Lost In The Dust

Dust rode the tender earth, and sailed with the violent wind. Immortal and endless, pushed into the sky by the magnitude of the spinning Earth, the dust ruled the air and the ground. Blink’s house looked so small. Blink felt so small. 

“Get out of the window, honey, I don’t want to have to clean your breath off of it again.”

Blink glanced back in his mother’s direction, and back to the window. He flared his nostrils, and dropped his jaw, letting the air flow through - HWOUGH

“Shane, don’t you dare!”

PTEW - a wad of spit flung free from his mouth. The green gob trickled down the glass, leaving a phlegm trail in its wake. 

Blink’s mother steamed. “I don’t want to see you until dinner, young man.”

Blink built all of the hate he could muster into his eyes, and stormed towards the stairs. All the while, the house hummed with the constant song, the constant battering of the dust. 

tssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The landscape was lonely, the horizon was deprived. If Blink looked hard enough, he could spot a hill way out in the distance; that was the only character the scenery had. 

Normally at times like this, Blink would have his Power Deltoid action figures to keep him company, or his favorite movies, starring Power Deltoid. A series of groundings deprived him of his toy box and his VCR, though. Blink had the shag carpet to run his fingers through. He had the walls to wipe his earwax on. He had the dust to watch through his bedroom window. He always had the dust to watch. 

Instead, Blink laid on his bed, and looked at the skis on his wall. 

‘Isn’t it a little weird to hang skis on your wall?’

‘No, Mother.’

‘Shane, are all of the other kids in school hanging sports equipment on their walls?’

‘No.’

‘Well why do you want to hang them so badly, then?’

‘Because.’

Blink remembered the look his mother gave him that day, the corners of her lips drawn down in sorrow. 

‘I just think it’s a little weird, honey. Skis don’t really go with the rest of your room.’

‘So?’

‘I think it’s time we part with these.’

‘What?’

‘Well, Shane, you’re not going to use them much while you’re here. Tell you what! We can rent you skis when we go to Colorado!’

‘No.’

Blink liked to look at his skis. They made him feel warm.

When Blink came down for dinner, called by the steam of onions and carrots, his heart fluttered at the sight of a man at the table. Blink believed that he might have come back. But, the ember of hope petered out. It was Mr. Honeywick, smiling as Blink’s mother set a bowl of soup in front of him. 

“Well, there he is!” said Mr. Honeywick. “Why don’t you come on over here, champ!”

Blink glared at his mother, who winced at the sight of him. A forced hope flared in her voice. “Mr. Honeywick decided to come and join us for dinner! Come on, Shane! I made pork stew, your favorite!”

Blink approached, snailing one foot after the other. His mother and Mr. Honeywick bore plastic smiles on their faces as onion steam clouded the room, and the dust pounded outside. 

“Mr. Honeywick tells me you’re doing great in school!” said Mother, and Mr. Honeywick raised his eyebrows to complete his sunshine grin. 

Blink knew better. Mr. Honeywick never looked like that. Mr. Honeywick never said anything like that. 

‘Shane, you did really poorly on the last test. Do you need help?’

‘Shane, you’re falling behind. I’m willing to help you, you just need to let me.’

‘Shane, I know you’re better than this.’

‘Shane, you really ought to be ashamed of yourself.’

‘Shane, I’m going to have to call your mother over this.’

‘Shane, I’m going to have to call your mother over this.’

‘Shane, I’m going to have to call your mother over this.’

Sunny Mr. Honeywick pulled out a chair for Blink, and his mother placed a piping bowl of pork stew on the table. Blink looked at both of them, hate still crawling in his eyes, his lips quivering. He turned and walked away. 

“Shane-” his mother bit her tongue. “Come back!”

Mr. Honeywick’s voice was hushed. “I would give him some space. He might not be ready for this, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Blink stared at his skis through the water in his eyes, lounged about in his bed. When he thought hard enough, he could feel it; the snow on his face, the cold in his bones, the rush in his blood. He could feel the handknit black mask on his face, the scarf, the gloves, the down coat. He could feel the air that he tore through. He could feel the speed. 

‘Don’t blink!’

He could feel the warm tears that streamed down his icy cheeks, the throbbing merciless pain in his ankle, the bellowing screams that parted from his lips. 

‘Oh, Lord, we’re going to have to go to the medical ward over this one, I think.’

The tears rushed faster, the hollering sharpened, the pain grew and grew.

‘Hey, it’s not so bad! Come on, buddy, let’s get these skis off of you.’

And then, Blink felt the nurturing back of the tree he laid against. Blink felt the warmth of his winter clothes. He felt the loving hand of his father. Then, he was up in the air, hoisted over his father’s shoulder. 

‘Every time, buddy! I keep telling you, you can’t blink! Once you blink, you won’t be able to open your eyes again!’

Blink felt a smile unfold through the pain. 

‘I’m going to start calling you Blink. Stop blinking, Blinky!’

Blink chuckled with his father, but he was alone in his bed. Dust pounded against his bedroom window, and a tear streamed down his face. 

THUD THUD THUD THUD

Blink’s heart pounded. Everything around him was brown, everything around him was dust. It whizzed past his eyes, roared past his ears. There were no walls, there was no floor, no sky, no horizon. There was only dust.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

Blink put forward a hand to direct some of the dust; the wind changed course around him, and he could spot a hint of stone in the distance. 

Blink forced a step forward on the invisible ground, then another, then another, as the dust pushed him away. So, Blink ran, with as much speed as he could muster. The dust and dirt and sand whipped him across his face, burrowed into his lips, filled into his clothes. The dust clawed at his eyes, but he did not blink.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

The stone came into full view, marvelous, reaching high into the endless dusty void. It was a statue, chiseled muscular legs, muscular arms, far greater than even Power Deltoid’s. Holding a hand to his eyes to block the dust, Blink could see the top. Blink saw the face of his father. 

But the statue was full of holes, it had been chewed up by the relentless wind. And so the wind kept howling, digging deeper, eroding the body of Blink’s father, and flinging the pieces into the void as dust and dirt and sand. 

THUD THUD THUD THUD

Blink put another foot forward, but the wind knocked him back. The wind pushed harder, his father eroded deeper, the dust grew thicker. It caked into Blink’s mouth, deep into his throat, so he couldn’t breathe. 

THUD THUD THUD THUD

Blink’s vision clouded purple as he choked on the dust. His father didn’t help him this time. His father’s wind-whipped granite face didn’t even look down. 

His father probably didn’t even know who he was anymore. 

THUD THUD THUD THUD

CRASH

Blink awoke, and he could still hear the pounding. 

THUD THUD THUD THUD

He put his hand on his chest, the thudding wasn’t coming from his chest. He looked around, and saw his wall shaking.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

‘Harder! Faster!’

THUD THUD THUD THUD

‘Oh, Scott Honeywick, give me everything you’ve got!’

THUD THUD THUD THUD

‘Bring your mouth over here, Margie, let me show you what they called me in college.’

Blink looked to his skis, only one of them was still hanging. It grew looser with every bang in the wall. The other had fallen already.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

‘Jesus Christ, Margie!’

Blink uncovered himself, and approached the fallen ski, hand clutched to his chest, expecting the worst. He sighed, the ski looked okay. A tear crept free from his eye. 

He said so many times to his mother, ‘I want to go home.’

‘We are home,’ she’d always respond. 

‘No.’

The dust still whipped past Blink’s window, the erosion of his father’s body continued.

Blink grabbed his skis. 

When the wind blew into his face as he glared dead at the hill, and the dust chewed into the spokes of his bicycle, and the moon glowed bright overhead, the boy did not close his eyes. And when he climbed the hill with his skis clutched in one arm, and the rocks dug sharp in his hands, and the moving air pummeled into his ears, he did not falter. And when he stood tall on top of the rocks, looking down at the endless horizon, the glow of his house far below, and at the stars far above, he did not blink. 

He breathed, and sands and salts and powders filled his teeth. 

He strapped his skis to his feet, just as his father taught him so long ago. He looked over the edge of the hill. It was much steeper than he thought it would be. 

The skis caught the incline, and he was off. The dust thrashed his eyes, digging deep under his eyelids. He didn’t blink. He didn’t dare close his eyes.

His feet jaded along the rocks, one ski caught a drift and knocked his foot off course, he brought it back just in time. The dust whipped harder. He didn’t blink. He didn’t dare close his eyes.

A rock caught his right ski and launched his foot into the air. His other ski lost track. The incline was steeper. The hill was rockier, the dust roared louder. 

“No!” shrieked Blink, but in the thick of the night, in the heart of the sailing sands, his voice was swallowed away. His second ski left the ground, and he tumbled into the relentless wind. 

His father couldn’t hear him. His screams were lost in the dust.