Under the Shade

Every morning or afternoon or night at this point feels the same when I wake up sitting under the shade of a large oak tree waiting for something — I don’t know what — while the invasive sounds that threaten the gentle sway of the dandelions change the direction of the breeze with echoing vibrations and I wonder if anyone else can hear them but I don’t think so because I’m the only one here. All different kinds of blue, red, and green birds fly overhead but they still look like members of one flock and in the distance they fly over a valley that lurches forward into a ravine that I imagine is as deep as the Earth itself. If I fall in, I may just end up on the other side.

Sometimes I wonder if my brain works properly because I can close my eyes and will the valley I’m in to become a garden, become a summit, become a gorge, become the inside of a volcano yet one thing always remains constant: wherever I go, the towering oak tree always follows shackles my feet to the ground with its thick roots. The shade from the tree blankets the world beneath and keeps me cool with the dew drops that fall into my mouth even though I never feel thirsty… but sometimes it tastes different like someone has changed the flavor and it puts me back to sleep. At times the tree feels like a prison but at others I wonder if it keeps me alive.

Of the flock of birds that constantly fly overhead when I’m on the summit of the mountain, I can only recall seeing some in books and every hour on the dot, one of them flies to the treetop to make the strangest sound a bird has ever made. It screams mechanically at the top of its lungs like a pager going off and the ground rumbles under a stampede of footsteps quickly approaching as the roots get tighter around my feet and the taste of the dewdrops changes. The screams at the top of the tree summon a breeze like clockwork that carries the sound of people calling for help and I hear the word “injection” a few times a day so when that happens I grab my left bicep because a pinch is sure to follow. I think it’s strange that the wind sounds like people but I don’t mind because it feels familiar and makes me think that if I can hear them then someone can hear me too. I’ve gotten used to some of the signs but every time I feel the pinch on my bicep I notice a pinprick where the sting emanates from and my legs feel like they’re going to melt into the ground.

One day, I’m sitting under the shade of the tree but this time inside the caldera of the volcano and I’m counting the seconds until the next hour and the bird comes to the treetop, but today, gusts of wind blow out from the ravine carrying faint whispers I can hardly make out.

  “He’s not going to make it.”

        “The procedure can’t wait.”

        “I’m begging you to do something.”

        I can tell that some of these voices sound familiar but I can’t pinpoint where I know them from. Their words must be curses because in a moment, I feel a strong surge of pain radiating from my scalp and the sensation of my skull being cracked open like a shell and the strangest part is that the caldera of the volcano beneath me splits in two. The only thing keeping the two pieces of the caldera and my skull from drifting apart are the deep anchors of the tree that have started to coat my head like a crown.

        I’m not sure if my brain works properly but my ears detect ambulance sirens coming from the top of the volcano and I wonder if that means a visitor is going to join me soon but that never happens so I’ve learned to let it go.

        The voices in the wind have become louder lately since my skull split in two and I wonder if they’re trying to free me from the confines of the oak tree and then I wonder if I am sleeping all the time or never at all because if I close my eyes I don’t feel as though I have gone anywhere. If I am not sleeping and I am not awake then I wonder if I am somewhere in-between, somewhere in my own head with restraints around my legs to keep me shackled.

        The pinpricks are moving up my arm and towards my head like a snake tracing a trail across the ground and I can’t help but think something is going to happen when the needle pokes my brain but until then I will continue to rest in a place that is not quite awake but not quite asleep.

        I only realize I am no longer bound to the tree when I wake up without the shade and I look down and peer at the Earth from space but I distinctly remember that I have never been in space before and I can’t breathe but that doesn’t bother me because the sense of weightlessness keeps me focused on gluing my thoughts back together and I know that I can’t breathe yet but I will soon and as I peer down at the Earth I wonder if the birds are still in a flock together and if the peculiar one is anywhere near the tree or if the tree itself is dismembered because I don’t need it to survive or keep me prisoner anymore.

        Plasma from the nearest stars bathe me like an analgesic and I wonder what the word coma means and what the word sounds like coming from another voice but for now I get the sense that sensation is coming back into my legs because they aren’t melting into the ground. I wiggle my toe for the first time in forever and it feels like a new part of my body because the restraints have been lifted but the strangest thing is that I can hear something coming from far away even though I know you can’t hear anything in space except your own thoughts and I think it’s finally telling me what I was waiting for this whole time.

        “The brain transplant was a success.”

        “We just have to wait for him to reboot.”