On the road to Shambala

“I was wrong,” I said to my friend Candance. “This is not a one horse town. If it was, that’s one productive horse.” 

I could hear her chuckle then the sudden lilt at the end of her laughter.

“What do you mean by productive?”

I looked around the gas station where I was sitting on the wild grass covered curb. “As far as the eye can see is poop. Horse manure everywhere. If one horse did all this, then it must have exploded.”

“Gross. Why do you tell me these things Heidi? You know I have the weakest stomach in the world and being at least fourteen hundred months pregnant doesn’t help.”

“I’m sorry sweetie. Forget I said anything. Any contractions yet? Just let me know. I can just leave this job and race back home. Is my brother there? Is he treating you good?” I idly watched as a mom and her two little girls came out of the local dollar store. Each child had a small paper bag in their hand. While they weren’t twins, as one was a full head taller than the other, they were dressed in the same in a pink gingham dress that matched their little headbands. Cute, but something was off about them. I couldn’t place what it was and I dialed back into Candace’s conversation.

“He’s treating me well. Look, I’m sorry I snapped. I don’t know what’s worse...being pregnant in this heat or worried about the actual delivery. I’ve never done this before and it’s freaking me out. Don’t worry about me letting you know if I have contractions. I’ll phone you up screaming.”

“Excellent. I look forward to your screams.” I said. 

Candace was relieved. I could tell by the genuine laughter that followed that she had ridden the roller coaster of her anxiety back down the hill. As my best friend, I knew she was given to impulsive and almost intrusive thoughts. Thankfully my older brother was so laid back he appeared asleep half the time. They were a good match.

 ”Heidi, I really appreciate you. It’s not everyone who can have a best friend who’s also their sister-in-law. And believe you me, if Martin doesn’t treat me right, I’ll let you know about that too.”

“Good. Talk to you later. I better get back to work.”

We hung up and I surveyed the job I had left. My latest business was Tiger Stripes, an independent line painting company. I would load up my line-painting machine in my faithful Tacoma truck and travel the world. Well, the province. Even though I was my own boss, this little town of Shambala, yes, named after the song as I was to find out, was a new location for me. I had been referred by a previous customer to the owner of the gas station who hired me no questions asked. 

My late husband always had a saying, if you want to be on time, you have to be ahead of time. So I started out at 4:30 this morning to head to this beautiful mountain town. I had passed lakes and waterfalls and nearly hit several whitetail deer. As it turned out, I was only thirty minutes early due to a serious error in judgement on my part. Mr. King had told me on the phone that my GPS wouldn’t work, so he gave me detailed instructions. I was cruising along and turned at the broken tree and travelled along a goat trail for a good five miles until I came to a dead end. Disgusted that I had made the wrong turn, I backtracked and sat in my truck reviewing my notes. Unlike my dear husband, I had the worst writing ever. Man did I ever miss him and his very neatly written grocery lists.

Deciphering my notes I realized I was supposed to take the second turn after the broken tree. Still, that so-called road was so narrow I wondered how a tanker full of gas ever made it to the town of Shambala. There must be another way in. I’d ask when I got to town which appeared suddenly out of nowhere. I had been travelling steadily uphill when everything opened up. I was out of the forest and driving into the sunshine.

For a second, I felt a shiver go down my spine. It was that weird feeling that said I should retreat. Suddenly, I saw a person in front of my truck. I slammed on my brakes. 

A lovely young woman smiled at me and waved. I rolled down my window and asked the way to Mr. Manju King’s gas station. She pointed and then carried on across the road. When I saw she had three little girls in tow, I started to sweat. I could have hit those kids! Seriously, town council, if there was one had to look at installing a pedestrian crossing light. I might talk to Mr. King about that.

While sitting on the curb reminiscing about the morning, I looked over at the woman and the two pink gingham girls that had come out of the shop. They were further down the road but I could still make them out. I snapped my fingers. That was it! The two girls were wearing the same dresses as the three girls I had nearly run over. Was there a sale on pink gingham? Was there a rule that all girls must wear pink gingham? I was wearing coveralls with Tiger Stripes embroidered in huge letters across my back. Was I going to be fined because I wasn’t following the rules? I laughed at this thought, stood up and stretched.

My beautiful orange lines outlining the parking spots gleamed in the sun, but I wasn’t finished. I wanted to make a good impression, so I got the pickaxe out of the truck and started hacking away at the weeds that practically obscured the curb around and in the back of the gas station. It was tough going. Had I been working in a big city, I would have simply used my gas powered weed whacker to edge up the curb, but the weeds were too thick here. Actually, had I been in the city, the business would have been fined long ago. This gas station would never have been allowed to fall into this overgrown state. Thinking of fines, brought my mind back to the girls exiting the dollar store with their little paper bags. 

I shoveled the weeds into a pile and stretched again. Man, I had to remind myself to stretch more or I wouldn’t be able to move tomorrow. And just like that, the thing that struck me as odd was the lack of movement of all the little girls. The three I saw in the morning and the two I saw on my break when I was talking to Candace. The children didn’t wave or skip about. If I had just come out of the dollar store with something, I’d be happily dancing around, exclaiming to all about the really neat dinosaur I had bought. Or something like that. 

These girls weren’t just quiet, but they were, if you will, un-animated. Not happy, not sad, just neutral. Plus all five of the little girls were wearing similar dresses.  

Mr. King came out of his gas station, walked over to me and clapped me on the back.

“It’s looking really good. You’ve done so much more than I thought you were going to do. The town elders really wanted my place spruced up and this is going to shock them. Now then, what do you want for your extra work? What can I give you?”

I smiled. “No extra charge Mr. King. Just a cold pop if you have one.”

He nodded, turned on his heel and went back to the store attached to the gas station. I followed him inside and was ecstatic that his business was airconditioned. The cold pop slid down my parched throat so fast that the entire bottle was drained before I knew it. Then the inevitable happened. I let out a huge disgusting burb.

Mr. King’s previous genial attitude changed in a heartbeat.

“Young women should never make that sound,” he barked.

I gave him what I hoped was a winning smile. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.” I thought that would be the end of it. I was turning to go hop in my truck and start the long journey home, when Mr. King grabbed my arm.

“Listen young lady. I put up with your strange attire. I put up with you doing a man’s job but I will not abide by your behavior. You need to have a discussion with my wife about your role.”

For a millisecond I thought he was pranking me, but the tight grip on my arm told me otherwise. 

“Excuse me,” I said loudly. “Hands off the merchandise!” Being five nine and built like a brick outhouse, I wrenched my arm away from him and headed out to my truck. He actually started yelling at me and then began running towards me.

“Later gator,” I yelled back as I started the truck. I wanted to burn out of the parking lot, but I didn’t because one, I had painted it and didn’t want tire marks on my work and two, more pedestrians might appear out of nowhere. I wasn’t spooked, I was mostly confused. Who did he think he was? 

Then the strangest thing happened. Someone shot out the back window of my truck.

***

When I woke up I was in a soft bed in a pretty room with yellow wallpaper. In the corner was an older women smiling at me. Was this Mrs. King? 

“How are you feeling dear?” she asked.

I ignored her. Something was bothering me under the covers. I was constricted or tied up somehow. I picked up the patchwork quilt and looked. Instead of coveralls I was wearing, oh god, a pink gingham dress. 

“What the hell?” I yelled.

The woman got up and still smiling she laid a hand on my shoulder. It felt like she had just put a lead weight on me. 

“Now dear, we must always reflect the light. Our actions and especially our speech should be filled with upbuilding messages that reflect the light. If you want to join us, you must learn this lesson.”

I sat up and immediately my head started throbbing. I felt the back of my head and what I could only assume was a dressing covered my head and neck. Dear god, did I have a bullet in my brain? I was mad.

“I’m not joining you. I’m from here. Where are my clothes?”

When I sat up suddenly the woman had jumped backwards. Now a worried expression was on her face.

“Mr. King said you were joining us. Don’t you want to reflect the light?”

I cautiously stood up. “The only light I’m concerned about are my taillights waving goodbye to this place. Someone shot at me! Why the hell would they do that?”

A little pink gingham dressed girl came in the room.

“Those aren’t nice words,” she said.

In that moment, I noticed the door to the room was opened. At a long picnic table sat what looked like myriads of girls, all ages and sizes wearing pink. They were all staring at me. The corner chair the woman who I had thought might be Mrs. King had vacated held my clothes. She had been sitting on my clothes. What the heck was going on? Since we were all girls, I stripped. More precisely, I ripped the uniform I had been dressed in and quickly threw my clothes on. I reached down to one of my many pockets and thankfully my keys and my cell phone were there. I phoned Candace and the call went through. Thank god I had charged up my phone this morning and had cellular reception.

“I’m not going to scream, don’t worry,” Candace giggled when she answered.

“This is an emergency, “ I said slowly as I tried to focus despite the pain in my head. “Also I’m not drunk. I’m in the Twilight Zone. You have my phone on your find my phone app don’t you?”

“Let me check.”

As she checked I strode into the outer room. Although each step made my head throb more, I felt like I needed to flex my power. What I really wanted was to be airlifted to the nearest hospital.

“Got it,” Candace said. “Do you want me to send your brother to meet you?”

Bless her heart, she could be calm and all business when it came to a family emergency. “Yes. I have been shot at, kidnapped and staring at a room full of blue eyed girls.” I nearly dropped the phone after I said that. All the young girls, all of them had blue eyes. Just like mine. 

I heard Candace gulp then scream. “Marty! Marty get over here right now and talk to your sister. Something really bad is going on.”

Gone was the calm friend. My brother came on the line.

“Heidi. Tell me.”

“I have to get out of here. Someone shot out the back window of my truck and maybe I have a bullet in my brain. I don’t know.”

“I’m heading to the car right now. I’m coming to get you. Is your truck working?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to find out in a minute. Call the cops. Don’t try to rescue me all on your own if I can’t get my truck running.”

I looked around the room and saw a host of young women standing against the wall. Were these the mothers? And where was the door out of here? As I listened to Martin tell me he was going to trade phones with Candace and call the police, I walked up to one of the women and stared into her eyes. Her blue eyes. I walked from young women to young women looking in their eyes, but also surveying the wall behind them. 

“Something weird is going on with these people", I told Martin. “Think the Colt family in Australia or the Goler clan.” 

Suddenly I saw what I was looking for. I pushed another blue eyed woman aside and fled out the door. My truck was parked behind the building and I ran. I could feel blood trickling down my spine but I didn’t car.

The truck started and I pressed the pedal to the metal. No longer worried about pedestrians, I recklessly drove around until I found the spot I came in. 

A week later I was recovering and sitting in Candace and Martin’s living room. 

“It feels like a bad dream. Like it really didn’t happen, “ I said as I munched on some of the snacks that practically burdened the coffee table.

“And yet your truck and your head obviously show that it did, “ Martin said.

Candace put up her hand. “Sorry, but we’re not going to talk about this.”

Martin and I nodded, but then Candace started talking about this.

“Apparently the police have been investigating the commune for some years but had nothing to prosecute. No one would come forward. Yes it was strange to have a town full of mainly women and children but it wasn’t until your, um, tragedy that the police finally had something that they could get a warrant for. I don’t know why that despicable man ever called you to come and paint lines.”

I grunted while polishing off another deviled egg. “As Mr. King is locked up for reasons we don’t want to mention at this joyous occasion, I think his master plan was to make me part of their group. You know, new blood and all that. When I was in the hospital one of the nurses told me that a lot of babies were being born with...” I looked at Candace’s face. She was glaring at me.

“And I going to stop talking about that right now. Also, I’m done with line painting. I’m going to start a different business.”

To a person, the group our friends at Candace’s baby shower groaned, “Another one? Again?”

I laughed and handed Candace my present. 

She squealed when she opened it. It was a tiny pair of denim coveralls. 

Yeah. I was never buying anything pink ever again.