When I wake up, they are gone, and so is my watch.
We've probably backtracked god knows how far and in what direction. I wasn't paying attention to the shadows, just following Waldo. I see now, that was a mistake. They were nervous from the start. They probably think I'm gonna turn them in as soon as we hit the pavement, which, maybe I would have. I mean, if they're gonna come into my country uninvited, the least they can do is be useful for a minute before we get them sorted. But, whatever. I don't need them. Nobody needs them, that's why they're out here. I'm not a racist. It doesn't matter to me where these people came from, if they are broke and have nothing going on in their lives at home, what makes them think that they will have anything more useful to do with themselves here in my country? My ancestors brought civilization with them. Yeah, they encountered some resistance, but where would we be if we hadn't? There is just no way that this country was going to remain untouched. If it hadn't been white Europeans it would have been someone else eventually.
I had another dream this afternoon while these illegals were abandoning me. I was arguing with my son. I told him to grow up. He did. Aged right before my eyes into a carbon copy of myself and continued to argue with me. That kid gets under my skin. I love him, but I wish he would actually grow up. Take some responsibility for himself. He doesn't have to be as successful as I am. It's not about that. I've made enough money for multiple lifetimes. He shouldn't even worry, just pick a path and find some peace in it. I don't know what his problem is honestly. I know that me and Darby split up, but that kind of thing happens all the time and people get over it. They move on. I'm just not sure that he ever will. Funny how much he looks like me. I can't get the image from the dream out of my head. It was like looking into a mirror while I aged in time lapse. How many parties, holidays, work days went by last night looking into his eyes while he called me selfish and cold?
I don't normally dream this much. Seems like the air, the exposure, or the overall stress of the situation is getting to me. I'm uncomfortable. I make a fist and let it go. I kick the dirt and scream. I grab one of the branches and twist it as hard as I can, thinking I'll break something and feel better. It resists. I lay on top of it thinking that with all my weight I will snap it off. I scream, fuck! and lemons topple from their perch into the dirt with a thumple thumple. I pick them up one by one and throw them as hard as I can. One explodes five feet in front of my face and the other one I throw so wildly that I skin my knuckles open on another branch. Lemon juice gets into the cuts and I curl up over my hand, a wince, a groan, and a growl.
The lines dug up by the group start spouting water. I plunge my torn knuckles under the stream and rinse the acid out of the wounds. I wish I had some sort of vessel to collect it in, but at the moment resign myself to drinking enough of it to quench my thirst, but not so much that I throw it back up. It is a minor relief, but it also means I won't pass out from dehydration and heat exhaustion quite so quickly. The flow stops. I'm sitting in a puddle looking and feeling like a toddler, or a confused monkey.
I see on the ground one of the men has left a jacket. They must have been in quite a hurry to get rid of me. I'm lucky they didn't slit my throat. That was really careless of me. Giving up my watch may have saved my life. I pick up the jacket. It's several sizes too small and it smells like another man has been wearing it without a shower for a month. I try to wash it in the mud from the exposed irrigation. It comes out looking about like you'd expect. Wringing it out, I sling it over my shoulder to dry. I look for the shadow. Without my watch I can't tell where it is supposed to be, but I know it's near the end of the day again. Another hour or two or walking in a straight line will get me somewhere as well as erase the taste of my failed coup of the group. I notice something else in the dirt. A pendant on a snapped chain. It appears to be gold. There is an icon inside a locket, opposite someone's mother. Aunts don't usually make it into these things. I pick it up and put it in my pocket, a souvenir, meaningless to me other than as a reminder of these other strangers who are out here in this grove wandering lost, now likely desperate to avoid running into me again as they've made it clear how they feel about me.
I walk in the direction I think is West. Vague shadow behind me and to the right. I walk along a row of trees, thirty feet tall and bushy. Branches nearly touching each other near the base, laden with yellow fruit and leathery shiny green leaves of every known and some unknown descriptions of the color. Verdigo, sea-sick, chartrueth, growing pains, life everlasting... The names become a stream of consciousness poem that I stop trying to understand. Envy, right of way, antifreeze. I walk on down the line. Most of the day has been wasted by those fools, and by this fool. It's getting dark, I'll put the pen away. But I'm going to keep walking until something stops me. I have lost some time today, but I feel a little more energetic than yesterday. Maybe that burst of anger was just what I needed to connect with my masculine vitality.