I Have Seen It Before

I have seen this tree before. Somewhere, though exactly where I could not say. It looks familiar. Yes, indeed, it looks very familiar. The lone tree in the middle of nowhere. Maybe that was where I had seen it, Nowhere. Nowhere is a funny place, people dump all their forgotten places at Nowhere. My eyes squint at the leaves, bright green under the clear blue sky and cotton clouds. In Nowhere, I recall a little mark carved in the bark of the tree. There it is, just as I remember. A letter “S”.

My shirt is starting to dampen. I should get back to the car. The drive is still long.

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I have seen this sign before. Somewhere. Maybe I have seen it in Nowhere yet again. The sign is old, very old. I have no idea for how long it has been here, standing on the side of the road, bearing its face to foreign cars, instructing clueless upcoming strangers where they’ll be heading. Dirt and sand, and some remnants from birds manage to hide the words. Maybe there used to be something there on the sign, some man or woman or animal welcoming travellers, some words that never seem to last that long in the minds of people who only wish to drive forward. Even in Nowhere, I could never see what the sign said. In Nowhere, the sign was still covered with dirt, covered with scratches left by time, or maybe by some animal who had used it for sharpening its claws. I don’t know, something of that sort. I don’t know how animals are suppose to behave. I trace the number “6” still somehow visible through all the mess. Even the “6” is broken.

A caw from above wakes me from my mumbling. A crow, circling. I should get going, the road is starting to melt my shoes. The drive is still long.

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I have seen this church before. Somewhere. For the life of me, I can’t quite remember where I had seen it. I don’t want it to belong to Nowhere again. But if not Nowhere, then where? Maybe the church belongs Here. But truth be told, when you know you have seen something somwhere, frustration will soon slip in and eat your mind away, it will never allow something to belong to Nowhere. This nibbling frustration that can’t seem to leave. Or at least, it doean’t seem to want to leave me alone. I want to be left alone. Is that why I’m Here, right now? In the middle of a place I don’t know but somehow still recognize? I’m growing insane, I feel like.

The church looks simple enough from where I’m viewing it. The frame of my car burns hot against my already sweaty back. The sweat soaks through the thin shirt I wear. There’s a road leading to the church. What should I do? Should I go in? And suppose I do go in, what then? Should I pray? Or do I confess? What to confess? What have I sinned? I have sinned a plenty. But in the end, everybody sins. If not, then we might as well have been saints. No one is a saint.

Well then, I have nothing to confess.

Slamming the door shut, I take one long last look at the church. I’m sorry I couldn’t remember where I have met you, but at the very least, you belong Here. At least you don’t belong in Nowhere like the tree or the sign. Shoud I put them back to Here? I mean, I did see them Here, though I remember seeing them from somewhere. Oh well, maybe you have been spared the fate of belonging in Nowhere. I grant you the permission to be Here. But I don’t belong Here. Maybe someday I will. Goodbye. I drive on.

The road is long. Somewhere in the distance I can see the illusion of water vaporising. The road looks distorted from where I sit. But soon, once I reach it, it will become smooth once again. Will I ever become smooth once again, or will I forever remain distorted and a lie? Maybe I should have asked that and many other questions to a higher power. Maybe I should have gone into that church. But it’s no use now. The church has been left far behind me. And I only go forward. That is essentially what roads are for, for people who want to move forward. I can’t look back.

The sun is going down, and soon the illusion will be gone. The air starts to cool and the pool of sweat on my back starts picking up the chilly wind. Goodbye sun. And hello stars and darkness. My car begins to blend with the night colors until my headlights remains the only shining thing on the road.

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I have seen this house before. Somewhere. This white, tall and large house. I have seen it. But I’m sad to say, once again, I do not remember where. The headlights shine on the white paint of the house. This is the end. This is the edge. There’s no place else to go. This house is the end. What should I do? The stillness reminds me of how alone I am. The wind has stopped blowing. The only thing still emiting sound is my car, and maybe my sweaty hands on the wheel, and maybe my heart. My heart which contrast greatly to the complete silence of the place. Should I turn the car off and let myself blend with the atmosphere? Should I go back? But I can’t go back, I only move forward. If I go back, I will end.

I turn the car off. I let the sound fade and breathe, slowly letting the silence envelope my space. It is so quiet, my breathing has now replaced the wind. Rapid and cold. The grass grazes my shoes, which are now worn and smeared. The house looks so much brighter, fresher now that I have stepped out to greet it. No more layer of scratched glass to cover my view, no more metal to wrap around myself. Just me and my flesh and bone and blood. Alone. Under the moon, the house glows. Perhaps in daytime, it might have been a glowing building, in the middle of this nowhere. I tiptoe from where I stand, straining my neck to see within through the window. No one. Only darkness. I don’t think myself brave enough to come close and look inside, to look deeper. Someone might jump up from the windowsill and gave my soul a run for the sky. What should I do now?

But what can I do but to move forward? So I enter the house. There’s nothing there but a table and a book. Dusty and empty. The floor board creaks with every step I take. Slowly approaching the table, I reach for the book, I want to read that book. What will it say? Will it contain all the answers, about Nowhere? We have always looked for answers in books, in ancient letters, in forgotten scrolls. 

A caw startles me. I look out from the window to see the old crow perching on top of the trunk. Please let this be Nowhere. Please, this can’t be Here. This can’t be Now. Oh bird of the black night. Please fly to me. Use that strong beak of yours and tear me away. Tear me until my flesh bleeds, until it hurts so much I have to wake up. Please, let this be a Dream.

The bird stares at me. But yet it says nothing. Before I know it, my feet has walked me out the door, through the grass and reached the trunk. I have gone back. My hands, they shake. From the cold or from fear? The crow is still there as I open the compartment.

And oh, what devastation! You are still there, my darling, bloodied and torn as you are. The smell, truly horrifying. Your hand, full of rotten flesh, peaks out from your tight room. You are not a dream. This is not a dream. The tree, the sign, the church, even this house is not a dream. You are real. The tree is real. The sign is real. The church is real. Even this deaden house is real.

Now, Nowhere becomes Dreams. Dreams of a tree, a sign, a church and a white house. Dreams of us. But you never show your face in Dreams. Only now does your face becomes clearer than ever. Feast for the crows. Feast for Here. Feast for Now. But never in Dreams.