Belize Survivor, part 9

Indian Ron became a great friend to Alexis after that memorable evening. Although she didn't know it at the time, their lives would continue to intertwine for years to come. It was a non-physical love, spiritual in nature, rather than sexual. Alexis lived only a few blocks away and visited him several times a week. Together they made up fanciful tales and spoke of philosophy and poetry.

"Ron?" she asked one day. "I've wanted to ask you something for a long time. Do you ever get scared? Really scared?"

"Yes," Ron replied thoughtfully. "At times, I do. For one thing, I'm not getting any younger. Most of my life is over. I have experienced many things, traveled, raised a family. I worry about my health like anyone my age. I'm not so enlightened as to have no fear of death, but I try not to let it consume me. Why do you ask? Remember, the future is always unknown. It's out there waiting for us, regardless of whether we fear it or not."

"I'm not afraid of that," said Alexis. "To me the future is an exciting prospect. I want to get out there and live it. But sometimes this horrible fear comes over me out of nowhere, a fear with no name."

"Come here, Alexis," said Ron gently. "What has happened? More dreams of tropical green rivers?”

"No. A nightmare."
“Come let me hold you. Tell me about your terrible dream.” He put his arms around her. She leaned her head on is chest.

"I'm walking along a deserted beach," she began. "I'm heading north on an eastern seacoast. A strong breeze is blowing. The sky is ugly and gray and so is the ocean. The seaweed and sand are cold and wet under my bare feet. I feel an aching grief, too heavy to bear. There's a hopeless desperation, one that nothing can resolve. It's as though I've lost something terribly important and I don't know what it is. The wind has an evil sound. It accuses me over and over saying the words `unworthy, unworthy.' I keep walking and walking. It's terrifying. What do you think it means?"

"Sometimes dreams are manifestations of what we want. Other times, they are just the ramblings of the subconscious mind,” Ron said, in a soothing tone. “Some people say dreams are premonitions of things to come."

"This can't be a premonition,” Alexis countered. “I'd have to have done something I'd really regret to feel what I'm experiencing in this dream. It couldn't be that. I decided a long time ago that I'm not going to regret anything I do in my lifetime. I'll make my decisions wisely and I'll live with them."

"Ah, darling, sometimes I forget just how young you really are. You'll not live life without regrets," said Ron. "You will make errors in judgment, just like everyone else. Some mistakes will be unimportant. Others will be serious. You can't expect to hang around this planet and not get some cuts and bruises. We live and we learn; our mistakes teach us to make better choices." He paused. "Would you allow me to write something in your journal?"

That night when she went home, Alexis lit a candle and read the lines he had written:

Because hate is legislated, written into the primer and testament, shot into our blood and brain like a vaccine or vitamin; because our day is of time, of hours, and the clock-hands turn; closes the circle upon us; and black timeless night sucks us in like quicksand, and leaves us totally without a parachute, a key to heaven, or a long last look. Because a slow negative death withers the world and only ‘yes’ can turn the tide, we need love more than ever. We need love more than hope, money, wisdom, or a drink, because love has your face and your body and God has made no other eyes like yours.

As the shadows flickered across the room, she lay down on the bed and added her own words.

A bittersweet day,
A day of sunny mystics and rainy strangers,
Of wispy free spirits, of fear and of laughter.
A day in the curio house, and not so curious,
A day, like any other Key West day.