The Walls Came Tumbling Down

Jake walked the dirt road alone. Under each footfall rose another cloud of fine brown dust like the last. Around his neck hung a pair of black headphones. In his hand, several feet below, his walkman swung idly. A few withered strains of a plaintive melody droned feebly, like an overly cold insect trying to fly.

As the final notes crawled to an end, the power gone and the gears grinding to a halt, he set the walkman in a pocket of his long, dusty, brown coat. Still the yoke of his headphones remained around his neck as he walked on down the empty dirt road.

The music ended, Jake's journey now began. The last vestiges of society were all left behind save the road, which was always there. He began with the sky, drinking of the air around him. Above him, the sky was clear; ahead and behind him, dark bands of cloud formed slate barriers in either direction. He felt the weight of the oncoming rain, smelled it in the air. Head tilted back, he let the wind blow through his hair, thick from several months of growth and curled enough to catch the elusive wind. The breeze whispered to him, quietly, just beyond hearing where whispers work best. Images slowly rose out of the dust around him, a phantom crowd. Behind him the wind said they followed, walking in a group. As they used to.

&endash;Some rest, rest, what I wouldn't do for some rest&emdash; Jake thought of the figures &endash;Ghosts. . . I'm haunted&endash; and sped his pace. They wouldn't hurt him, they never had. But until now, they weren't ghosts. &endash;But this is what I came for.&emdash; With that, the first of the memories came like a speeding car.

&endash;"The truth never comes easy"&emdash;

He winced at the quote. Deep in his mind, barriers he had long ago sealed began to tremble. The past to him was an uncomfortable fact. He'd left to forget it, to leave it behind as he'd left everything now, save that which never left- his music, himself, and his coat.

&endash;"Love the coat, Jake. Where'd you get it?"&emdash; a female voice asked. Jake raised his head, not wanting to but knowing he had no choice. Ahead of him the sky had dropped a single silver tear to form a silhouette. Silver hair fell from the girl's forehead in a long streaming mist. From between the strands she looked at him with her elfin face and smiled. A thin arm raised from a fold somewhere to brush the hair away.

&endash;Ghosts.&emdash; She spiraled with a gust into mist again and the music returned to him. &emdash;I've built walls, a fortress deep and mighty&emdash; At his waist, a purple ribbon flapped in the little wind. It seemed to melt into the road ahead, a stream of water. Dazed, he wandered on, as fractured bits of broken dreams and melodies of memories played on to the music.

That none may penetrate

&endash;Where'd you find it, Jake?&emdash;

I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain

&endash;Here Jake, a ribbon . . .&emdash;

It's laughter and it's loving I disdain

&endash;A shoulder to cry on, a smile to lie on, a friend&emdash;

I am a rock, a tear formed on Jake's cheek as he trembled.

I am. . . an . . . island.

And the walls came tumbling down.

---

Jake fell to the dirt road as a peal of thunder rent the sky above. The rain fell, great sheets of thoughts and memories crashing about him, stirring the dust into shapes of things he'd long forgotten. Ghosts rose about him only to be beat down again by the torrent.

Eventually the rain began to collect on the ground, the soil fully soaked. Small streams collected in channels, began to flow in an orderly manner as the tremors that had claimed him stopped. The rain subsided to a thin misted drizzle. He lay in the dirt road, lost in his thoughts as he was lost in the world about him.

As the world once more resumed its normal shape, he sat up. The rain continued, but its steady quiet rhythm cleared his mind rather than clouding it as it clouded the world around him. The road had closed in about him; the world ended about fifteen feet to either side. He shivered slightly at the wetness on his left side, exposed to the rain. He pulled himself into the dry side of the cloak-like coat.

With a final glance at the spot of dry road where he'd fallen, he began to walk once more. Footstep followed footstep, and nothing beyond touched his consciousness. Beneath in the rain-soaked earth, ribbons of water wound their way into his hollowed footprints.

&endash;Ribbons of water&emdash;

He looked down to his waist where his black leather belt wound around him. Around a belt loop it hung: a small, thin, purple satin ribbon, frayed and worn with long use. He ran his fingers up and down the strands once, and untied it with reverent care. Slowly he raised his hand with the ribbon draped loosely over it and studied it.

Every fiber, every silken thread of this ribbon held emotion within it. To Jake, it was not so much a piece of woven threads, frayed at the edges and tangling, as a string of memories, of battles won and lost. What was left after a war? After friendships? Tattered memories, ribbons woven through time.

He stroked the ribbon with his thumb as his other fingers held it. All else faded from Jake's awareness in the satiny touch of the ribbon. Each small bump, fray, and loose thread was a memory. Every time he rubbed the ribbon, a few more drifted away. Soon all that would be left would be the skeleton of a ribbon, a memory of a memory.

&endash;Like Kindal&emdash;

He could see her in the ribbon, tattered, worn. The world pressed on her, made the wrinkles in the cloth, the furrowed brow. The ribbon, so thin. Kindal, too, had been too thin. Later, she'd lived on caffeine and nicotine. He remembered her mother used to keep her home from school for the calories she didn't eat. &endash;You're threadbare, Kindal. I can see through you.&emdash; The ribbon fluttered against his face as he walked. He lifted the ribbon to his eye, but the fog didn't let enough light in to see through it.

As he walked he stroked the ribbon, and slowly the bumps came out. The ground, now, had begun to drop a little, through hills. He couldn't see far enough to see them, but he knew they were there. Last time he'd come this way. . . He couldn't forget. He could almost name the stones along the road. The ribbon became smoother, softer, as the crispness it had taken from the air of the town faded out.

By the time evening came, he tied the liquid ribbon to his belt again. He found a tree, wrapped himself tight in his coat, and fell asleep to the silence of the wet fields.

---

On the third day, Jake reached the ocean.

Slowly the hills rose again, forest approached in the distance to the side. The morning dew was on the grass when he began and it was still wet as he approached evening and the sea. Here the road faded. Grass grew slowly across it and it narrowed to little more than a path before disappearing altogether. He knew the way here only by the open path through the trees. As the road had returned to the land, the forest was encroaching upon the path. Dark purple flowers grew along the edge of the forest, the first sign of forgiveness for the road's scar.

The land abruptly dropped off into the sky as Jake rose the last few feet and stood on the edge. He looked out over the panorama for a moment, and then took off his jacket and set it down next to him. Then he reached up and removed the headphones and dropped them on the coat. He stood up again, hands passing through his hair, clearing it from his face and letting the wind catch, and then out to the sides as he leaned to the wind. He was a bird, out over the ocean as he stood for several minutes simply drawing in the view of the sunset on the water.

When he finally returned, he did so calmly, as a bird setting on a delicate branch. Nothing should break the serenity he now felt as he let his arms fall and turned from the cliff. West, he faced, into the sun where a few stones lay in a rough, rounded rectangle. He stood for a moment as the last rays of the sun trickled from Kindal's grave. Still serene. He bent to the jacket and reached to a tall pocket, one well protected from the elements.

From it he pulled a single rose.

He walked with the rose, slowly, reverently, to the stone circle and laid the flower within it. There the serenity fell, washed away by his tears. Over the lonely grave Jake's tears fell on the mound of earth, moistening it and leaving tiny sparkling silver spheres on the grass. After several minutes, he turned to the sea.

There stood a young woman. A hazy blue mist-form against the surrounding blues and reds shimmered with the rays of the sun on the evening ocean. There he stood, staring at Kindal.

It was Kindal, but not the Kindal he'd remembered through the ribbon. Her hair flowed long, sweeping and beautiful as the day he'd first met her in the halls of the school. Instead of the jeans he remembered with the holes from her father's cigarettes, and then hers, the image wore a shifting robe, reaching to the ground and stirring slightly in the breeze. This was Kindal as he'd first known her, before the bluntness of the world had dulled her, when she still knew how to laugh without the edge in her voice.

She made the first move as she stepped forward.

"Jake," she said softly, "Can you hear me?" He nodded. A look of sorrow and sympathy crossed her face and she reached out a graceful hand. "Don't be afraid, Jake, I can only help if you let me. . . as I let you." Then she stepped forward again and raised her hand to Jake's cheek. There was a slight breeze and he smelled lilacs.

"Don't worry, Jake. I'm here to say goodbye, but it's a good parting. Not like the last. . . The way friends should leave each other."

"Must you leave again?" Jake asked quietly.

"Yes. You know I do."

"No. I don't want you to leave. You and the rest. . . one by one. . . have left me alone. I feel as you must have, Kindal. I get so lonely it's unbearable. I get so lonely," he looked around, "well, I'll come here, alone, walking. A pilgrimage. Heh. For a seventeen year-old." He gave Kindal a wry smile.

"Jake, it's time you let go, gave up this isolation. Even the most steadfast of rocks, the strongest of islands in time falls to teh sea. To be untouched is to die slowly, from lack of feeling. Time erodes the lonely stones, as it erodes you. That's why I came. We have left and we're not returning," she dropped her arm and turned, "The most you can do is remember us."

"But you died forgotten. Without a mark on the world to be remembered by. You have died for nothing!"

"As long as you remember us, we live on. If you give up, we go with you. Then there'll be two empty places in the world. But as you continue, we continue through your memories of us."

"It's just so little,"

She turned and walked back to him. "The greatest legacy anyone can leave lies in a loved one. You can give me immortality such as I might never have were I alive. The most I could hope for would be in you passing on my memory. You already have it. Last halloween, you said 'Pinky' at every door, instead of 'trick or treat', right?" smile, nod. "Strictly me. Jake, you do it without even realizing it. And you will.

"When you're an old man, and the world's growing dim as the sky does now, tell your children, your grandchildren, of us, your friends. That once you knew a girl with hair half down her back that flowed in the wind. Tell about us just as you remember. They will see us then, and we'll be with them. That is the most any could hope for."

"I will, Kindal, I will." A whisper.

"Until the next hello then, Jake, goodbye. Until we meet again."

And with a final wave, she faded to a wisp blown on the breeze. Jake stood, eyes open, breath withheld, for several moments. As the last rays of the sun disappeared, Jake picked up his coat and put it back on. The headphones went in a pocket. With a final glance to the grave and the sea, he turned from the cliff and began walking once more on the road. The sky was nearly dark, but he could still see. The darkness was no longer so black.

And overhead, the stars came out.