The Idea of Hajile

Ava Hampton

I 

She was in her bed when she thought of him again. The same ideations came to her, just as safe and sweet as before. Comforting feelings poured over her. The warm honey blanket of her imagination began to soothe the other reality. 

As she picked her wounds, she thought about him touching her, smiling at her, speaking softly to her. Gently. He was a gentleman, a gentle man – such a rare commodity. One she hadn’t known very much at all. She thought about the abrasiveness that male hands possess, the vitriolic forms that those hands take shape as. How hard these shapes can claw at someone… She picked harder. The warm honey came to a boil inside of her.  

His face appeared again. His smile beamed and the light reflected onto her closed eyes. The hum of his voice vibrated in her mind and throughout her body, and again she was cool stone. Or at least she pretended – for the moment – that she was.  

She couldn’t wait to see him. She could not wait to see him. There must be something she could do to accelerate the process, couldn’t there? She grew more desperate as each thought progressed. 

She knew where he lived. She knew where he went to school, of course. Could there be a moment in her day when she could swing by? Maybe some god would allow them to bump into each other. Maybe there would be — following the confusion of the crash — a remembrance between them. What would she say to him once she saw him? A list of responses floated to her: 

“Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in forever, how have you been? You look so good; you’ve been taking care of yourself I see.” 

“Oh my gosh, forgive me! I’m so clumsy. Oh my god… Is that you, Hajile?” 

Hajile.  

His name rolled off her tongue and she bit her bottom lip at its exit. The name felt like a kiss on her mouth, a gasp for air. Indulgent. All encompassing. It left her wanting more, that is, if this feeling could be qualified as mere desire. 

Something must be done to remedy this. Maybe she could take matters into her own hands. 

II 

The bench where she sat was cold on her ass. She willed her body to quickly warm the spot as her hands and legs shook; the cold wasn’t entirely to blame for that. 

She had been waiting 17 minutes thus far. She thought she got the time right, but she double-checked (or quadruple-checked, at this point) in her head, just in case. 

If Hajile had class at 1:30, and it ended at 3, then by 3:05 he should’ve been out of the building and on his way home. It’s 3:20, and she hasn’t seen any sign of him yet. The newspaper she’d been peering up from listed the political happenings of the week in bold, black, belligerent letters: homicide there, robbery there, genocide here, there, and there… She really couldn’t give a shit. Where was he? Did she miss him? How? She’d been watching like a hawk at everyone that crossed her path so far. Did he not go to school today? She stared at the letters on the paper in spite, cursing them for taking her attention away from him. Her heart faltered a little bit. Her scars itched.  

She heard his footsteps before she saw him. Before she could think why, her head snapped up at the sound and her eyes – and heart – followed. They both beamed at the sight. 

She quickly got up and put herself directly in his path. Clumsily – not with too much effort, either – she collided into him. Both of their arms reached out to brace each other, and when Hajile’s square hand held the small of her back, her blood rushed to all parts of her. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Hajile spat out automatically, red from embarrassment. He had already spewed the words before he could look up and see who it was he crashed into. When his eyes met hers, he paused for a bit. 

She looked at him with such hope, such fierce emotion, it confused him. She took his look of confusion as secret confirmation that he recognized her. He remembered her. He knew her. He might feel the same way, too.  

“Hi,” she said, a gleaming smile on her face. “How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m good, thank you. Are you okay?” 

Her heart fluttered. So caring! So soft and tender. She wanted to be engulfed in his tenderness. She wanted him to hold her in his soft, strong, safe chest. She wanted to touch his shoulders, his arms. She wanted to hold his hands. She wanted to interlace their fingers. She wanted them inside of her. 

She paused for a bit, lost in her thoughts. She came to when the silence became deafening, the awkwardness shaking her from her daydream. 

“What?” she said, still in a bit of a haze. 

“Are you okay?” he laughed. His smile sent shock waves throughout her. How could anyone concentrate on anything at the sight of something so beautiful? She averted her gaze to the ground and concentrated on what she’d say next. 

“Where are you off to?” She was looking at his shoulders now. 

“Oh, um, I just got off class. I actually have to go to my next class now. Have a good one!” 

Her heart sank. That was a lie. 

He didn’t have another class after this, unless she miscalculated. What did she miss? How could she have made such an error? This time was supposed to be for the two of them. Why was he lying? How could he lie like that to her? 

What was the truth? How did he feel? She looked to his face for a hint of an answer, but by the time her eyes caught his, Hajile was off. The lingering wind of his departure went right through her. 

Her wounds reopened and hot honey poured from them. The temperature of the honey should’ve cauterized the lesions at this point, but it didn’t; she felt every bit of its boiling embrace and the pain every previous wound had possessed. Those maliced hands were on her again, clawing away at her skin, her core. They laughed as they did so, and the echoes vibrated in her joints. Now they hurt too. 

She collapsed, the pain overbearing. The echoes and her own muted voice bounced erratically off the walls inside her.,  

‘How? Why? Again?’ 

‘Please, no, don’t…’ 

‘How many times?’ 

How many times had she been here before? From how many wounds does the honey pour? How many more scars must be torn into her skin before the tissue ceases to function? 

She sobbed; her gasps for air had mentions of Hajile, but not in the same as before – these gasps were ballads of a love lost, of a heart broken, and in tune with the percussions of her slaps to the thigh, hiccups, and sniffles, she became a melody of sorrow once again. 

Her salty tears didn’t sting her wounds, and as she watched them drop on her skin, she thought of water; she’d always liked bodies of water, even as a child – she remembered floating in a lake some years ago, the water rippling around her, and she felt as if she was laying in the palm of the hand of God. She remembered the squirrels as they leaped up and over and through the trees surrounding her, she remembered the little chirps the birds made as they flew above her, the water was so cool, the air a perfect temperature, and there was hardly any harsh wind, either. The water lapped through her fingers ever so softly, and it wasn’t until her fingertips lightly brushed the prickly skin of one other when she quickly withdrew her hand – 

She opened her eyes and stared at the dark concrete underneath her. She wanted to go to the lake – into the palm of God. 

III

A concept, easily acknowledged, but not very easily understood: the idea that one’s thoughts may not completely reflect the situation they’re in. 

It’s not a very concrete, tangible thing to grasp. The average person cannot take hold of the possibility and apply it to every aspect of their life indisputably; they cannot do so because then every action comes into question, and those questions usually include: 

‘Which parts of my memories are fake?’ 

followed by, 

‘What is real?’ 

The topic of reality – discussed by many – has never not been argued and thus has never truly been identified. We, as humans, are always discussing the possibilities of what is real and true, within our own bodies as well as beyond the little rock we inhabit. We try to explain the unexplainable with language we haven’t fully developed, and we make up for the gaps in information with stories to regulate our fear. 

But what happens when the impossible occurs? What happens when the foundations of our world – as we’ve understood them to be, what we’ve implemented into our lives as concrete – disintegrate beneath our feet? What do we tell ourselves as we fall through the earth? When our only destination is that of searing end? 

So, at the lake again, when her memory caught up to her after years of subconscious fleeing, and the presumed cracks in her foundation were now identified as sink holes, she did the only thing any sane person would do in the same situation: she escaped. 

IV 

She did not know where she was. There was no memory or emotion or memory of emotion tied into the land where she lay. There were no synchronicities in the sounds of the birds or in the lapping of the waves at her feet, no familiarity of the wind that danced through her hair or of the grass that whispered to her skin; their language she did not understand. 

The air smelled like wet earth carried on a light breeze. There were a few meters or so of smooth and jagged, wet rock that barriered the land and the water. The sun was directly above her, bouncing off the surface of the water and right back onto her eyes.  This would’ve been a magnificent area to sightsee – the view of the nearby lake wasn’t obstructed by the countless number of trees present. In fact, the surrounding trees and neighboring peaks of land framed the lake in marvelous animation; the trees swayed with vitality from the wind in their leaves and branches and hummed.  

Regardless of context, the position where she laid was uncomfortable. She and her clothes were soaked, on the uneven surface of various sized rock, and her feet were continually submerged in the cold water from the waves of the lake. The water must’ve come in more during the last of the morning —or evening? What time was it? Where was she? How did she know that the volume of waves from the lake differ at different times? 

She collected herself and began to formulate her next steps: first things first, she must get up. She placed her hands on the rocks and miscellaneous items left behind by past wanderers and propped herself up. She didn’t feel well, her head was pounding and there was a weird feeling in her chest and nose, like she might’ve swallowed or breathed in some water. But when? She had no recollection of how she got here or where she was. She looked around and found no sign of anyone there with her. No one to ask where she was or how to get home. 

Home. Oh shit, she didn’t remember home. 

Her stomach dropped as she began to understand the gravity of the situation: she did not know where she was or how she got there, she did not know where home was or how to get there, or if she even had a home. Did she have a job? How long was she at the lake? What day was it? What month, year? Who was she? 

She got up slowly. Her legs were asleep, and she strained to keep herself steady as her extremities regained blood flow. She wiggled her toes and rolled her ankles as she prepared herself to walk. She looked around to decide where she would go, finding a small sign to the far right of her. She walked towards it. 

V 

A sign that read “Lake Reversio” came into focus. A strange feeling overcame her as she repeated the name in her head. There was some familiarity with the name – a sense of knowing – but there was something else there, lying at the base of her belly. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but it didn’t feel good. She ignored it and continued walking. 

In retrospect, she should’ve been marking where she was going. She should’ve counted the amount of time that passed while she was walking, or at least marked a tree or two, just to make sure she wouldn’t get lost – no matter how improbable the occurrence could be. But it wasn’t until she’d been walking in the same direction for however long that the wooded area began to look wildly unfamiliar. She turned around, trying to see if there were any landmarks nearby she could position herself at. In her haste to find refuge, however, spinning around caused her to lose the direction she came from. 

Her blood was up now. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she became aware of just how scared she was. The blanket of comfort she carried with her was now gone, and her fear felt like a magnet to all those attracted to helpless prey. 

She looked down at her shoes; sneakers that were 80% dry, dirty, tattered and torn – most likely from her missing time at the lake. To the left of her, a meter or so, she saw a ring of white mushrooms; they looked almost out of place with how bright they were. She shifted her gaze up from the mushrooms and noticed a small, insignificant clearing. As she contemplated going towards it, she heard a voice in her head, saying, 

“Left is right.” 

She looked around and was met by countless copies of trees and miscellaneous plants. Her way out of this labyrinth would not be logic or reasoning, today.  

And so, without much thinking, she went in the direction of the white mushrooms and beyond. 

~ 

It must’ve been an hour or so when she heard noise. It sounded like bustling, some type of vibration. She followed the sound,the buzzing getting louder as she closed onto an empty plot of land where cars were dashing from one point to another. Cars.  

People! 

Before she knew it, her feet took off and she ran towards the highway. When she came to the edge of the lanes, she paused; what now? She’s found refuge, but will anyone help her? She was so focused on getting out of the woods she didn’t think of convincing others to offer aid. 

She put her thumb out- stereotypical, of course – but what else is there to do? After a few cars passed, she caught sight of a big, 12-wheeled, black and red truck slowing before her.  

She was immediately wary. She didn’t know who she was or where she lived, but she knew to beware of strangers who drove big ass trucks. It wasn’t until  she saw a gummy smile on a wrinkled face of the man who drove the truck when she considered getting in. 

“Are you alright miss? You need some help?” The man said. He was an old black man – probably in his 60s or 70s – with a curly grey afro and a cream collared shirt. Something about the look in his eyes drew her to him – genuine concern. She detected no irregularities in his voice, and no sign of malice came to her mind, so cautiously, she responded. 

“I don’t know where I am,” is all she could muster. Her voice was strained – has she not used it in some time? It was difficult to speak. 

“You’re at Reversio Overpass, honey. Do you know where you’re going?” 

She gave him a look of confusion as it occurred to her that she had no destination to go after getting out of the woods. The old man saw her troubled countenance and sighed. 

 “Theres a police station some miles up, it’s about 15 minutes from here. Would you like a ride?” 

She contemplated; the police station didn’t sound exactly enticing, but what other choice was there? It would also be the most advantageous place to go, seeing as she had no memory or record of her identity. 

“Okay” she sighed, “Thank you.” 

She went around the front of the truck and hopped in. She discreetly looked around at the worn but neat interior. On the black rearview mirror dangled a green handkerchief, a gold chain with a tiny buddha pendant, and a green pine scented air freshener. On the black dashboard were a few miscellaneous items- a couple small, paperback books that looked well read, a pair of plain silver glasses, and a worn photo of a young man holding a newborn. To the man’s lower right in one of the cupholders was a big, tall canister of black coffee – its’ presence filling the air with a pleasantly warm aroma.  

She leaned back into the black leather seat. She took a deep breath, the first she could remember in a very long time. After a few moments of silence, the old man cleared his throat, about to speak. 

“I know I already asked, but again, all you all right? I won’t pry too hard, but I need to know if you’re in any danger. You’re in my truck right now and your danger could become my danger, you understand?” 

She kept her gaze near his neck, averting her eyes. She nodded. 

“I’m not in danger.” 

“Ok, that’ nice to know.” He sighed as he stroked his short, peppered beard. 

“Are you any danger? Will you hold me at gunpoint and take my truck? You know, she’s a lot more work than she’s worth – you’d be doing me a favor. Ha!”  

To her surprise, she let out a short snort. She quickly fixed her face but not before the man saw and smiled, pleased with himself for breaking the ice. 

“I am Nathaniel, Nathaniel White. Everyone calls me Nate though. What do I call you?” 

She opened her mouth, silently, about to speak. No words came out. She furrowed her brows, cursing herself; stating your name sounded like such a simple thing to do, a natural thing. Her naturalness has now escaped her. 

She looked at him, shaking her head softly. The expression in her eyes told Nate not to press any further. 

“I see. I know that look. I had the same look on my face, yes sir. For many years, I did. You see that picture right there? That’s me and my son, Micheal. We were in this tiny downtown apartment then, me and his mom. I remember holding him in my arms and never feeling so much love like I did then. He was a living, breathing bundle of love. 

“He’s grown up so much. I wasn’t there for most of it though. I was all filled up with something a little bit like love – a bad love. A toxic one… I was an addict. I guess I still am, though nothing like then. I won’t get too deep in it, but I couldn’t recognize myself, no one could. It’s like, everything about me was reduced to want and need and pain. I couldn’t let Micheal see that, so I left. I thought it wouldn’t make a difference. I’ve never been so wrong.” 

Nate took a deep breath and paused, shaking his head. “Nothing can make up for that time, nothing. The damage it did… no one can fix it. I can only try to be the father I should’ve been then, now. It was slow at first, me and him, but we’re better now. And I thank my god for it every day.” 

She was on the brink of tears by the time Nate finished. She didn’t understand why she was so emotional, but she couldn’t ignore the same feeling in her belly as before. Allowing the feeling to exist, she turned to Nate. 

“I’m sorry for all of your pain.” 

Nate turned to her and smiled, wearily. “Thank you darlin’, but it’s not your fault – it was mine, and I’m learning to live with it. To love with it.” 

Forests of big, beautiful evergreens came and went in and out of view. What seemed like endless hills and valleys of trees unveiled themselves as the truck made its way down the marbled road. 

“It’s so beautiful out here.” she said in a quiet voice. 

“Yes. Some of the most beautiful in the country, I’d reckon probably the world. Nothing short of magnificent. And this is only some of the forests – few miles from here and there’s a beautiful waterfall near the top of a mountain, I forgot which one. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

“Does it connect to the lake? The one with the rivers nearby lake Reversio?” 

“Near the overpass? No, not that one. The one I’m talking about connects to a bigger lake on the other side of the waterfall mountain.” 

“Oh.”  

“It’s a good thing it isn’t. That lake is big trouble. Sometimes some kids go there to hang out and be stupid – lighting things on fire, loud partying, leaving all kinds of things left behind, you know. There’s been a few accidents and deaths there too.”  

Crack. 

She was suddenly on edge. She looked down at her worn sneakers as she felt the same eerie feeling in her stomach.  

“Really?” she said as she pushed through a tightening in her chest. 

“Oh yeah. Many people have drowned. Some drunk kids probably wandering off, others killing themselves, poor things.” 

Snap.  

Patter, patter. 

 “Before the highway roads were finished being built, some years ago, there was an unfinished road that went right down the hill and into the lake. Someone crashed right into that lake, sure did. I remember reading it in the newspaper. Two people – a man and woman. Death and critical condition, respectively. It was some years ago, though. Maybe she’s doing alright now.” 

And it all came flooding back.