"And yet it was astonishing to me to come upon it one day, a working hotel in a busy street ... The hotel had lived in my imagination rather than memory like something from earliest childhood ... Like dreams rather than memories, and yet suited to the occasion, for me: for on that day space and time had become one. Both space and time separated me from my past at the end of that day."
-V.S. Naipaul
The Enigma of Arrival

Tuesday
This must be another test, testing my will and strength. I have tried to be strong for much too long, but I do it alone, and in my solitude my strength can only go so far. I was proud of many things in life, including my strength, but I also carry a deep sense of regret.

I regret that day I ran from Chester. When I try to pin a date on that day I feel like it must have been over 60 years ago, before I entered Samuelson Junior High School. There was that creek by my house, remember? It wound its way by the Dietz's house, the Bancrofs, and scattered further for unknown miles and miles. The homes stood high on opposing cliffs, their roofs toying with the blue sky. When I waded through that creek, skipping from stony patch to stony patch, I felt as if the creek was cowering from the homes around it. It was as if the creek had something to be ashamed of.

Chester sat on an offshoot of clay and rock. He was picking at berries in his hand and was flicking them into the creek. I remember his torso looking crooked, like the bend of his back had switched places with the gut in his stomach. His clothes were faded and torn, but patched numerous times. His face was a spattering of color, reds, yellows, and deep blue shadows, but Chester's face also displayed aged lines that gave him an authority that betrayed the color. In all his appearance was not unlike a clown but more like a taunting mentor.

I remember freezing when I saw him; again. He couldn't have been any closer than a dozen yards, but he seemed infinitely closer. I stood there, trying to be strong. It was then that Chester let out an exaggerated grin. Sharp, chiseled teeth protruded out at endless angels. His gums and teeth stained red from where he had seemingly cut himself with those perpendicular stairways of teeth. His back, still bent forwards, snapped up to attention, sounding the cracking of bone that would guarantee paralyzation in anyone else.

I reacted. I don't know why but I reached into the water for a stone and threw it at him, hard. I remember seeing it ricochet off his shoulder, and I remember his body slapping back against the creek bed wall. I remember turning to run. Not worrying to step on the sure footing of the dry rock, I slid over the grimy moldy sections, falling once and cutting my knee deeply. But I got up and kept running. It was in that dash that I remember the feeling of weight passing through me. Weight not alluding to a vision or a specter, but rather a shivering feeling of weight beyond my understanding. It was not painful. It felt very much like watching a snake attack its prey, something so smooth and orchestrated that it eludes our understanding.

I turned around to look and see where it had come from, but there was nothing but running water and an empty creek. I looked down further, to where Chester was sitting and saw nothing. Had I been running so long that he had moved? No, the water was deep in the opposite direction and the cliffs high; his body was too twisted for that. I could still see his ledge and the berries around it. My legs took over at that point and kept me moving. Kept me running until I was out of that creek, through the neighborhood, and grabbing for my front door.

That day I lost all my strength. Later in life, it probably motivated me to regain that strength, but at what cost? With regret as my only motivator? Regret leading to bitterness at my own fallibility? Tomorrow I must consider the alternatives.