Are You Scared of the Dark?

Are You Scared of the Dark?

By Heather Ann Martinez

Our forefathers and foremothers knew this was coming. We were told to prepare for the worst as children.

Are you scared of the dark?

Are you afraid of unfamiliar sounds that drift off in the distance?

Do you enjoy staring at the sand?

If so, you have come to the right place. The end of the world as many had known it. Silence and darkness followed. My grandmother used to read me bedtime stories about the sun and the moon. She showed me drawings of a full radiant celestial object that served her people well. Then she went dim. Somehow our feeble technology was able to harness enough of whatever energy she has left to keep us alive for a while longer. Some of us were ready for a collapse of the sun. The moon still appears in brief shadows.

It is always cold here. You need goggles to go outside. Our solar simulated lighting has many flaws. You learn very quickly to keep track of all of your possessions especially food. I spend my days wandering the sands for water. My brother and cousins moved north in search of the rumored grasslands. I stayed behind. I injured my leg in a raid a few months back. I would have slowed them down hopping on one leg. It is healed now and the intruders have passed through my family homestead. They didn’t take much. They took a few vats of water and an old compass. I always seem to find food and water in the remnants of gas stations, convenience stores and I found a patch of grass at the northern end of the territory. I planted seeds. I am hoping there is enough artificial sunlight left to help them grow. Each day brings with it a new blessing and a new challenge. I never expected to be blessed and challenged by meeting one person in what seemed like an eternity of days.

Where did he come from?

I dared not ask.

Where is he heading?

I did not want to know. I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to engage my eyes every moment from then on.

He said his name was Tristin. I told him mine, Isola. There are too few of us left to go by surnames. We have no identities on cards or plastic or paper. We don’t have idols to worship or dreams to hope for. What we do have is encounters with one another. Tristin did not talk about where he came from. He didn’t know if anyone connected to him was still alive. He had been wandering and wondering why he was left. He said he was not afraid of the dark or the cold. He said he was afraid of being alone. I did not care for being alone either. I feared emptiness. I feared the pregnant silences in the voids of endless conversation. He did not make any promises to stay.

I was relieved each morning I heard him rehearsing what he would say to me. I pretended to be amazed by his understanding of the world and our place in it. He was a poet and philosopher. I stumbled over words but he caught my meaning. In the same way, he would catch my fingers. He would pass his hand against my cheek. He often smiled at me and turned away.

We spent our days searching for water and our nights eating rationed food and laughing. I told him about my brother and cousins. I often thought about what would happen if they met Tristin. As much as I missed them, I did not want them to come back. I wanted Tristin to myself even though I knew he was not mine to keep. This land could not sustain us. The desert seemed endless, but we knew we would have to travel through it. I was never more alive than when I was talking with Tristin. I never wanted to live more than when he arrived. He saved me without trying to. Then I told him. The words came out of my mouth and fell all over the table. I love you.

He sat there quietly. His eyes pointed towards the floor. I wanted to swallow what I had just said but I froze. I couldn’t take them back. I couldn’t defend myself or smooth them over. He got up and walked away from the table, from the house, from me. I did not hear him the next morning. The silence I had grown accustomed to returned and took its place at the head of the table. The silence settled for a season. My seeds grew into plants and provided food. I found water further north and underground. I allowed myself to smile at the memory of Tristin. I did not fault him for leaving. This way of life was not for everyone. Not everyone is meant to spend their time here in the dark. Not everyone is meant to spend their time searching for water and working on artificial solar light panels. Not everyone is meant to fall madly in love and have that love reciprocated for a lifetime. He taught me that. He never promised he would stay.

As I was harvesting my vegetables, I heard a sound I did not think I would hear again. It was my brother and my cousins. They came home. My brother hugged me and he placed a ring in my hand. He told me he met Tristin in the grasslands up north. Tristin was a spy for the raiders that had injured her earlier. He wanted to learn everything he could about the solar panels and the ways she continued to live when everyone and everything else had withered away and died. Tristin was so amazed by her resolve that he never went back to the raiders with this information. Instead, he drew them further away from Isola. He knew it was not enough for them to have the technology she possessed. They needed to know how to use it. My brother said that Tristin wanted me to have his ring. He told my brother he would be coming back to the woman he loved. He told my brother that he was not scared of the dark.