How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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On the way back to our room, Crow talked more and more about living on top of the sand dunes. He said we could have a picnic on the very top every day and we could sleep up there every night. In between, he said, we could watch the sand blow off the ridge. He made crackling sounds like he was imitating millions of grains of sand bouncing off each other.
As he spoke, I took in a deep March breath. The softness of the air as it went inside my lungs was the true essence of spring. It was a little warm and a little wet. And I imagined all those windy, spring days throughout all of history and was certain that they must have felt exactly the same as this one.
When we turned the corner to go into the motel parking lot, a gust of wind hit me from behind. I staggered forward for a second and then caught my balance.
Ril, you know if the wind blows all the time, you begin to forget about it. And it takes an especially strong gust to remind you that it's there. Over time, you might even find yourself leaning a little just to keep your balance but that movement is unconscious. You do it without thinking. But you can't hold off the wind forever. Eventually, a strong gust comes along and the wind just knocks you down. Then it rolls over you like you never mattered in the first place.
After regaining my balance, I looked up and saw the manager of the motel. Her hair was flat from sleep and her face was worn. She looked older than she probably was, but that's a beach thing, you know. The constant battering of sun and wind had left blotches on her skin and wrinkles around her eyes and ears. But despite the color and the lines, there was also a puffiness that looked oddly young. Or maybe it wasn't the puffiness. Maybe it was something in her eyes that looked childlike and full of happiness.
"Mr. Prindle, you've got a package. I put it in your room for you."
As she turned away, I could see the start of a smile on her face and it made me uncomfortable because I didn't know what it meant. I was hiding out in North Carolina and never thought anyone could find me or that anyone would even bother to look.
Before I stepped in the room, I convinced myself that it had to be something simple. Something minor. I thought the woman might have meant that the "package" was fresh towels or clean sheets, but that didn't make much sense except that it could have been the way people talk in North Carolina. You know, different words having different meanings depending on where you live. It seemed as good an explanation as any, and I held onto it for as long as I could.
But maybe I was more worried that I realized, because I told Crow to wait in the car. I didn't want him to come into the room with me.
As I nervously fiddled with the door lock, the wind rattled the sleeves of my coat. The gusts were much stronger than they had been in the morning and stronger still than the wind from the day before. Threads of sand crawled under my shoes like trails of ants picking apart a fallen crumb. I brushed the sand away and stood up straight. When I did, the wind caught hold of the pockets and kind of lifted me off the ground.
