A Familiar Drive

It’s the early afternoon, the sky is cloudless and azure. You’re driving down a road that is eerily similar to one you had driven along years prior. Your father, sitting tall and with both hands on the wheel, points this out. 

The road is one full of winding bends, surrounded by cliffs of a steep descent on either side. At its bottom, the ocean lies calm, glistening from the sun’s bright rays. Guard rails protect against a fall below, but at certain points they don’t appear to be the most secure, almost deliberately so, and at other points, they’re missing entirely. You notice this, you can’t make sense of why, but you accept it as is and your attention moves elsewhere.

At select areas, there are scenic viewpoints that afford the ability to stop and observe all that’s around. So far, you haven’t seen anyone stopped – you haven’t seen anyone else, really. 

At one of the viewpoints you notice a sizable rock, large enough for a child to hide behind, immovable where it sits. Its familiarity is striking –  a dull gray with shooting streaks of lighter and darker lines that intertwine together. It reminds you, for whatever reason, of the weaving roots of a Banyan tree.  

–

Your brother sits in front of you, body twisted, staring blankly out the passenger window. You wonder what he’s thinking. Your Aunt sits to your left, not quite knowing where we’re going, but as with other trips, appearing to derive a sense of pleasure in this.

Far off in the distance you see a castle over which a large statue presides. Apart from its composition, that of a bright white material, which distinctly separates the castle and statue from its surrounding environment, you can’t discern other exact features. Eyes squinting with eyebrows furrowed, you do come to see that the statue appears to have a vague outline of a person.

Peering off towards the east side of the castle, you notice, submerged up to its waist, another statue – its figure similar to the one atop the castle, this one, however, tainted dark, as if covered in a thick layer of grime. 

So far away, but already, you can see the contrast between the statues is stark. You wonder why one is secluded, left unkempt, half of its body being left unseen, while the other seems to give you some sort of intuitive feeling. The feeling is hard to describe but it’s as if it serves as a beacon calling you forward to where you are supposed to go. But where, to what end, you wonder?

You admire the astonishing scenery for all it holds and then the thought quickly flashes through your mind, “Has no one else seen what lies ahead?” You pensively ask yourself, with a confused look on your face, “Why hasn’t anyone else called out what they see – the castle, the statues, anything? Have they really not seen?” You pause then ask yourself with an even more bewildered look, “Why haven’t I called anything out myself? Have I not seen?”

–

Your dad, scanning his head side to side, is by all appearances taking in what’s around him. Driving fast, we quickly come upon an unexpected turn. He slams the brakes and we’re all thrusted forward in our seats, but it’s not enough. Control is lost. We find ourselves plummeting through a conspicuously placed gap in the guard rails, falling towards the water below. 

You realize: There’s nothing you can change now. You are falling towards the bottom of the cliff, about to be submerged into whatever unknowns lie on the other side, beneath the water’s surface. 

Time now feels as though it has slowed down, and strangely, a sense of calm comes over you. You’re surprised, but you remember – you have been down this road before. That feeling of falling. Of falling into the vast unknown. Of not knowing what lies ahead.  

You think of what has to happen next – of the next step to get through this. Your first thought is of waiting until the car is fully submerged so that the water pressure equalizes and you can open the door. But that won’t work. There are four of you in the car – there’s not enough space, not enough time, too much risk. Next, you think of grabbing a blunt object to smash the windows, but there’s nothing ready at hand, and you quickly discard this idea. Finally, you think of rolling down the windows, and to your great surprise, the seemingly easiest option worked. 

You yell “Roll down the windows!” and then reach back behind your head, clasping your fingers together and clamping your forearms tightly over your ears. You deliberately don’t block your view of what’s coming – you want to see what’s about to happen next. 

You all hit the water and are jolted forward, the car quickly submerging further and further down. You unbuckle your seatbelt and put your hands through the window, pulling yourself out of the car. Your aunt, brother and dad all do the same. Your aunt grabs onto your left pant leg – you feel the pull of what’s at stake, and it’s a heavy pull. 

Slowly, you swim up from the depths, emerging to the water’s surface. 

Astonished, you ask yourself, “Is what just happened even possible? All this in a matter of seconds?”

From deep within, you know the time passed felt different. You can’t say why or how. 

–

Head above water, you look at what now surrounds you, to where you are. Your vision is not nearly as clear anymore – what surrounds you is much more abstract. To either side lies a place where you can take your first step back on land, but both are uncharted, places you have never been before, and their features are indiscernible. You understand the importance, the necessity, of making the decision of where to go from here. 

With the lack of clarity, knowing you have to move towards a true unknown, you feel fear. You think back to that rock you had seen earlier – that oh-so familiar rock – of cowering behind it and of letting your roots take hold there. 

In spite of the fear, you decide to make a move, your first move, and you move towards the right.

–

Slowly you get closer and your vision starts to clear ever so slightly. You realize that although you’ve never been here before, to this new place, there is still a lot around you that is familiar, and luckily, you have people around you to help navigate what lies ahead. 

Your feet hit the ocean’s floor and you slowly start to emerge. You remember the statues you had seen – the one that had remained submerged and besmirched with filth; the other, the bright white statue, standing tall, as if calling you forward. You question, “What would have happened if I chose the other side?”

You had assumed that this new place would have been deserted, but it isn’t by any means. There are people around. Some see you coming out of the water and turn away, others seem to be looking at you with contempt. A select few notice you and run in your direction, extending their hand to help you take the last steps out of the water.

You thank them and start telling them what had happened and where you were headed. You say how far off you must have strayed from where you were going. They look at you and smile – they say you’ve come down quite low, but that far away place, that place where you are headed, is just up that mountain that always lies ahead. 

Without time for thought, you spontaneously blurt out, “Always?”

–

You wake up.