Tunnel Vision

Tunnel Vision

By Ellen McGuire

“Claire, let’s go for a drive,” David was looking out our kitchen window facing the bay. It was another gray day of dense marine layer, and both he and I were ready for some sunshine. It was summer, which meant our coastal village of Pogonip was wearing its name well: The Shoshone’s word for fog. I joined him at the window, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, let’s do it; it’s a perfect day for a drive out of town,” looking him in the eyes to validate his proposal. We were usually busy multi-tasking the day away, forgetting the power of sustained eye contact. But in this moment, on this day, in the middle of a mid-morning, we locked eyes for a long pause, transporting me back to when we first met, when we went from young work colleagues to lovers, all with just a look between us. His hazel eyes smiled back at me; he was happy. David smacked my butt as I walked away, “I like those new yoga pants.” Hearing the tone in his voice, I smiled adding an extra sway as I crossed the room.

The hall closet was an organized mess where I grabbed a backpack and began a mental checklist of what to put in it: phone, water, a visor, sunscreen. I sometimes wondered why I bothered to protect my skin; it was already past its prime. But like all good husbands, David said my wrinkles were beautiful and that I wore them well; they were stories of our life together, thus far. I liked the “thus far” part; it validated our future together.

David dropped in his wireless charger but kept the other essentials on his person - his signature hat and sunglasses, iPhone, and readers which he put in the pockets of his black jacket. David was almost always wearing a black Patagonia, one of a dozen he owned. He was different that way, keeping in bulk whatever items he liked, except for me; I was an exception: his one single treasure.

He, of course, retained his youthful appearance which matched his boyish, playful style. The only tell to his age was a gray goatee, while the ever-present baseball hat hid his receding hairline. I liked that he had a touch of vanity; it kept him in good shape and since we were in our late fifties, his fit body meant a healthy body and a healthy body meant longevity. And I wanted longevity with David.

We headed towards the hills of the valley, the fog thinning out and giving way to bright sunshine as our classic Porshe 911 hugged the curves of the canyon road. I turned up an 80s playlist, and settled into the drive.

“Claire,” David leaned forward but stopped mid-sentence as he scanned the hills.

“Yes, my love?”

“I’d like to get to the top of that ridge.”

“Okay, let’s try Angel’s Gate Trail. According to the map, it’s in 2.5 miles.”

We soon pulled over to an empty dirt lot and parked in the shade of a coast live oak, its nubby limbs full of holes housing acorns. “Hello, I love you,” he said. I knew better than to answer back. David’s “Hello, I love you” was reserved for conversations with the wildlife. Not that David didn’t love me, but the words came easier for him with the animals, his communion almost clairvoyant, marked only by sweet greetings.

“Claire, see them?” My eyes looked up at the Acorn Woodpeckers, with their distinct red markings and a call that sounded somewhere between a bird and a chimpanzee. They were attached parallel to the tree, one of them hammering away at a new hole in the trunk.

“Do they mate for life?”

“They do.”

We watched the male fly off as we left the lot ourselves, holding hands, walking over the cattle guard and onto what looked more like a fire road than a trailhead. It made sense to find a fire road out here; the hills around us were mostly brittle brown and dense in overgrowth.

David stopped to photograph the flowers of a Willowherb as I kept forging ahead. The midmorning temps were fading and I wanted to pick up momentum.

“You know that’s an invasive species, don’t you?” I hollered back.

“It’s still pretty. And it’s nothing more than Darwinism in the plant kingdom.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s good.”

“I didn’t say it was good; I said it was pretty and it’s not the plant's fault.”

Stopping to catch my breath, hands on my hips, I chuckled. Bantering like this was probably our favorite hit of dopamine and we were both pretty good at it. “Feels good to get my heart rate up; I’m glad we’re here.” There was silence from David as I looked ahead, scanning the hills. The fire road took a switchback curve not too far ahead.

“Baby, I’m gonna keep going.” I waited for him to respond, taking in the pause.

“Okay,” he hollered, still stationary, his gaze now turned to the sky with binoculars.

I loved a good curve. Even before meeting David, my go-to when exploring was always: one more curve. David would joke, “I’d like to do one more curve on your body.” The thought made me smile while I waited to make sure he saw me moving.

“Babe?”

“Ya, I’m comin’.”

I kept going; the sun was now high and the hill was steep, but my pace was steady and I liked feeling the thump-thump, thump-thump of my heartbeat.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him.

“Hey.”

“Hi!”

“I was walking behind you on purpose,” he grinned, a little out of breath himself, kissing my cheek as he moved past me.

“Wow, look at that! It’s a train tunnel.”

“What? That’s odd. All the way up here? Why?” I watched David march ahead toward the entrance, slightly annoyed on how I had missed such an anomaly.

“What was the point of a train up here?”

“I’m not sure, maybe mining, maybe passenger, maybe transport; hard to say.” He stopped and waited for me.

“I wonder if it’s still active,” a bit of caution in my voice.

“No, we haven’t had trains around here in a long time; no need for them.”

He held out his hand for me to join him and I took it as we walked towards the opening of a massive hole in the hill.

Graffiti covered the arched entrance; signs of anarchy and fat letters in colors of blue, green, and yellow.

“Claire, this is cool…”

Soon, the air literally felt cool and slightly wet, as we stepped inside, curiosity now driving both of us. I held onto his hand like a school girl following behind her boyfriend, an innocence in trusting him to lead the way as we went further in, more black surrounding us as the white sunlight stayed behind.

“David, this is amazing.”

“It is; it’s incredible.”

He dropped my hand and it caught my breath short. I shook off the feeling, my eyes adjusting to following a sunray of light in an otherwise dark tunnel. It highlighted train tracks.

“I wonder how deep this goes?” David was following the tracks, walking further in, talking mostly to himself. I thought the same thing, but opposite to David’s curiosity, I was no longer interested to find out. I answered him anyway, “I don’t know.”

The smell was dank, muddy, or maybe moldy; the air felt heavy; the tracks looked never-ending. A small colony of bats screeched in unison, taking flight over my head. I ducked out of instinct.

“Baby, there are bats in here.”

“They’re harmless in this environment, you know that. They’ve got plenty of room to stay away from you.”

“I’d like to stay away from them, too,” I muttered, taking another delicate step forward on a wooden plank below me.

“Claire, stop and stand right there. That’s a great shot.”

I could still see David and trusting his artistic instincts, I obliged.

“Okay, but don’t go too far.”

“I won’t. Move a step more toward the middle of the track, please.”

Stepping to my left, I stood posing how I knew he’d like it, a feminine shape, my torso twisted to show breasts opposite to the curves of my hips. The juxtaposition was not lost on me as I focused on looking sexy, stationary in the pose, while my wide eyes looked around the curved rock walls above, then back towards him.

“Honey, where are you?”

“I’m right here just further back. Hold that, right there. The light is illuminating your silhouette; you look ethereal.”

“Okay, but I’m not comfortable not seeing you.”

He was silent. I knew this meant he was in his element, the artist in him taking over the role of husband. I’d been his subject matter for a long time so I knew what to do, like one of those nudes in a college art class keeping still in forever minutes. But realizing I was holding my breath again and no longer comfortable in any way, I broke the pose.

“Honey, I’m done. Where are you?”

I listened for his voice, his footsteps.

“David?”

A long loud sharp whistle answered me: a train.

“David, there’s a train in here! Where are you?”

I heard nothing from him as the sound bounced off the walls of the tunnel, the rails vibrating beneath my feet.

“David!”

“Claire, I’m over here! Get off the tracks!”

“David?!” Hearing one more whistle I jumped off, pushing myself flat against a wall of jagged rocks. The train raced past, blowing my long hair madly about, filling my nostrils with the smell of metal against metal, making everything black and loud and sharp. It was a lifetime before it went away, my ears ringing from the noise, my heart pounding.

“David! David, where are you? Baby, answer me.”

There was only silence.

“David, please! Honey, please where are you?”

Nothing.

I raced outside thinking maybe he had gone out of the tunnel with the train, but there was no David and there were no tracks, either. I hadn’t noticed before we entered. How did we miss that? There had to have been tracks. I looked down at my feet and back up again seeing nothing ahead but foxtails, brown grass, and dry earth. A red-tailed hawk screeched, flying high in a crystal blue sky. “David. David this is not funny. I am scared, please. Where are you?” The hawk screeched again, more distant than before.

The wind came with an answer: the rustling of dry leaves. I thought of the oak tree where our car was parked. When traveling, we always agreed to meet at the car if we ever got separated but there was no way he could be at the car, that would be impossible. The thought reminded me I was wearing a backpack. I took it off franticly digging deep for my phone. It showed an SOS in the corner but otherwise no bars, no nothing. I held it tight like I would have held his hand then stepped back into the tunnel. The air was flat, calm, and dry - no sharp smell of metal on metal, no dank wet earth. It was as if nothing had happened.

“David, if you’re hurt, I’m here, I’m coming, I’ll find you.” This time I heard an echo; I didn’t like it. I wanted his moan or a cry or any sound, no matter how awful it could be. But I heard nothing, just deafening silence after my solitary voice.

Move Claire, move. I went further in, carefully stepping on each wooden tie as if it were a bridge above danger, as if stepping off meant falling into oblivion. It felt purposeful.

Should I count my steps? Yes, yes, I should count them so I know how far in I am. I turned on the phone flashlight, moving the artificial white beam back and forth; the light guiding me forward.

“Honey, I’m here. I’m here, just tell me where you are...”

41, 42, 43

A mosquito buzzed and landed on my neck; I swatted, smacking it with the palm of my free hand. “Damn it.”

45, 46. Wait. Was it 45 or 42?

“God damn it, David, this is not funny. If you’re being funny, I’m not laughing!”

Still nothing. Scanning feverishly back and forth with the phone light, the tunnel felt enormously empty, even with the insects and bats. Where were the bats; did a bat bite him? I looked behind me to see light from the entrance now curved in a narrow single ray; I was deep into the tunnel. There is no way he could have come this far.

I turned around and ran towards the light. Hitting every other wooden plank, feeling my marathon legs strong in a steady gait, I chanted, “Show up, David. Show up,” over and over again in rhythm to my long legs landing on the tarry ties. “Show up, David,” a mantra to my fear and anger and desperation to find him.

I ran faster and faster, focusing on the light, until I missed a tie, tripping hard and landing flat between the metal rails, splinters going deep into both of my palms, but otherwise, unhurt. The fall stopped me. It stopped my body and my panic. I started crying. I cried for my hurt hands, my aloneness, my sheer terror in not finding him. I cried for a relief that felt empty. I stayed their face down in the dirt where it smelled old, like a keeper of time; a reminder he was in this tunnel.

Looking up, the entrance was only yards away, but the bright yellow hues outside had dissipated into the dense blues of fog, the Pogonip creeping into the tunnel like mist in a swamp; there was nothing but a blanket of gray in front of me.

I walked towards it, taking one last step, now finally outside the tunnel where there were no walls, no train track below to guide me forward, only dry earth and the thick Pogonip fog.

“David?!” “Honey, please where are you?”

Nothing.

Reaching my arms out as far as I could, I moved around like a blind person feeling for a face, trying to get my bearings.

“David,” I screamed.

A Golden Eagle screeched back.

My toes felt numb. I looked down, wiggling them for blood to move out of my head and back into my feet, and there laid a feather, a glorious brown with patterns of white; the feather from an adult bird, a rare find. “David?” I asked, as if he were the feather. I knew from the Pogonip tribe that finding a feather had meaning: a message from the departed. But, I felt nothing while holding it; he felt invisible, not gone.

The edge of a wind current came up the canyon. Like a window rolled down in a fast car, it was a sudden shift in still air, the white noise of nothing. My hair moved, not as wildly as in the tunnel, but it swirled with the breeze, covering my face if I didn’t put my hands up to tuck it behind my ears. Noise came with the wind, like the murmur of a crowd waiting for a performance, it grew louder, more impatient. It made my skin cold and my mouth dry; I needed water.

“David, Baby please please please…” there was no need to say anything else.

I gripped the feather like I would have gripped his hand, then looked behind me to see if a train was coming.

“David?!”

He stood there, upright, feet apart, centered in his gravity, his black jacket, 501 jeans; he was all in uniform. Even his baseball hat remained.

“David? Baby where have you been?!”

He turned, walking back into the tunnel.

“Baby, wait, what’s going on?! Honey, stop! Please!”

He kept walking, purposefully, steadily.

“David, wait up. Wait for me.” I picked up my pace to meet him, running to catch his smooth stride, almost oblivious to entering the tunnel, yet again.

“David. David, I can’t see you!”

“Claire. I’m over here.”

The voice was behind me now, outside.

“David?”

“Move, Claire, move now before the train comes again!”

“David?!”

The rails beneath me began to vibrate, the sound of a train taking up all air and all space.

“Claire, run!”

I turned and ran towards the light. I ran towards his voice.

“Do it, Claire, run. Run faster!”

I followed his voice. Even as it was fading, I followed it until my legs lost all gravity and all went silent.

“Claire?”

I woke to David’s hand holding mine, his voice acknowledging my open eyes.

Chapped lips, a hair strand stuck in the corner of my dry mouth, he brought his fingers to my face, gently moving it away, stroking my cheek, kissing my forehead.

“Hi.”

I said nothing.

“You okay?” His hazel eyes danced with the question.

“Where are we?”

“We’re on the train.”

I looked out the window but saw only black walls.

I turned back to David who kissed my hand.

“Don’t worry. I’m with you, now.”