tempting traffic (2/4)

by cthurst6

we left Hanoi on a night bus within which we could scarce manage a few hours of sleep due to the bumpy roads, cramped sleeping quarters, and inconsistent shrieks and shrills of an infant across the aisle from us. poor mother, she slept in the aisle, as did a number of others–the aisle itself a pad for such a purpose–constantly waking to tend to her child. i offered my seat to her, but she denied, preferring proximity to the babe than personal comfort.
we met a German couple, a girl from Spain, and a man from America. upon arriving in a town a few hours north of our eventual destination, we were pulled over by the police of the area in a suspicious manner and asked to exit the bus. we were directed toward several taxis and took one to another tourist agency where we were admitted onto another bus, this one without sleeping cots, or, it seemed, air conditioning.
through this confusing process we became acquainted with the American, a thirty year old named Josh, and the two Germans and Spanish girl, all of whose names i forget.

the second bus lasted hours and involved a short stop during which one or two of the tires had to be replaced for fuller ones. it was hot, and stifling, and i read my kindle while my stomach growled and i tried to distract myself from my discomfort.
in the back Steve talked to some new German girls and Josh with someone from Australia? Britain? i did not hear the accent.
beside me sat someone from a different Asian country than Vietnam–i’m not sure from where. his English was not complete, and i, being an American, knew no other languages besides my indigenous one.
at last we arrived, and, taking the first motorbike taxis that were offered us, Josh, Steve, the two blonde German girls, and i set off to a homestay a few minutes from the bus station.
we paid the drivers, settled in, changed, acquainted ourselves with Josh even more as he was our new roommate, and invited the Germans out to dinner and the beach.

this is what Steve and i had longed for, soft sands reaching along the Pacific towards the origin of our travel, so far in the distance all you could see was blue and white haziness. and we waded into the clear waters lapping about us, warm and enchanted, rolling in smooth waves about our chests and the sun upon us, the girls in their bikinis all along the coast and the men looking at them. i wondered at the places that had brought me here. i was at once a new man, and an old man, looking out in that infinity sky.
i had many friends, and perhaps enemies, back home. many loves lost, many loves never had, or never wanted in the first place upon further consideration. they were people. just people. and i had always concerned myself with their wants, their demands. so much so that sometimes i found myself prey to their personal whims or notions about myself, going along with a touch, a whisper, a sad, corrupt, ideal thought in the mind of some lonesome blossom who wanted to see in me someone they wanted to see. someone to love, and hate, and make war with as if making war meant making reason or intimacy. and i thinking, why not? what is the harm of allowing people to think of you in one way, that they should be happy? especially if you have the power to walk and be forever in their minds as only a catalyst upon which they might build a fuller life, and fading always with passing time.
why not play a thousand roles in a thousand fantasies?
the water reflected about me a thousand broken skies, and i fell below its placid surface as if falling from those skies, drifting in weightless space and eyes closed, the world spinning, the world forgetting yet watching even as i drifted on.
yes, i could drift there forever, caught somewhere between heaven and earth. i could float without sound and wash onto a million shores devoid of all mankind and call myself lucky.
breaking surface again, this time to catch my breath, noise flooded my ears. i heard Steve talking and Josh laughing and the girls playing Frisbee with them, lying on the sand sunning themselves. i went back under and thought of V as i hung suspended, wondering where she could be in all that space before me. i do not know if she is reading my postings, but if i had to choose one who did, i would choose her. for she asked me for me most often, and did not shy from who i was, or am–or could be. she asked me questions others did not care to ask, questions i can think of even now, lying upon a beach four thousand miles from our last parting.
beware: when someone quits asking you questions about yourself, it is because they have already come to some conclusion as to who you are; or, worse, they have decided upon who you are going to be, and would prefer not to ask more questions lest it put cracks in the façade. these people dance about you and sing, almost beautifully,

“I love you so much that nothing can matter to me–not even you…Only my love–not your answer. Not even your indifference”

~ Ayn Rand

so i was content in floating alone, for now.