Dragonfly Arrow

The dragonflies circling her head formed a halo. Chayil imagined herself as a painting from one of the religious books in her father’s attic. They couldn’t recall walking to the pond, removing their clothing, rubbing mud over their entire body, or falling asleep on their back under a fig tree. But then, things did often occur in curious ways. That’s probably why, when the dragonflies flew off, coalescing into the shape of an arrow, Chayil wasn’t shocked.

Nevertheless, once she stood and began making her way toward the dragonfly arrow, a sense of urgency overcame her; Chayil’s heart began to race. For reasons they didn’t understand, they knew it was imperative that they make it to the arrow as quickly as possible.

Chayil felt like she was walking without moving. The dragonfly arrow appeared as distant as ever, insistently pointing upward. It loomed before her like a mirage, shimmering with promise. After much travail, Chayil reached the arrow. 

As they stepped underneath it, Chayil promptly fainted.

Sometime before or after, Chayil awoke on a train. It took them a minute to process their surroundings. They remembered the dragonfly arrow vividly, although the where and when of it was blurry. Chayil recalled the pond and was filled with yearning. There had been an up arrow, so certainly there would be a down. That stood to reason. 

She surveyed her surroundings.

Chayil saw mountains speeding past the train to their left. To their right, a wide, rapid river. On the horizon, Chayil saw where the two merged, forming a sharp point. She turned and noticed that the mountains and river came to an identical point in the opposite direction. They turned several times in both directions yet, with each turn, the train appeared to be moving in whichever direction they were facing. Perhaps it wasn’t the direction of the train’s movement that mattered, but the direction she chose to move within it.

Quite unexpectedly, a dragonfly zoomed past her face. Chayil knew neither here nor there, but she did know that one ought to always follow dragonflies. She trailed it to the car door, where it hovered beckoningly. They might be sleepwalking, Chayil considered. Perhaps they’d been sleepwalking for some time.

Was she dreaming? Chayil opened the car door and could smell the river. An oppressive feeling of disorientation washed over her:  Was the pond her destination? Or were they trying to get away from the pond? 

From the darkness of the following car a voice bellowed, “And what anchors have you thrown down then? Expecting you can dock any where when?”

Chayil saw a figure in the center of the car, indistinct yet vaguely menacing.

“That’s on target with you jumpers: entitlement!”

Chayil shook her head and held out her hands in a gesture of peace, “That’s not me. I’m not. I’m not - a jumper. Honestly, I’m not even sure what that is. I’m just. Looking for something.”

The figure amassed into something person-esque.

Chayil continued, “I’m looking for a dragonfly arrow. To get back to the pond. I’m half certain that’s where I ought to be.”

“I suppose half certain is better than uncertain. And if you said you were completely certain, I’d know you were lying. I will help you. Let’s go back the way you came.”

“Back?” Chayil questioned, “I’m not sure that’s correct. I saw a dragonfly head this way.”

The figure materialized into a child-sized man in a tweed suit, “But only the head of it?” They gasped. “How dreadful!”

Ignoring the figure’s nonsense, Chayil snapped, “If the dragonfly went this way, so should we all!”

The manchild complied begrudgingly and, just as the pair neared the car door, they felt a deep tremor. The train lurched as if pushing them toward the dragonfly, despite the manschild’s insistence they proceed in the opposite direction. What did he know anyway? Chayil wondered. After all, he seemed to be stuck here in less than corporeal form. Chayil knew it was time to move. When she opened the door, it was like pulling a cork from a bottle; a valve released in a previously unrecognized vacuum.

Chayil leaned into the vacuum with their head down, like a mime walking against the wind. They knew they must move quickly and remain astute. The dragonfly whizzed past their face again, then hovered near the middle of the car before disappearing. Chayil was always mindful of signs. Signs are commonly right in the middle of things, she knew. That’s why destination-oriented people often miss them.

Chayil heard a sound between a groan and suppressed laughter. They called out, “Hello? Is someone there?”

“Some one is presumptuous, wouldn’t you agree, dear?”

“Dear is presumptuous, wouldn’t you agree?”

A chuckle, then, “Touché. It’s all relative, I suppose. But then, isn’t that the problem precisely?”

Impatiently, Chayil replied, “Perhaps. At any rate, I’m looking for a dragonfly arrow. Will you help me or not?”

“Demands, demands, straightaway, I see! You assume that I can? That interests me.”

“I do. You must know the place where you are.”

“I see. Do you know the place where you are?”

“I don’t. Because this isn’t my place.”

“Presumptuous to presume that it’s mine.”

“I suppose so. Still, I believe you can help me. So, will you?”

“To the point, I have never seen this dragonfly arrow. There has been talk, as of late, of a dragonfly head. Only the head - fancy that! Might they be related?”

“In an abstract way, I suppose. But not in a way that is particularly useful.”

“Isn’t it? Have you considered you could be headed the wrong way? Is your head on the right way?”

Chayil considered this and answered, “It’s on the normal way, I suppose. The dragonfly and train are both compelling me in this direction. So, I think it best to carry on this way and bid you good day!”

“I do see. One must always pay strict attention to dragonflies. Especially their heads! Even at the peril of missing signs.”

“The dragonfly itself is a sign.”

“As you see it.”

“As I see it, indeed. Now I bid you adieu.”

“Fare thee well, sign seeker.”

Chayil paused. So far, a manchild and a disembodied voice had encouraged her in the opposite direction. Dragonflies had led them here, so it followed a certain logic that they’d lead them back to where when ever they were meant to go. Chayil pressed on. Halfway down the corridor, she noticed a luminescent pool of light on the floor. Chayil gazed into it, half expecting to see her own reflection. She saw, instead:

A bucolic landscape punctuated by dreams. The dreams were half formed in twilight hues, ascending toward the heavens. Incandescent globes wavering briefly overhead before wafting off into the ethers, like plumes of smoke from a hookah. Slowly exhaled.

Softly, a disembodied voice cooed:

One of these dreams belongs to you. Do you recognize it here now? In the before after of where when? It’s time for you to choose: Will you take the dream?

The father watched his daughter playing near the pond, the banks of which were thick, muddy tar pits. The dinosaur killing variety; the quicksand terror of youth. The child sat near the edge of the embankment, on a narrow patch of damp grass, oblivious to the dreams they released; lost in the imperviousness of youth. Dreams emanated from the child in rapid succession. Four incandescent orbs hovered above her head, forming a halo. As the father watched from a distance, they were struck by the religious iconography. For all the world, he might have been viewing a renaissance painting: The vestal virgin. The eternal flame.

Life happens slowly at first. There are more hours to replace self-doubt with self-discovery than one supposes. Endless hours waiting for life to begin, not realizing it has long since begun. Funny how the countless hours between one thing and the next rushed together in the end, so that the here now was indistinguishable from the there then. And, quite secretly, life happened during the in betweens, exactly when you weren’t paying attention, the father contemplated.

He’d constructed a small platform for the train set outside the cabin in order to watch Chayil while conducting. At his house, they had an entire room dedicated to the town of Trainsville. A woefully banal name that he’d developed an affinity for over the years as it had been Chayil’s choosing. The citizens of Trainsville had proper names, families, businesses. Lives. 

Dusk settled in like it longed to retreat, yet it gave up the ghost all the same. The father realized that Trainsville was quite literally the life he’d built with his daughter; it was theirs alone. He only got to spend time with Chayil on the weekends, despite the fact that he was the biological parent. Thomas had a bigger house and was ‘gainfully employed’, as the courts put it. The father could make hundreds of thousands of dollars from a single train installation, but Thomas was able to set his bills to autopay: the modern-day marker of success. The father wondered how the world had gotten here.

Chayil’s dreams were buoyant. They floated upward with mirth, free of doubt; free of judgment. The father’s dreams bobbed with the weight of knowing, while his child’s dreams continued to dance as they soared upward, untethered. It was as enviable as he was pitiable. Creating Chayil was the finest thing he’d ever accomplished. Not because he could see himself in Chayil. But because he could see in Chayil all that he’d never be. That was the beauty of love, he supposed.

Without warning, a mighty bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half, the subsequent crash of thunder fast behind it. The day had moments ago been idyllic; fashioned from one of Chayil’s dreams. The rapidity with which the sky darkened was in stark juxtaposition. The clouds overtook the sky with an ominous grace; the waning sunlight relinquished as if awed by their heroism. 

The father began dismantling Trainsville with far less grace than usual. Chayil looked up from her daisy chain at the sky, then at her father. There was something unfamiliar in his eyes.

Their father was afraid.

The father quickened their pace. There would be no ice cream on the ride back to Thomas’ today. It was now a race between them and the indomitable storm. Except, this was more than an atmospheric anomaly; this was a cosmic disturbance of legendary proportion. Birds flew, screaming into the abyss. Ground creatures scurried, water creatures – did whatever water creatures did in a hurry. There was no time.

There is no time, the father said aloud. Chayil knew that the careless dismantling of the train set meant serious business. 

They heard their father calling out to them urgently. She ran over to help him pack up Trainsville, beginning with the landscape pieces, trees and mountains, then moving on to the buildings. Just as father taught her. Chayil watched her father fumble with the controls of the train.

They watched the train race around the track faster and faster as father smashed the power button repeatedly with his palm. When it was apparent the control was jammed, he ran inside to cut the power at the source. 

The inexplicable feeling of rising dread: It began in the pit of Chayil’s stomach and raced up her spine, causing the base of her skull to tingle. The hypnotic motion of the toy train transfixed Chayil. They couldn’t look away, even when they heard the scream from inside the cabin.

Chayil couldn’t shake the feeling that their father’s scream had nothing whatsoever to do with the lightning bolt that struck the cabin. Something altogether more sinister transpired, of that she was certain. Even so, the thing that Chayil recalled most vividly was the sound of the train as it zipped around frantically, occasionally skipping off the tracks.

Chayil came to: The train was rushing for or backwards perilously, occasionally skipping off the tracks. The strange pool of light that had previously beckoned was now gone. Chayil was met with a depth of darkness that defied them.

“Hello, who is there now?”

She wasn’t quite certain why she thought someone was there since she was able to hear about as much as she was able to see. 

“Hello! Answer me!”

There was no response for some moments, then another ostensibly disembodied voice called out, “Well, then. You again? No, you’re not a jumper at all. Hmmpf! Such entitlement!”

The manchild! “What are you doing here?” She demanded.

The manchild laughed, “Oh you are turned around, aren’t ya? Don’t even know where when you’re docked. A proper mess, you are!”

“I’ll beg your pardon! Who are you to call me a mess, you coward!”

“Coward, eh? I’m not the one who’s running away from myself in the wrong direction!”

“Explain yourself or leave me be!”

“Nothing to explain. Now that you’ve found your way back here, you’re gonna have to make another decision. Keep trying to find yourself in the wrong direction or go back the way you came.”

“Listen you, I’m sick of your mind games and double speak. You said you would help me, yet you’ve done nothing but talk in riddles and twist everything around. I don’t appreciate you trying to lead me astray. I’m growing rather impatient with you and have half a mind to swat you down like the annoying gnat you are!”

The manchild laughed heartily. She was about to push past him when he stopped laughing and said, “A gnat? Oh, that’s rich. Take your shots at me if you will. I am laughing because, quite honestly, you are a stray.”

Perplexed and increasingly irritated, Chayil insisted they were no such thing.

The manchild chortled and replied, “Ah, I see the problem. A stray can’t see when they’re astray. It’s like you said before, friend: this is not your place. Believe me or not, it’s your choice. I am telling you for the last time that you want to go that way,” he nodded and gestured in the direction previously known as backward. “That is, if you want to get back to the place you believe is yours.”

“Friend, indeed!” Chayil snapped.But they couldn’t help but wonder: Had they been following the dragonflies with such single mindedness that they’d missed other signs? 

Astonishingly, the train began to slow, albeit only slightly. Something in the direction previously known as backward caught their eye. Chayil turned and thought they saw a small greenish light flit across the car. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided to head in the direction the manchild suggested, even if only to spite him. 

The air surrounding the row of seats closest to the car door was icy. Chayil took a step closer to the door and extended their arm. Curiously, the air surrounding the door was humid and sticky; more of a liquid than a gas. It was thoroughly unpleasant. 

Chayil stepped into the airsoup and instantaneously felt faint and nauseated. The airsoup punched her in the gut, assaulting her viciously. It was all she could do to not immediately abort her mission. They’d almost rather be reprimanded by the manchild. Whether due to pride or stubbornness, Chayil doubled down on her decision, pulled open the car door, and was arrested by a wall of sound.

The sound of the train screeching along the tracks, a metal-on-metal grinding. The sounds of the wind howling and the train cars rattling as they swayed to and fro. But there was another sound that dominated; ear piercing, visceral. It was eerily familiar. Chayil lingered, struggling to identify the sound, but they knew they had to keep moving.

As Chayil passed, without incident, through one car to the next, she realized she hadn’t seen a dragonfly for some time. Suddenly, they realized they were at the first, or the last, train car. Chayil steadied herself and pulled open the door. They were met with the same sounds: the metal-on-metal grinding, the rattling of the cars, the wind. And the same unidentifiable, yet familiar sound. Chayil lingered. She was on the precipice of something: a greater revelation.

Finally, it occurred to Chayil what the other sound was: it was the sound of lightning striking the wood cabin commingling with her father’s screams.

Chayil stood on the edge of the train car, watching the graveled ground pass sluggishly beneath.. Chayil understood what they needed to do. They inched their toes over the car’s edge, counted to three, yelled, “I regret nothing!" closed her eyes.

And leapt.

She hit the ground harder than she would’ve imagined, striking it first with her right shoulder. She could feel the blade of her shoulder dislocate upon impact. Chayil made four full barrel rolls across the dusty terrain before a large boulder broke their motion. The boulder struck them in the back of the head, causing them to lose consciousness.

Nothingness.

The dragonflies circling her head formed a halo. Chayil imagined herself as a painting from one of the religious books in her father’s attic. They couldn’t recall walking to the pond, removing their clothing, rubbing mud over their entire body, or falling asleep on their back under a fig tree. But then, things did often occur in curious ways. That’s probably why, when the dragonflies flew off, coalescing into the shape of an arrow, Chayil wasn’t shocked.

Nevertheless, once she stood and began making her way toward the dragonfly arrow, a sense of urgency overcame her; Chayil’s heart began to race. For reasons they didn’t understand, they knew it was imperative that they make it to the arrow as quickly as possible.