Waiting for Autumn

by Scott Blum

Robert continued and seemed to address my concerns: “Not everyone has to be an activist to make a difference. Just doing what we did tonight can make a huge impact by our becoming part of the cycle of nature and reclaiming what has been ignored. Nature is a living, breathing thing, which is no different from you or me. When we feel loved, we have more energy to heal ourselves when sick. And when we’re feeling ignored or unloved, we find it harder to recover from whatever ails us. By celebrating nature’s cycles, we show it our love and it can begin to heal itself. It’s not the only thing that needs to be done, but it’s something we can all do as part of our everyday lives. And with the power of billions of souls on this planet, a massive healing can be done in a relatively short time.”

  I wasn’t convinced that we could solve all the world’s problems by simply celebrating nature’s cycles. But I could definitely feel the energy of the moon inside me and thought that if it made me feel that good, I could probably make another living thing feel good if I tried. I filed that under “It couldn’t hurt” and vowed to spend a couple minutes every day sending the planet good wishes.

  By then we had found our way down the hill and were approaching the town center.

  “See you later,” Robert said once we reached the bottom of the hill.

  “When?” I asked, and instantly felt selfconscious about appearing needy.

  “When the moment is right. We now have a connection that doesn’t need to rely on archaic measurements of time. When the universe wants us to meet, then we’ll meet.”

  Robert waved goodbye and headed out of town while I walked in the opposite direction toward my apartment. My thoughts were swimming with everything that had happened that day, and I was completely exhausted when I finally arrived at my front door. After climbing into bed and letting myself sink into the silence around me, I was able to feel the moon energy even more so than I had outside. It was still bubbling in the pit of my stomach, and with a smile on my lips, I quickly drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I woke up throughout the night and wasn’t able to sleep well because of my recurring nightmare. Several years prior, I had been engaged to a girl named Cheryl, and we were to marry in the spring. We’d originally met in high school but didn’t begin dating until we left and found ourselves living in the nearby town of Yreka. After rediscovering each other, we had an instant connection, and I always felt lucky to have found true love at such an early age.

  Cheryl was short with curly black hair, and had a knack for the culinary arts and making me laugh. After graduating from high school, she immediately found a job as a sous-chef in a popular restaurant that was favored by the tourists in a nearby town. She became quite successful in a short amount of time and began moonlighting at night to get her own catering business off the ground. On occasion I helped her with the bookkeeping and serving clients during events, and it was our dream to eventually work together full-time once the business could support us.

  One of the most prestigious catering jobs we landed was a lawyers’ convention at a mountain retreat. It was easily the biggest event we had ever catered, and it was going to give us enough money so that Cheryl could quit her day job and work on the catering business full-time. When the event was less than a week away, I began to get a really bad feeling about it and tried desperately to get her to cancel. Doing so wasn’t practical, as the food had already been ordered, and Cheryl was worried that our reputation would be ruined because the lawyers were so connected. The feeling was so strong that I couldn’t let it rest, and eventually stopped helping her prepare. We fought about it night and day, and by the time the event came around, we weren’t talking to each other and I refused to go.

  On the way back from the event around 3 a.m., Cheryl was driving through the mountains and a drunk driver swerved into her lane and hit her head-on. She was killed instantly.

  Unfortunately, that’s not the dream. That part is real.

  In the dream, Cheryl pulls herself from the wreckage, her face marred with scratches and her arms covered in blood. Her outstretched hands are cupped in an offering while she slowly walks toward me. She tries to give me something, but I won’t allow myself to look at it because whatever she’s carrying absolutely terrifies me. There are other people in the dream watching and waiting for my reaction, including my mother, who’s holding a baby; a policeman; and a girl from high school who had also been killed in a car accident. As soon as Cheryl gets close enough to touch, I turn from her and run away. That’s when I wake up, my heart pounding and the sheets drenched in cold sweat.

  I had dreamt the same exact dream nearly every night since she died. Evidently I was going to be haunted for the rest of my life, which served me right for not going with her that fatal night. I was positive that I could have done something to help her avoid the drunk driver if I hadn’t been so headstrong and had agreed to go. Perhaps she was distracted with the radio and I could have watched the road, or maybe I would have swerved differently if I had been driving . . .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My new apartment was definitely at the upper end of my budget, and as the days progressed, I began to get nervous about money. I still hadn’t discovered all the potential employers in Ashland, but it looked like the big options were the Shakespeare theater, the university, or restaurants and shops that offered service-type jobs. I didn’t have any qualifications to work at a university or a theater, so I systematically went through the phone book and called all the shops and restaurants. I knew that I wouldn’t make the same money I had in L.A., but I decided that it was better to adjust my lifestyle so I could live in a town I actually liked. However, nearly all the conversations went the same way:

  “Hello, I’m looking for work. May I drop off my résumé?”

  “Sorry, we’re completely staffed at the moment, but you can check back after summer.”

  An exceptionally gregarious woman who worked at the Native American shop explained further, putting my insecurities to rest: “All the college students fill in during the summer, which is perfect for the tourist season. But once school starts in the fall, we’ll be looking for help from people who don’t need a flexible schedule.”

  I had saved enough money to keep me going through the next season, so I decided to look upon this as an opportunity to enjoy the summer without responsibilities and resume my job search in the fall. It would give me enough time to really explore what Ashland was all about and get to know myself again. I’d always spent most of my time working and hadn’t taken a summer off since high school. And although I was still nervous about money, I was secretly excited about what I would discover without the responsibility of a job.

  I began getting strong feelings to meet up with Robert again, and I remembered what he’d said about knowing when the time was right. I wasn’t sure where to find him, but it seemed reasonable to return to the place where we’d originally met. As I approached the Co-op, I barely recognized him, since he was wearing a brightly colored poncholike shirt and loose-fitting cream-colored pants. I was relieved to discover that he had more than one change of clothes, although the South American hippie garb was a bit off-putting. As I got closer, I could see that he was talking to a young dreadlocked mother wearing a tie-dyed skirt who was pushing an infant in a spoke-wheeled stroller that read: “Powered by Bio-Diesel.”

  “I offer my humble gratitude to you for sharing your unique light with the world. You are truly blessed,” she said in a high-pitched, airy voice as she dropped a dollar onto the blanket Puppy Don was lying on. She waved goodbye and wheeled her child down the concrete ramp and along the opposite sidewalk from where I was approaching.

  “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” I commented after the hippie chick left.

  “It’s been a good day,” Robert said as he gathered the handful of crumpled bills and coins that surrounded the sleeping puppy. “Too bad the wind picked up earlier,” he chuckled. “I lost nearly half of the loot.”

  “Why do you just leave it
lying around? Shouldn’t you put it in a safer place?” For being so smart in some ways, he seemed remarkably dim in others.

  “It’s not for me to decide who needs the money,” he said, his tone becoming quite serious. “It’s only my job to collect it. The wind will spend it on those who need it most. And besides, I’m always left with as much as I need. It’s best to only eat when hungry.”

  As I let his curious words sink in, I reflected on the cardboard sign leaning against the tree that had previously kept Robert upright:

  Remember the womb.

  I wondered how I’d known I was hungry when I was in the womb. I was always careful about what I ate, but it had been a constant struggle as long as I could remember. And ever since I had moved to image-conscious Los Angeles, I’d weighed myself nearly every day to make sure the calories weren’t going to the wrong place. But in the womb I’d presumably had as much as I could eat twenty-four hours a day for nine months, and weighing in at six pounds one ounce at birth, I didn’t seem to have any problems with overeating back then.

  “Come with me,” said Robert as he put Puppy Don in a front-loading baby carrier before starting to walk up 1st Street. The sun retreated behind the clouds that had been gathering all morning, and the temperature instantly dropped a few degrees, which was a welcome change from the heat wave that had been lingering since I arrived. This time I was prepared for hiking—I brought my own bottle of water, wore my hiking shoes with extra-thick socks, and tied a long-sleeved flannel overshirt around my waist in case we were going to be out after dark.

  Puppy Don woke up briefly as Robert slid him into the canvas sling, and he eyed me through half-awake slits. But after a few steps, he quickly returned to his puppy slumber.

  “Today is a very special day for you,” Robert said after we were a few blocks from the Co-op. “We’re going to find something of yours that has been lost.”

  “Something of mine that has been lost? What have I lost?”

  “You have lost a piece of your soul. And a very large one at that.”

  “I lost my soul? When did I lose it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing it was many seasons ago.”

  We walked on the sidewalk next to a cemetery for a few blocks and turned left onto the street that led to the freeway. The charm of downtown Ashland dissipated quickly as we approached the outskirts, and by the time we neared the freeway, it was all but gone. It would have looked like any other suburban American crossroads if it wasn’t for the surrounding forest and mountains.

  “How can you tell that I lost a piece of my soul?”

  “Because it has a big black hole in it. That’s the first thing I noticed at the Co-op when you rejected my gift.”

  “I was hoping you didn’t recognize that that was me,” I said sheepishly while once again trying to figure out exactly what gift he had offered.

  “How could I not recognize you? You’re walking around with a large hole in your soul. Anyone can see it if they just look.”

  That made me feel instantly self-conscious. I’d always taken the time to make sure my clothes were clean, wrinkle free, and all matching; and then I found out I had a big black hole in my soul that anyone could see.

  “Don’t worry about it—most people don’t look.” Robert always seemed to know what I was thinking. “They’re so busy worrying about the physical that they seldom pay attention to the spiritual. Lucky for you, too, because your spiritual side is quite a mess.”

  I wasn’t sure if that made me feel any better. “So you really think we can find my missing soul today?”

  “I don’t know if we’ll find all of it today, but I do know we’ll get started. I have a hunch you already know where to look for the first piece.”

  That got me thinking: Where would I have lost it? How is it possible to lose a soul in the first place? When we crossed the freeway, I began to imagine that I could feel the edges of my soul. As I traced them, I noticed an area that didn’t feel as alive as the rest. It felt remarkably like a callous—healed over and devoid of any feeling. Was I a freak? Simply clumsy? Or forgetful? How many people were walking around leaving pieces of their souls around? And what happened to them when they were lost? Did souls go bad? I had a million questions but wasn’t sure how to pose them.

  “What part of my soul is missing?” I finally asked.

  “I’m not sure, but we’ll find out soon.”

  We turned onto Dead Indian Memorial Road, which struck me as an ominous name for a lonely road on the outskirts of town. As I looked around, I noticed that the landscape was colored in markedly different hues than those of the town center. The hills above Ashland were painted with the vibrant colors of leaves and flowers, while the valley below was carpeted with low-growing pale yellow grasses. Even the dirt seemed drier, and with every step, my mouth lost its moisture and my lips began to crack. I was thankful that I had brought my own bottle of water, and I kept the cap unscrewed so I could continue to sip as we walked even deeper into the country.

  Eventually we came to a painted metal gate chained to a thick cedar post, which Robert opened just wide enough for me to squeeze through. The dirt road was no longer maintained, and we made our way through the tall, deadened grasses, where dozens of grasshoppers bounced arclike to avoid our every step. Over the third hill we came to a pointed white tipi sunk into the middle of the golden field. I had never seen a tipi up close before, and the conical structure—made from ripped white canvas and weathered wooden poles sticking out the top—was much larger than I would have imagined.

  “Here we are,” Robert said proudly as he gestured to the tipi.

  “Is that yours?”

  “Yes,” he replied as he unhitched Puppy Don from his chest and placed him on the ground. “Come on in.” Robert untied the entry flaps under six horizontal wooden sutures sewn into the fabric, and I followed both of them through the womblike opening. Once inside, the puppy stretched briefly, sauntered over to a folded pad of fur-covered blankets, and immediately curled up and returned to the business of napping.

  “He sure sleeps a lot,” I noticed.

  “You would, too, if you just returned from the dead. It takes a lot out of you.”

  “Oh.”

  The inside of the tipi reeked of smoke, and the hazy darkness was cut by a single shaft of light that fell immediately to the right of Puppy Don. There were stacks of clothes, bulging paper bags, and several Native American wool blankets around the perimeter of the dirt-floored circular room. In the center was a sunken fire pit within an intricately arranged circle of large stones, and a blackened iron teapot was suspended by a trio of branches tied together with baling wire. Robert unfolded one of the handmade blankets in the center of the spotlight and gestured for me to sit down. As I made myself comfortable, he lit a small fire in the center pit and unwrapped four leather pouches filled with freshly cut herbs.

  “This morning I gathered medicine from the surrounding fields that should help you.”

  “Medicine? What kind of medicine?”

  “Plant medicine. It will calm you down so you can travel with me to the past and retrieve your soul.”

  The teapot began to steam, and a few minutes later, whistled to indicate that it was ready. Robert grabbed an irregularly shaped turquoise ceramic cup from one of the paper sacks, and inside he dropped two pinches of each of the herbs he had prepared. As he poured in the steaming liquid, the tipi filled with a powerful scent that was as unusual as it was familiar.

  “Here, drink this,” he said as he handed me the cup of herbal medicine.

  I cupped the glazed ceramic vessel with both hands and brought it to my nose and inhaled. The grassy fragrance was sweet and dusty, not unlike the warm summer day outside, and it had a musty hint of what could most easily be described as dirt. I cautiously sipped the warm brew, and although it was unlike any tea I’d had before, it was surprisingly tasty.

  “I’m not going to start hallucinating, am I?”
r />   “Not from the tea,” Robert laughed.

  The liquid began to calm my nerves, and I tried to let myself relax and enjoy the experience I was having. I was both excited and nervous about what would happen next, but I trusted Robert and believed that he had my best interest at heart.

  After making sure I was comfortable and giving me a second blanket in case I needed it, he lit dried herbs in four ceramic dishes and let the smoldering leaves fill the tipi with smoke. I recognized the aroma of sage and cedar, but I hadn’t smelled the other herbs before.

  Robert then picked up a shallow handmade drum and began beating it slowly and deliberately. The large instrument was made from two white leather skins stretched across a hollowed wooden stump and fastened together with yellowed leather strips in a crisscrossed pattern. There was also a single gray speckled feather tied to the drum that danced with every strike of his hand-carved wooden mallet.

  “Okay, now we’re ready. Finish the medicine and lie down on your back.”

  I drank the tea, handed him the empty container, and stretched out fully on the wool blanket after propping the back of my head up with the second blanket.

  “Close your eyes and let the sunbeam warm your face.”

  I closed my eyes and smiled as the warm sunlight caressed my cheeks. My head pulsed in time with the drum as Robert began to strike it at faster intervals.

  “I have surrounded this tipi with white light, and today we call on the elders to help find and retrieve the missing pieces of Scott’s soul so he can be whole again. Please help us journey through the past, the future, and all the places that Scott has been or will ever be in this lifetime. And help us find the pieces of his lost soul that are ready to rejoin Scott’s present path.”

  Robert’s breathing quickened and filled the spaces between the drumbeats with the sound of wind.