The Crocker Land

It was dark outside and we were living in a world that only allowed flashlights. In fact, my accident had made me somewhat of a hunchback and I spent the better part of my evenings riding around on a ten speed from 1985, holding the flashlight that had been allotted to me very close to the ground. My condition, for better or worse, had literally put the world at my fingertips, and my nightly excursions were not immune to that.

In the face of the apocalypse, or whatever it was that had befell us late that Sunday evening, I was hoping that on these mean streets I would find the occasional good samaritan. Tragedy has a way of forcing compassion out of those otherwise disenchanted with mankind. And today--well today, I was counting on that kindness.

I was in need of directions. An acquaintance of mine had disappeared that fateful night and sure, while on some terrain, I was concerned with his well-being, I was more concerned with the timepiece he had in his pocket. It was mine. It belonged to my great great grandfather and in this dark hour, I was beginning to fear not only that it was one of my last, but that the time piece was the only running count of the days since everything went dim. Since Sunday, I hadn't seen a clock, not even a broken one. It's as if the world went dark so that some master thieves could come in and wipe us of our existence. After all, if you take away time, then you take away history, right?

But I was convinced that my timepiece was impervious to these thieves, that my family, in our infinite wisdom, had outsmarted even the most cunning bandit. When my acquaintance vanished with the timepiece--more specifically, pocketwatch--he mentioned that he was headed for the 'Fourth Corner' and would find me there once upon a secondhand.

So I strolled these sinister alleys and an irking sensation came over me, a feeling that every corner, every intersection, every avenue, was repeating itself. I was becoming claustrophobic. There were no street signs, nothing telling me due north or veer left or just ahead on your right. I suppose when you're living here on Earth asking someone for directions to the Fourth Corner sounds, in and of itself, ridiculous.

But ahead, I saw no end. Miles and miles of brick, and dirt, and buildings, and trees. Brick, and dirt, and buildings, and trees. And far, far off in the distance I could hear the rain and voices in conversation. The voices were getting louder and the sun was emerging, but I was getting nowhere. I could hear their laughing and crying over newborns and departed souls, but they never invited me in. And that made it all the more beautiful.

Hindsight was not an option here. Apparently, I was nowhere to be found. Left with my bicycle and my dying flashlight. Out of batteries. Out of ideas and notions of adventure. I had been steering it all wrong.

There was no need for a samaritan in these parts. Just a body would do. Someone to look forward and share in this vision. Someone to marvel at the fact that perhaps Columbus was onto something--and nothing all at the same time. Someone to look upward for reinvention and even a single flash of cloud to ground lightning.