Powdered Bone

Before I even opened my eyes, I felt the sun on my face, well, part of it anyway.

It was the darnedest thing, one side of my face was cold and the other wasn't. In fact, I was sweating.

I didn't want to get up.

I was awake, but I had another one of my headaches and I just wanted to stay in my private cocoon and wait for it to go away.

I knew it was going to be a cold morning because of the dull pain in my right hip; a souvenir from a short-hop job. Like so many of the others, that one was supposed to be quick, stealthy and calculated to bring about the change that somebody somewhere wanted.

The job was quick, but the souvenir I picked up while we were there has never left me.

Like my dog, who comes over and puts his clammy muzzle on my lap, my souvenir frequently disrupted whatever I was doing to I never forgot it was there.

Right now, something was pressing on it.

It didn't really hurt that much, but it was annoying; like when you touch your bare ankles together and just hold them together. Sooner or later, all you can think about is bone touching bone and the thin layers of skin that are keeping them apart. And then, you think about what would happen if that skin wasn't there: the bones would grind on one another like peppercorns in a grinder. And then you think that's crazy; that would never happen, but its still all you can think about. Bones grinding on bone and never being able to walk right again. Still, you tell yourself, as calmly as possible, how ridiculous that is and how it could never happen. So, just to prove it to yourself, you are going to keep your ankles together, keep the contact and overcome your fear. Peppercorns; grinders, shredding, powdered bone falling away. But if you pull your feet apart then you're no longer in control: your weak. So you keep on holding on and listening to the echo of thought follow thought fall away like powder.

And then it's over.

Your feet are no longer together and you breathe a big sigh of relief.

Actually it's more like a gasp because, without knowing it, you had been holding your breath so your mouth explodes open to catch as much air as possible.

Struggling to get your pulse down, you try controlling your breathing, but that only makes you more anxious, like when your on a diet and every bite of food reminds you of the food you aren't getting. Somebody's keeping your food from you.

And what if they're eating it?

How will you ever get back what's yours?

Your breathing starts accelerating. You can feel the pulse in your neck. You can feel your ankles touching even though you know they are as far apart as you can hold them.

It was like that all the time.

I tried turning on to my good hip, but that didn't work, now something was sticking into my cheek.

I still didn't want to open my eyes, but I didn't want this whatever it was sticking in my cheek.

I started moving every face muscle I could, trying to get this thing to move. I moved my jaw back and forth, my eyebrows up and down. I winked first with one eye and then the other. But still the poker kept poking me.

Snaking one hand up from under the warm blanket, I reached for the foreign probe.

Straw...? It sure felt like....

I opened my eyes.

That's when I saw it.

High over my head was the underside of a vast wooden roof and just beyond that was outside.

I wasn't guessing.

I could see through to the other side of that roof because there were wide gaps between the boards and the sun was shining through all of the dust and godknowswhat that hung in the air.

A barn?

What was I...?

Where was I?

I scanned as much of the area as I could see without moving my head. If anyone was watching, I didn't want them to know I was awake.

At least not yet.

I remember a time we were on a job in eastern Europe and I was watching a mark who was doing business in an old Byzantine cathedral.

The outside of this one place, I remember was pockmarked with signs of the revolution, and all but drowned out by the urban sprawl that had grown up all around it like mold on cheap siding, but on the inside.... On the inside was this immense dimly lit space full of candles and splashes of color. Beautifully carved statues of the saints filled the niches and topped the railings that ran around the upper stories. Murals, framed in gold leaf covered every archway and beyond, toward the center of the hall was a single shaft of sunlight streaking through an opening and falling, as if by design on the altar.

You could feel the centuries of the building's history as you made your way along the stone floors worn uneven by shuffling feet. It was impossible to ignore the passion of the generations of craftsmen who had worked on this building as a tribute to their community and their faith.

Impossible unless you were the guy I was tasked to follow....

Anyway, this place reminded me of that place then.

It spoke to a time of prosperity when the size of man's barn was the size of his crop.

As far as I could make out, this barn had, at one time, housed cattle and horses and all the feed needed to keep them going through the winter.

I found myself caught up in the careful post and beam construction that held this cathedral together and losing track of my situation.

My brain still hurt, my bad hip was screaming at me.

Time to get this party, whatever it was, started.

So I sat up.

And that's when I saw them.