Eunoia
JANANI VENKAT RAMANAH UMKC MEDICAL STUDENT
My wheels churn against the concrete disks of the descending road below me. Electric current pulses through my motorcycle as the speedometer jumps. Eighty miles per hour. Ninety. I relish the speed, but it’s not fast enough. Not yet. The harsh desert air whips past my neck and flattens my clothes to my skin. My headlights illuminate cracked soil where the road dips into the desert. Thump-thump. The ground rumbles beneath the nearly unbreakable road. If I looked behind me, I would see a massive maw on the earth. From deep inside, the fissure would emanate a circadian palpitation. The sound only reaches my ears if I listen closely. Instead, I grip my handlebars tighter and speed forward. Two plumes of darkened smoke rise up from the horizon. Within a few seconds, I fly past two darkened factories, one on either side of the road, feeding the void above. The letters glowing at the top of the factories loom over me. Neum. I look up. The void swallows even the semblance of a single star. Sometimes, I forget the rays of hope were even there. If I close my eyes, I can imagine when this road bustled with life. I don’t. More of us traversed this path every day. Cars in green, gold, blue. I used to laugh and look in the rearview mirror to see a line stretching out to the endless sunny horizon. That was before iron rods bound the concrete slabs together and tar coated the roads. Along with changes to so many other things. My only company now arrives as a flash on my right. I pass my glazed gaze over the sign as I slow my plunge. The graying fingers of peeling paint reach out toward me in their endless grasp. Yearning for something they will never find. “Eunoia,” I read in a whisper. In response, the sign creaks. Rust bakes the iron holding the sign aloft. Perhaps reminiscing with someone else would remind me of when it was constructed.
I spare a glance at the decaying doll lying next to the tombstone as I rise and step into the town. Boisterous laughter floats up from the building to my left. I spare a glance at the brightened windows as I pass. Candlelight spills out from inside the restaurant, only to seep into the cobblestones. Not even a drop reaches my feet. No shadows move inside. Ghosts trapped in another time. I can imagine the inside of the restaurant, golden walls dripping with plush red velvet cushions. A glittering chandelier above clinking glasses swishing with shining liquid. Through it all would run the aroma of honey-sweet delicacies shooting steam toward the sky. The towering mahogany door never opens to reveal that forgotten world. I lower my head and hurry past. The sounds of bygone happiness recede as I slip through the town, as silent as the shadows around me. The faint sound of crashing water wafts toward my ears. White noise. The brick to my right halts to reveal cascades. The tides topple over jagged rocks, their frothy grasps anchoring to the coastal pebbles to no avail. I pause and rest my hand on the rough bricks. Gentle whispers float around me. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the river instead. If I looked to my left, I would see the sharpest rocks, the ones the audience of the sirens stumbled toward, only to realize the mistake too late and turn away. Only fighting the lethal current guarantees a death sentence. Trying to keep a head above the water places it on the pedestal of the clamping waves. The clouded sky rumbles, surpassing the voices. I look up. Two slit-like clouds dance around each other as if a chain in the void kept them at the same inexplicable distance. As I watch, the invisible chain snaps. The clouds fold to form a churning circle. Trees in the distance snap their branches. The clouds sprinkle rain, or perhaps the river draws it down. I am not sure which. Within seconds, sheets of water pour.
For a moment I wonder if I never should have come to Eunoia. Perhaps I could have kept riding and forsaken this doomed journey.
To my dismay, only the desert knows the truth. Blackened limestone spikes jut out of the sand in the distance. The road straightens to allow me passage through the mountains. Shadows drip down my shoulders, down my hands and into my boots. Now I am crawling. The rays of my headlights scatter as moisture beads on my gloves. I squint into the fog. The darkness presses on my chest. All I can do is breathe it in, let the churning jagged cloud tear my lungs to shreds. The disks beneath my wheels merge into worn cobblestones. As I take a deep breath, the stone walls on either side of me melt away. Eunoia sprawls up in front of me. I don’t need to glance around to know that the mountains cage the town. Would the town expand if not for their presence? Or would the sands bury anything left? I neither know nor can find the answer. An eerie stillness fills the air as I cruise to the side of the nearest building. I spare a glance at the crumbling bricks and cracked foundation as I slide off my motorcycle. The metal stand clanks as I lean my bike against the building and remove my helmet. The unholy sound escapes into the silence without the semblance of an echo. Barbed vines choke the slab of granite growing out of the ground across the street from me. Every step seems too loud, too out of place, as I cross the street. The graveyard needs no gate. Branches of the trees behind it whip and slash as warning enough. I kneel in front of the tombstone. Dampness seeps into my clothing and into my socks. I ignore it. I finger a hardened vine as I trace the etched letters with my other hand. I don’t need to keep my eyes open to see the name as familiar to me as my own.
The sky roars. A blinding brilliance sparks in the void and smashes into the building behind me. Rubble soars into the air. A shard of glass flies off the building and thunks into the cobblestones. I drop to my knees and clap my hands over my ears. For a moment I wonder if I never should have come to Eunoia. Perhaps I could have kept riding and forsaken this doomed journey. The clouds spiral down toward the cobblestones in a seething cyclone. As the town seems to cower, the whispers increase. The air cracks with cacophony. Beep-beep! I jump, my eyes flying open. The watch on my left wrist glows and beeps again. Morning, the beep says. Safety. The tornado above me whips to the side, unable to complete its descent. As I watch, the gusts wisp away. The rain slows. As I turn my face toward the sky, lazy droplets trickle their way down my face and drip onto my hands. My watch beeps one last time. My fingers tremble as I fumble to press the off button. As I rise, the sky begins to lighten with the arrival of the sickly sun. I squint at the tip of the mountain range, but the clouds do not part. The shadows in Eunoia do not recede. The sun poses no threat to them. No rays pass the outer walls of the fortress to reach the town. None ever have in the countless years I have made this journey. Perhaps one day they will. Until then, the town of Eunoia remains frozen in time, unknowing of even the desire for hope.