towards home. Sound and life returned to the world around me, I took a deep breath and drank in clean, fresh now.
I wasn't foolish enough to look back, as I didn't fancy living the rest of my days as some sort of salt statue. Knowing my luck I would have been crushed and spread on the highway during blizzards.
No, I just walked home at a very even pace, closing and latching the front door with an extra fervent slam. I still go out for fresh air at night, but lately I have found that I prefer taking such late night walks only when the sun is out.
END
Posted by Dylon on January 30, 2007 10:42 PM |
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