Where the Wind Blows

Where the Wind Blows

By Heather Ann Martinez

Some say Grayson Fields never fully came back from the war. The doctors said his leg could only be mended, and he would never be able to hear anything again. The world, as he knew it, went silent. I knew that being labeled “hearing impaired” was not what Grayson wanted. He had trouble reading lips and eventually asked everyone to write what they wanted to say on his tablet. I wanted Grayson to move past his injuries. For being twenty-two, he was ready to give up on life. He has so much to live for. He was given a second chance for a reason. When I presented what I thought that reason was, he scratched his head and questioned me, “Wind chimes?”

I told Grayson I had been making wind chimes for over twenty years. It was my favorite hobby. Depending on the design, I could make a set every other week. I used wood, bamboo, clay, a range of metals and string. I showed Grayson my makeshift workshop in my garage. I had every piece organized in containers. No one was identical to the other. They were all unique. At first, Grayson was not all that impressed. He didn’t see the relevance in making wind chimes. He said he felt clumsy working with his hands after what happened to him in the war. He was concerned that anything he made would not be perfect. He knew making wind chimes was a hobby for me, and he knew other people would eventually see what he made. He was terrified of disappointing me. I suggested that we give it a trial run and if he really didn’t like making wind chimes he could quit.

Three weeks later, Grayson knocked on my door. He said he ran out of things to do. He decided he could spend time learning how to make wind chimes. Each day, he came to my garage. I taught him how to cut wood on the table saw. I taught him how to carve holes on the bamboo rods and taught him how to string all the pieces together like a puppet. We painted colors and added shells and other ornaments. Some had specific dates. Others had pictures. Some were longer than others. I told Grayson these were the wind’s instruments. Grayson often laughed when I talked as if the wind were a person and when I said the wind chimes made beautiful music. He reminded me he couldn’t hear. I reminded him he could still feel. He could still see the wind go through the bamboo pipes. He wasn’t lost to the vibration. He just didn’t understand why I was so keen on making so many. He didn’t understand why each one was different. I told him all of the wind chimes captured a story. They weren’t all chapters of my story as he first thought. I told him they served a greater purpose than hanging around my garage. He looked at me and shook his head. I told him to wait and see. There was a lot more that happened in our community while he was away.

“Declan, I don’t understand. You’re talking in riddles. The only thing that happened while I was fighting in the war was people moved out of town that been here their entire lives. Other than that, the grass grew taller.” Grayson laughed.

“Grayson, there is no doubt the grass grew taller.” I said out loud and typed on his tablet.

He finished cutting a piece of wood. I wrote on the tablet that so much more happened. His parents left him a note stating they would be away when he returned. They didn’t tell him where they would be going and why they wouldn’t be coming back. They asked me to tell Grayson about our community’s history. I was their pastor. I had baptized Grayson when he was a toddler. I saluted him when he announced he was going to serve his country. I prayed for him and his family while he was away. I welcomed Grayson home. His parents traveled a great deal when he was in elementary school. He wasn’t too surprised when he came home to an empty house. What did surprise him was every piece of furniture was symmetrically spaced. There weren’t any pictures out or papers. His parents left me to help Grayson come to terms with his own disabilities. I didn’t even know where or how to begin to explain theirs. I typed on Grayson’s tablet that we were finished making the wind chimes to fill a set of specific requests. I asked him to help me distribute them to the people that asked for them

At first, he declined. I told him it would help him understand what happened to our community. His hands began shaking. He didn’t like the sound of what I was telling him. He kept telling me people just moved away. I asked him if that really made sense. Granted, we lived near the coast. There were bad storms and hurricanes that rolled through our area from time to time. I told him there was another reason why so many left. I told him they did not have much choice. I could see tears filling his eyes. He knew his parents were amongst them. I told him the war he went overseas to fight came to our doors here at home. In two words-biological warfare. Someone in our community received a package  from an unknown return address. The biological weapon in that package discharged. Over the next two weeks, everyone with whom the package’s owner came in contact with became blind. Eventually, the disease control people came and gave the rest of us an antidote but the people who had been exposed first or second hand lost their eyesight. Over time, they became weaker. It was decided that they could no longer live with us. Our disease control people didn’t know what the biological agent was exactly. They weren’t certain they could contain it completely. They isolated the ones who were most infected including Grayson’s parents. The infected were moved a few miles from our neighborhood.

Their new homes were more primitive. They did not have the best electricity or running water. They asked me to make them wind chimes so they could be alerted to predators along their gates and listen to the wind’s beautiful music. Some of the chimes sounded like a flute. Others like a harp. It all depended on where the wind blew. Grayson helped me hang the wind chimes. I explained to his parents that Grayson could no longer hear. Grayson and I could not go close to them for fear of infection. I assured Grayson’s parents that I would continue to look after him. Grayson continues to make wind chimes with me and we continue to bless those who cannot see with the wind’s instruments.