Musings on Purgatory
Bess braces herself on the coffee table, her back stretched as she pushes through her hands and lets her head hang forward. Her knees are bent, and bound with black rope.
I have seen that place between places. Where thousands of unknown faces shuffle past going to unknown destinations. Where food and drink only come from a machine. You keep walking because there’s somewhere important to be . . . but maybe you went the wrong way.
After using the restroom for the 18th time and washing your hands yet again with band-aid scented soap, the skin on your hands cries out for moisture. Your lips, parched after your third cocktail (or was it the 13th?) can’t even form words anymore. You lick them with a dry, sandpaper tongue. Despite reapplying lip balm every 15 minutes, there is no replacing the moisture that has been sucked from deep within your being. You may never be hydrated again.
Walkers abound. They bump into one another and continue on their mysterious trajectory. While time doesn’t exist here, you’re informed that it’s closing time in the lounge. You’re ejected from some momentary comfort with free drinks and food back into the general population. The sun set hours ago, but your body can’t tell with all the neon lights.
You stumble down a dark corridor lined with camping cots. Some kind soul has placed a Reese’s on your pillow. As you lay down amongst the creaking of the canvas stretched over the cot, you hear coughing in every direction. Every moist, uncovered cough finds its way to you. You imagine a cloud of each airborne disease known to man hovering around your face. You throw a scarf over your eyes and mouth thinking, “I may die here.”
Time passes. Your alarm awakens you, but you’re pretty sure you never slept. Is it time to leave? Just two more hours according to the app. Wait, wasn’t it two more hours when I laid down? You could cry, but there’s no moisture left for tears.
Suddenly, it’s time to board. You amble to your gate, but wait! You must pee one more time. “I’m going to burn these clothes when I get home”, you think as you tuck in your shirt for hopefully the last time. You were boarding group one, but now you’re in line with everyone else. There’s no room for your suitcase. “Yes, I’d love to gate check my bag, thank you”.
You try to relax in your seat, but the muscles of your legs refuse to calm. You debate for entirely too long if lemon ginger tea will counteract the Tums doing their magic in your belly. No other drink will do, so you order it anyway.
You catch a beautiful red, half moon eyeing you from across the sky. Is she the same moon you’ve always looked up to?
You awaken in the most wonderful bed you’ve ever been in. The coziest cocoon. The cutest pit bull in the world gazes lovingly at you, letting you know it’s time to pet her. Was it all a dream? The envelope of cash in your bag tells you it was real. And absolutely worth it.
