The day of gloom

 August 3, 2013 2131

            The reality of the situation is present in everything we do anymore.  Because the nights are so difficult with the bug attacks, muggy sticky film, and cramped conditions of the cab of our truck we both always wake up grumpy.  But today we did not wake up so easily.

            When we returned to our humble abode last night our tent had been broken into.  What I mean by broken into is that someone unzipped it and rummage through our stuff.  The good news is that not even a thief wants our stuff.  But it set the mood for the night.

            We are living in two different worlds here called night and day.  During the day it is a tropical paradise.  The animals are active.  The water is beautiful with bright green lily pads and birds that stand on one foot to gaze at.  The majesty of the tower is amazing in the day.  At the top of the tower the breeze glides across your face like a tickle from a small child.  The air is fresh, crisp, and warm.  The view is long, wide, and never-ending.

            The path to the tower has quaint trees that twist and turn around the sidewalk and across the ground like the playground for gnomes or Halflings.  The trails are wide with many trees and flowers mixed among the weeds.  There is even a garden here with educational signs about the plants.  Then there is the butterfly viewing area where the fairy-like creatures fly around floating on beauty.

            At night this place becomes Dr. Zhivago’s island.  The tower looms over the dark half covered water like a witch hanging tower.  The paths are dark and the trees are concealing.  Nothing roams here but trolls, goblins, and one tusk-less wild pig.  The night smells like rotting jack-o-lanterns knocked over by tricksters.  The garden is full of the troops of bugs waiting for their assignment.  One can almost see pieces of human flesh hanging from their clutches as they buzz around.  The night butterflies dance on the side of trees like pole dancers in a brothel.

            Tonight at sunset, just before the transformation, the three of us walked to the tower for a romantic relaxing dinner of cracker, cheese, and pickle bologna.  We planned to watch the sunset.  We stopped on the third level because the Princess Puppy refused to go any higher.  The air was warm and hanging with its sweat.  The breeze was stagnant and the water grew darker and darker by the minute.  The view was still long, wide, and never-ending.  However, the darkness started to close in.

            The Goat Man sat on the floor of the tower wearing only his cut off blue sweat pants with his dirty blonde hair hanging down to his shoulders looking at me through the most beautiful ocean eyes.  His grin was hidden behind his mustache and beard, but even through his unshaven face the cocky grin elicits smiles.  I sat facing him on the other side of our spread falling even more in love when he was attacked.

            First from the rear, then the left flank attack!  The palmetto bugs in their nuclear safe body armor charged for The Goat Man.  Each of them was all of two inches long.  I jumped to my feet, “oh hell no! I am not eating with them.”  I really don’t like bugs.  I am not an outside kind of gal.  “I did not know cockroaches climbed towers.”  With all of us already headed down the stairs the tall solid man says, “They probably smelled the pickle bologna.”

            So back to this morning, when the sun rose in the sky this morning both of us were grumpy.  We had fought most of the night over past rumors of affairs that had left doubt in our existence.  The worst thing for a relationship inside Dr. Zhivago’s island while being brutally attacked by bugs is doubt.  Both of us know none of the rumors to be true, but reality is different here at night.

            As the light traveled across the land reality cloaked us both like wet blankets and we sat in the truck sleeping.  For four solid hours we both slept not touching each other (which is very rare), speaking or even acknowledging the other existed.  Each time sleep overtook our body and mind a park visitor would walk by, drive by, or make noise, but we both were determined to sleep.  The day was not worth being awake for.

            We are now completely broke with very little food.  Our stable is pickle bologna.  We have about twenty miles in gas left and no light at the end of this tunnel.  But the daylight slowly washed away both of our hatred and about noon we awoke and headed for a cold shower.

            The shower that seemed a necessity in the past was a place of heaven today.  The wide trail was absent of the sniper turtle and we glided down it with ease.  The white standing building was a secret hide away where a magical waterfall fell from the trees above.  The blue sky peaking through the tall leaf covered trees makes one feel like they are on a mountain top looking across to heaven while the wonderful cool water washes across the naked skin.

            We both stood in the water holding each other as the water ran all the stress, dirt, and hatred off our bodies.  Both of us stood flesh-to-flesh enjoying the nakedness of the other while feeling the freedom of nakedness for ourselves.  The intimacy controlled by the desperation of the reality and the need for basic companionship was more intense than the ‘his and hers’ commercials.  After almost an hour of bonding we faced the day of gloom.