Teller had (a little over a year ago now) moved on from all that Cascadia nonsense. He had paid attention to: those dreams, the Morse code in his head, his common sense, his failing health, and, most of all, his Higher Self. After expending most all his available life energy to escape that soul-sucking spot on the globe, he finally found another little college and a new life…in a land that millions called “golden.”

Teller had been here in this garden of the rich and beautiful for awhile now, and he often found himself wondering if his existence  was now going to be forever defined by these new environs: a place known far and wide for its wealthy residents, outrageous real-estate prices, and seductive proximity to The City. A rather strange place, this: with a small town look-and-feel; self-obsessed; hosting a populace preoccupied with their hugely-inflated senses of privilege and entitlement.

For Teller, the past was past. With the unhealthiness of Cascadia behind him, a semblance of personal well-being had returned. Some robust color was actually, at times, evident in his cheeks…with little evidence remaining of that sickly, ashen hue he had once frequently exhibited.

His life had changed immensely, though, and he missed his home state, his adopted family: almost everything (and everybody) that was comfortable and familiar. And, in the week leading up to today, the day he would mark as the beginning of his sixty-second year, he had been having some rather disturbing thoughts. He had had a history of troubled times in August, in the days surrounding the anniversary of his birth, and this year was somewhat reminiscent of earlier periods.

Just last night, for example, after sleeping for a couple of hours, he awoke. For some reason he was acutely aware of his left foot…the body part that had, for over three years now, been afflicted with peripheral neuropathy. But, tonight, something felt uncomfortably, markedly different. It was about midnight, and he turned on the bedroom lamp to examine his foot.

Teller gasped. With a sharp intake of breath that led to profound dizziness, he saw that he had a really serious problem. For, now, he had just four toes — as the little one had apparently fallen off. The remaining digits were all as black as charcoal. They looked like shaved pieces of charcoal. His big toe was missing the nail, and appeared as if it had been whittled (or, perhaps, chewed) to a point; it was now only about half as long as the second toe. The second toe was twisted at a ninety-degree angle and oozing some kind of greenish, purplish, pussy-looking substance. Toes three and four were merely black and bleeding — from what looked like a series of long, razor-made cuts.

In shock, Teller slowly glanced at his other foot. It seemed mostly normal, but the toes had a distinct grayish cast, as if, perhaps, they were making their way toward the charcoal-like character of the left foot. They were definitely more tingly than they usually were.

His hands. He wondered. He looked. Yes, his fingers, all of them, were numb and turning color as well.

He stumbled into the bathroom, dragging his left foot, leaving a bloody, pussy trail on the carpet, and turned on the light. And immediately noticed his eyes. The circles under them were nothing short of a death look. Truly. How could anyone with this appearance still be alive?

This time his gasp turned into a SCREAM, not caring if the neighbors were awakened…and, at that point, Teller, himself, woke up.

Sweating. Scared. Relieved: this was just a dream!

Teller spent the rest of the night blessedly dream-free. But when he got up early to watch the sunrise on his birthday, it was with an enhanced sense of age and aging. Questions about what he had made of his life predominated. Mostly, Teller’s thoughts turned to those he had loved, and those who had loved him.

Teller, though he had loved, and loved dearly and deeply, was mostly a loner, and found himself, again on this birthday, still alone. And lonely: afflicted with a presumably chronic, and life-long, state of solitude. Not a condition as serious, or as ugly, as those blackened, decaying extremities, but a state of being that overwhelmed him just the same.

He reflected on his dream of bodily decomposition. A body that was living, but not quite all alive. Teller meditated on his desire to share body and soul with the soulmate he still believes is out there. Somewhere.

Teller embarked on his the rest of his birthday day asking himself, still: where do I fit? With whom do I fit? Will I ever fit?

Soundtrack Suggestion

night time slows, raindrops splash rainbows
perhaps someone you know, could sparkle and shine
as daydreams slide to colour from shadow
picture the moonglow, that dazzles my eyes
and i love you…

(“Pure” – Lightning Seeds)