Runaways

by Rachel Sawden

  He told me to open my eyes, and I watched him tie two pieces of red and yellow string to my wrist, fashioning a bracelet next to the one Xavier had given me. Glancing around, I saw Lana rolling her eyes at her “priest” but Jade sat in Lotus position, eyes closed, entirely at peace, chanting away.

  When he asked me how much money I was willing to give him to send my family luck, I had enough of my spiritual experience. Everything pointed to tourist scam and requests for money drove it home. But given that we were balancing precariously on the water’s edge, I pulled out a few dollars’ worth of rupees for insurance that he wouldn’t push me into the nasty water. Shoving them in his hand, I carefully backed up and climbed the ghats and waited for the girls.

  ***

  “I see that you have acquired your Pushkar Passports,” Hari said, cigarette smoke billowing from his mouth. His gaze still fixed on Lana when we returned from town. Since our little chat at the Water Palace, he had backed off of her. “I am so sorry, I should have said something sooner. I have had trouble concentrating lately.” Smiling politely we kept walking through the hotel gate. “Miss Jade, I have spoken to my friend as you requested, and he can take you into the desert tomorrow if you wish.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to the girls tonight and get back to you soon.”

  With a nod, he sucked on his cigarette and walked over to the group of men congregating in the road outside the hotel.

  Once behind closed doors Jade explained that she wanted to do bhang while we were here.

  “Bhang?” Lana and I said in unison.

  She explained that it was a drink made from the leaves and buds of female cannabis plants used to achieve transcendental states and aid spiritual ecstasy.

  “So you want to go into the desert and trip balls?” Lana replied.

  Jade shrugged and said, “Pretty much,” before explaining that we would drink it in ritual with a shaman in the desert. Hari had made some calls to friends and found a shaman who was willing to take us, but we had to decide within the hour if we’re going to participate. “No pressure to you guys, but I’m going to do it regardless.”

  By the time Hari dialed the shaman’s number, Lana and I decided to join her.

  ***

  After breakfast, Jade spent the morning meditating while Lana and I watched. With my legs cramping in lotus pose, I was trying to get in the right headspace for the day, but I was a bundle of nerves. When her alarm sounded, her eyes flicked open and she stretched her legs, shook them out, and stood up.

  Meeting Hari in the same spot where we had left him the day before he straightened his spine as he greeted Lana. All of our attention quickly fixated on the man standing next to him.

  “Madams, this is Naresh, he will take you into the desert today.”

  Encased in saffron robes loomed a thin man with orange and red paint plastered from his forehead to mustache. A long grey beard fell to his chest, and waist-long dreadlocks framed his narrow face. Out of all the “holy men” we had come across, this guy looked legit. With introductions made, he led us down the sandy road where four camels and three teenaged boys waited.

  We mounted our desert beasts with our pubescent drivers riding bitch, waved Hari goodbye, and as we set off with our backs to town I hoped that we weren’t being led into something that resulted in us becoming a Nancy Grace TV special.

  Chapter 11

  As I jostled about, squeezing my legs together so tightly I feared I might crush the poor animal, I plotted the demise of the camel saddle’s inventor and then wondered why no one had thought to reinvent them. Everything about riding a camel is beyond unnatural, from its lumbering arrhythmic gait to the fact that as a passenger you sit on the front and have nothing to hold onto except a three-inch stub of metal at your crotch. Clutching my camera with my free hand, I tried to distract myself from the pain as my inner thighs and nether regions struck the hard leather over and over and over. For the sake of the ride back, it was a good thing that cannabis was a painkiller.

  I quickly gave up on trying to take photos, preferring to focus on balancing and not falling a thousand feet under my camel’s plodding hoofs. With our saffron-clad shaman in the lead, we galloped over the crumbling sand for what seemed like an eternity, finally coming to a halt near the base of a rugged mountain range. With groans, our camels lowered to their knees, and we climbed from their backs. Shaking my legs out and rubbing my inner thighs so vigorously I gave my driver impure thoughts, we gathered in the center of the dune and sat in a circle.

  Lana stretched her legs while Jade folded hers as our shaman chanted, sang, danced, smattered our faces with orange powder, and finally produced a silver thermos. He poured a creamy milk-coloured liquid in the cap and handed it to Jade. My heart pounded as she held it to hers before chugging it in one go. Lana was next, and when Naresh handed it to me, I nearly passed out as I took the first breath I thought I had taken since he pulled out the thermos.

  I had smoked weed a few times after Audrey introduced it to me on a visit to her university, but drinking some weird cannabis cocktail in the middle of the desert where no one can hear you scream was a whole other experience. Hesitating, I looked at Lana, who was still stretching, and then the shaman cupped my hands and forced the cap to my lips. I guess this is happening. I opened my mouth and filled it with the cool creamy liquid. Ooo, vanilla lassi. He had good taste.

  As our designated drivers tended to the camels, we lay on the warm sand, and waited for the THC to kick in. At first everything felt a little fuzzy, like someone was running fur over my skin, and my arms felt a little heavy. When we exploded into a fit of giggles at a camel’s snort, I knew it was taking effect. After that, it felt as if I was wandering between worlds of sleep and wakefulness, floating in a lucid dream.

  I smiled at the fluffy clouds riding across the blue sky. They reminded me of the cotton candy Audrey and I gorged on at a fair when I was seven. I sighed at the memory of losing my family on the way to the Ferris wheel and subsequently freaking right out. My big sis found me in a bush, clutching the sticky sugar fluff to my chest. Though ants were ravaging me, I had never been so happy when I saw her face.

  I sat up and shook out my fuzzy, heavy arms. Picking up my camera, I peered at my newly altered reality through the viewfinder. Snapping pictures of the girls sprawled out in the sun, I turned my camera on our shaman, meditating with the vastness of the desert dunes undulating into the horizon before him. It made me think of my favorite photograph of Audrey and me when we rented ATVs and went off-roading in the Nevada desert when I was twelve. On that trip, we decided we were going to travel the world together one day, live in Sydney, date surfer boys, and never become boring grown-ups.

  As I turned and snapped wildly in my dreamlike state, a mountain stopped me in my tracks. Lowering my camera, I stared at the peak raking the clouds. My feet moved independently of the rest of my body as the mountain pulled me towards it. A warm breeze stroked my heated skin as I padded across the dune and over the crest. The moment I was alone, I froze, dwarfed by its immensity.

  With my eyes fixated on the craggy crest, I was overcome with a presence and energy so powerful my knees buckled and I sank into the sand. It was kind of like that feeling you get when it’s going to rain but magnified to a greatness I could not rationally comprehend. In my heart I knew I was in the presence of something greater than me, greater than all of us, greater than the desert I stood on. I kneeled in the presence of the divine energy that creates, destroys, and animates everything on Earth. Jade called it the Universe with a capital “U,” but some may refer to it as God.

  That was some good bhang.

  I couldn’t help but feel like a naughty child, taken aside, as if It was asking, “Is there something you need to say to me?”

  I knew what It wanted from me. I knew what I needed to say.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered with my eyes fixed on the towering mountain, “I’m so very sorry for taking your gift for granted.”

  Tea
rs pooled and streamed as I drowned in the emotions I had bottled up over the years since the moment my family received The Call.

  It was the worst day of my life, and as I kneeled before the Universe, it flashed in my consciousness. Snow had dusted the city and as my mother pulled out her annual Christmas cake from the oven, I poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir and organized the pastry decorations, while my father fussed over a crossword puzzle in the Sunday newspaper on the couch. My mouth was full of white icing when the phone rang. It rang just like any other time, but when my mother collapsed with the receiver pressed against her face, I knew life would never be the same. Tumbling from the chair I took the receiver from her.

  “Mrs. Rodrigues?” A gruff accented voice rolled the “r.”

  “This is her daughter, what’s happened?” I said as my mother clutched at me sobbing.

  “My name is Detective Barboza. I’m very sorry to tell you, but we have recovered the body of Audrey Rodrigues.”

  The body?

  I shook my head as I choked on my own breath. It made no sense. She was coming home tomorrow. I had bought her a present. We were supposed to travel together the following year and have wonderful adventures. She was going to grow up. We were going to be the Maids of Honour at each other’s weddings. We’d have babies at the same time. We’d grow old with each other.

  I refused to accept it. It had to be a mistake.

  But, a week later, when we should have been stringing lights on the tree together, I placed my hands on a varnished white casket and reality hit that my world would never be the same.

  As my parents unraveled on the pew next to me, I had no choice but to force back the tears. I had to be strong for myself but stronger for them. As they held each other weeping, I vowed that I would give them the future that Audrey never could. They would never see her grow up, celebrate promotions, walk her down the aisle, and cradle her children. But I could give them all of that.

  I cried in the bathroom and blaming red eyes on “allergies,” perfected a fake smile that would keep a beauty queen stumbling through her final question jealous, and lied to everyone, even myself, about how much pain I felt. But staying strong came with a price.

  On the one-year anniversary of her death, my mother didn’t bother with her cake, and my father didn’t bother with his crossword, and neither bothered to get out of bed until dinner. After we ate take-out and shed tears over stories of her, I returned to my new apartment, before it had any colour, and before I met Adam. Never having felt more alone, I fell to pieces.

  Delirious with anger and Pinot Noir, I was desperate to escape the crushing sadness that followed me around every single moment. If every day was going to feel like I was drowning, I wondered why didn’t I just slip beneath the water. So I stepped into the bathroom and ran a hot bath. Then, sliding a kitchen drawer open, I drew a large knife from a drawer, went back the bathroom and undressed. Steam rose from the tub and the blade glinted in the artificial light as I set it down on the tile. I lowered myself into the water and turned the faucet off and watched the last drops of water fall. I felt nothing.

  Lying back with the water lapping at chin, I stared at the ceiling.

  “I can’t live without you,” I whispered.

  When my body was warm and tingling, I sat up and picked up the knife, pressing the cool metal against my wrist. As I applied pressure and began to feel the skin tearing, my phone rang from the pocket of my jeans on top of the toilet, startling me so much I dropped the knife. It hit the edge of the tub, fell onto the tile, and skipped out of reach. It felt as if I had been awaken from a dream. I leaned forward, and with shaky fingers, I fumbled with the jeans and plucked the phone from my pocket.

  “Hello?” My voice trembled as I answered.

  “It’s Mom.” Her voice crackled. “I just wanted to tell you I love you. I don’t know why but something came over me, and I picked up the phone without thinking.”

  Guilt knotted in my chest.

  “I love you, too,” I sputtered out.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Silence hissed through the receiver, and after a beat, I replied, “Just taking a bath.”

  “Okay, be careful not to slip. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

  When the call disconnected, I set the phone back on top of my jeans, pulled myself from the tub, wrapped myself in a towel, drained the tub, picked up the knife and marched into the kitchen. Feeling horrified at what I had almost done, I slid the knife into the drawer and made an appointment with a grief counselor.

  The memory faded and I was staring down the divine force I used to curse that stole her away from me. Over the years that passed since that day I learned to leave my anger behind. And as I felt it simmering and bubbling in my core, I swallowed it and instead practiced the exercise my grief counselor had taught me. Gratitude.

  “Thank you. Thank you for blessing me with my loving family and friends. Thank you most of all for bringing Audrey into my life.” Then warmth bloomed from my core to my fingers and toes, and I was overwhelmed with a feeling I could only describe as pure, unadulterated love.

  The warm breeze caressed my face and a familiar scent I hadn’t smelled in years tickled my nose. My breath hitched as I recognized it. Cupping my face in my hands, all the emotions I had been bottling up surged and broke free as a flood of tears of joy.

  “Audrey?”

  I am here.

  Though I heard her voice in my head, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going crazy. I know I was higher than Willie Nelson at Woodstock, but it felt as real as the sand beneath me. Enveloped in her scent, a montage of long forgotten memories played in my mind. The summer we spent perfecting our breaststroke when my parents rented a cottage on Lake Ontario, the brightness of her hazel eyes as I draped her in cloth to be my “Afghan Girl”, the time I broke my father’s golf clubs and she took the blame, the week when I visited her in university and we had a blast playing beer pong. It could have been a minute, but for what felt like an eternity, I lived our lives together again from my earliest memory of her to my last.

  But as I saw her waving as she disappeared to start her trip in Bolivia, I felt the energy weaken.

  “No,” I sobbed, stretching out my hand reaching for her, “don’t go.”

  It’s time.

  Pain ripped through my chest. The shattered pieces of my heart that had been sewn back together were tearing at their seams.

  As I felt her leaving I choked out, “I love you. I miss you.”

  I am with you always.

  And then, as if dropped from the ether, I blinked and landed back on Earth, engulfed in silence. Wiping my eyes I looked up at the mountain, begging for it to let me see her again, but now it was just a mountain, like any other. The air was still and smelled only of dry desert sands.

  “Harper?” Jade’s voice pierced through the calm. I turned, and through blurred vision I saw her and Lana running over the crest of the dune.

  Wrapping me in their arms, they held me until I cried myself empty. And that night, for the first time in weeks, I slept through the night.

  ***

  As I tore my toast, spreading near frozen butter on it the following morning, a welcome feeling of calm lapped over me. Which was promptly interrupted when the hotel manager marched over to our table.

  “Miss Harper Rodrigues?” He peered through thick glasses at us.

  I raised my hand, like a child in school. “That’s me.”

  “You have a phone call.”

  I looked at the girls, shrugged as I stuffed the crusty carb in my mouth, and followed him through the lobby to the desk. He passed me the receiver, and my heart stopped as I heard my mother’s voice, unnervingly calm.

  “It’s Adam, he’s in the hospital.” I steadied myself against the reception counter. “His roommate, Jeff, called me this morning, he’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

  “What happened?”

  “Jeff came hom
e and found him unconscious. He slipped into a diabetic coma, but he’s awake now. He’ll be discharged today.”

  “Diabetic coma?” The words fell from my mouth before I wondered how Jeff found him. He was supposed to be at a work conference. More than that, how could he forget to take his insulin? I programmed his phone to remind him. “Can you please call Jeff and tell him to tell Adam to get on Skype as soon as he can? I don’t care what time it is there.”

  “I will. And it’s the strangest thing, but I had the most vivid dream of you and Audrey last night.”

  I bit back my words about speaking to Audrey. She was already worried enough about me without having to know I took drugs with total strangers in the desert. Instead, I told her and my father I loved them before hanging up. Feeling the world move in slow motion, I ran up the stairs and grabbed my laptop from my bag. With blood pounding in my ears, I nearly tumbled down the stairs as I ran back to the girls trying to get the damn thing connected to the Internet.

  “So Harper, we were thinking about renting bikes today and driving into the desert.” Lana’s topic of conversation abruptly changed when I crashed into my seat. “Oh shit, what happened?”

  “Adam is in the hospital.” My voice was frantic as I relayed to them what my mother had told me.

  Finally connected to the Internet, messages from Jeff flooded in through Skype, email, and Facebook, telling me to contact him as soon as I could. I replied the same to all: Tell Adam to get in touch as soon as he gets home.

  “You guys go ahead,” I finally said, glancing up at them, “I need to wait here until he comes online.”

  After assuring them that I would be fine without them and there was no need for their day to be ruined, they left as I chewed on my lip, staring at my computer waiting for a response. Then I read through Adam’s next frantic stream messages: Can’t we go back to how we used to be? I’m not ready to give up on us. Please come home. I can’t live without you.

  Then a terrible realization hit me: suicidal depression runs in families. If he did it intentionally because of what I did, I’d never be able to forgive myself.