Divine Destruction (The Return of Divinity Book 1) (10 page)

Three Minds in One

At first, Itishree found flying exciting. This was going to be a new experience. She had traveled many times on trains in India but this was to be her first flight. Itishree found it impossible to break the smile from her face. The fuss in preparation before boarding lead up to an anxiety she had never felt before. At the security checkpoint, with her mother and brother looking on, Itishree had trouble finding her boarding pass. It was embarrassing. She had focused so much on having her identification readily available that she had forgotten where she had stored the boarding pass. Her smile fell away. She saw mother wanting to come to her aide, but Itishree held up a hand. She could do this. The fear of doing something, anything wrong was overwhelming. Itishree found the boarding pass and handed it to security official. After a sharp exhale, her smile returned.

She found her way to the correct gate only having to ask for directions once. The uniformed gentlemen was kind and gave her excellent instruction. Itishree had regretted not being able to linger and ask the man about his uniform and how long had he worked at this airport. She wanted to ask, “What is flying like?” But she imagined how childish she would appear and walked away. Arriving with forty minutes to spare brought out a rewarding feeling. Itishree plopped herself down in a chair and relaxed, thinking on the last few hours.

“So much crying,” Itishree said. Her mother, aunt, and sister had been human flood waters before leaving the house. To Itishree there was no unhappiness, only excitement. No, there was real joy! Part of her felt free for the first time since father died. Father. Father would be proud. After settling into the airport terminal Itishree was again overwhelmed not from the new experience, but from the varied rush of emotions. They had caught up to her at last. She looked around afraid some other traveler heard her sob. Her lower lip quivered once and she wiped her eyes.

When the plane pulled up to the gate, Itishree felt the rush of excitement return. She was able to fixate on the comings and goings of the busy technicians servicing the plane, loading luggage, and refueling. She imagined their conversations as though they were speaking the American English of Pittsburgh. “Hi Ted, how are the kids?” “Fine, Bob, how's the wife?” “Do you think the river will flood this fall?” “Oops,” thought Itishree, maybe American rivers didn't flood regularly? Her imaginings carried her away for a time. Then, Itishree found herself thinking about herself as an experienced world traveler even though she had yet to step inside the aircraft she was smiling down on through the terminal window.

Now, after flying non-stop for twelve hours to Heathrow and nearly missing her connecting flight to Pittsburgh, Itishree just wanted to put her feet on solid ground and walk for a week. Her legs were cramping from sitting. Her stomach seemed up-side-down from the rapidly changing food the flight was serving. The further from Pune Itishree was, the stranger the food and the less she ate.

Thankfully, everyone she met had been kind. Genuinely kind. The staff of Jet Airways and British Airways were beyond accommodating, making efforts to ensure she and other passengers were as comfortable as flying around the world in a can could be.

However, now aboard USAir flight 729, Itishree felt like a foreign sack of grain on a ship sailing for nowhere. When itishree started out on this journey, which seemed like a week ago, she felt she was a native in a native land. Now, looking around the cabin, she felt strange, small, afraid.

To make everything worse the crew of the American plane didn’t seem to share Itishree’s need to get to Pittsburgh. Instead of fending off offers of more pillows, blankets, food, drink, and idle conversation as on the India flight, Itishree felt she had to interrupt staff from important meetings going on out of sight. Itishree could not determine from where the crew was making busy time. They would appear on a set schedule to offer refreshments and then seemed to leave the plane.

At least she had a window seat. The first window seat over her new country. When leaving London, the window was everything. Itishree was engrossed by the world zooming by below her. She imagined conversations of the people she saw from the distance. Casual salutations over a park, to conversations between loved ones filled her head. As the altitude grew her mind expanded away from the individuals. Itishree imagined meetings within buildings, to city planners hundreds of years ago, to farmers comforting herds, and the land fell away. And there was only water. Hours and hours of blue-green emptiness. Never had she taken in so much in such a short time. And all had come through this tiny window. Her tiny window.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain,” began the announcement. “We are twenty minutes out from Philadelphia International Airport and will begin our descent.” Itishree was trying to think of which god to thank. “I ask that you return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. Thank you for flying with USAir.”

“We could have walked around casually?” Itishree thought as she elevated herself in her seat, feeling the bite of the restraints. She glowered at the nearest steward.

Itishree was happy to be in the terminal. Her entire body ached from the hours sitting and sleeping. She saw from her ticket she had a ninety minute layover before the flight to Pittsburgh. Itishree checked her papers and made sure she had the documents required to pass through customs and get back to her next gate. Customs turned out to be a minor obstacle given the late hour local time. Only two agents had been on duty sharing a single line that had formed by the few passengers changing flights.

Itishree was greeted and welcomed to America by a Mr. Phelps. He was a charming older man with wild eyebrows and an animated smile. Their chat was brief and then Itishree found herself within the terminal plaza. “America,” Itishree mused. From what she could see from the customs exit, all the shops were closed. Looking around she saw a clock indicating 12:37. From the last few hours of flight she knew it was early morning, just past midnight. The darkened windows in the distance helped her ground herself. How many days had she been flying? What day was this? Itishree realized she was lost in time within the present. She was in a strange land in the middle of the night. The traveling would be over soon, Itishree thought. What was it they say in Texas? “Cowgirl up?”

Within the mind-fog, beneath the tired soreness, under the boredom, was Itishree's raging sense of adventure. She pulled herself down from her mental cloud, threw back her shoulders, and looked around the terminal. The huge expanse was filled with quiet, unmoving air. Between the whispers of her fellow passengers Itishree could make out nothing. No sound coming from anywhere. Again, she looked to remember the surroundings and her way back to customs. With unchecked curiosity and a pang of loneliness, Itishree followed the small crowd of freed flyers. Within a few meters Itishree took in delightful smells. “Food, real food,” a small voice inside her was singing and dancing. After rounding a corner there was an open coffee shop selling, breakfast pastries, giant pretzels, and small pies. A queue already formed. Itishree let out a squeal, and joined the others.

Thirty minutes later, Itishree’s coffee was cold and her belly sufficiently full. A relaxed warmth washed over her. She was on her way back to feeling human again. While eating her pastry and drinking her coffee, Itishree had realized she was now in America, and within the province, er, state, that she would call home for the next two years — longer if she could get her visa extended. That thought had brought on a warm smile and a single tear. A happy tear. A fierce feeling of accomplishment overtook her. She had almost arrived. One more short flight and she could sleep for at least a day and rest in her new home town.

She let all that slide, pushing aside her pride. For the next twenty minutes Itishree was transfixed with her surroundings. Trying not to be noticed by others, she closely examined the coffee and pastry shop. Itishree watched the locals, making mental notes of language particulars. She switched her attention back and forth to the TV screens that hung around the eating area and the people around her. Despite her long travels, Itishree was awake and alert, absorbing everything like a sponge. The coffee must have been magical, she thought. Itishree felt renewed and alive. A news alert caught her attention. The other travelers looked up at the headline, “Comet Over Eastern US.”

Itishree rose from the high table and bar stool, turned and began collecting her trash. She wanted time to watch this broadcast before heading back to her plane. She turned looking for a trash container. Itishree saw a largish rectangular cupboard with a drawing of a hand clutching rubbish. “Ah,” Itishree said and took a step in the direction of the garbage bin. She felt good about her quick assimilation to western culture. A smidgen of pride gave way to a small smile.

She found herself under the shade of trees. Many trees. The airport terminal and its bright artificial lighting were gone. Itishree looked down. The garbage in her hands was gone. A heavy white cotton robe replaced the clothes she’d worn for the last thirty eight hours. The sleeves and collar were adorned with shapes and designs of gold embroidery. Even though the robe was heavy, it wasn't oppressive. Itishree glanced up at her surroundings. Fifteen meters from where she was standing a small section of a river was under direct sunlight. Its bank reflected brilliantly from light brown sand. Beyond the bank, tall grasses waved in a constant breeze.

“Am I in danger?” Itishree embraced her dire change of environment. She stood under a lush stand of trees. The trees were foreign in design and not native to her memories of India. And then Itishree looked up and saw she wasn't alone. A man standing eight meters in front of her was also dressed in a embroidered white robe. Itishree noted he was tall, over two meters, olive skinned, and had plain rugged features. Itishree guessed he was in his late twenties, but she had always been poor at estimating the age of men. What stood out were his eyes. Mixed with the hints from the foliage, this man's eyes were a medium green that sparkled from the distant reflections of the river. Where Itishree had lived, people had brown eyes in various shades of dark. This man's eyes were lit from within, green as the grass beyond the river, warm and alive. Itishree had peered too long into his eyes, and she suffered a small shudder when she realized, again, she wasn't alone.

He had fallen asleep in his favorite chair. Having arrived home in a panic, Griffin bounced around his home making busy with small chores and a couple of tasks he had put off for the last couple of weeks. Anything to keep his mind busy and not thinking of what had expired earlier. The “Suzy Busy Bee” act had worked, maybe too well.

Griffin caught himself feeling guilty and wondered if he'd been rash by taking the personal time off. But after a few moments of reflection Griffin embraced his decision. After all, very strange things had happened, and he couldn’t explain any of it. It was obvious, again, he needed a break. After finishing what he could for the night, Griffin debated a chance drinking a PBR from his fridge. Instead, he opted for a tall rum and coke over ice. Griffin relaxed into his chair and pretended to be an average America, watching TV. Time passed as Griffin channel surfed with complete dissatisfaction. “How can people watch this shit?” Griffin thought. After thirty-five minutes of mind-numbing crowd manipulation, Griffin's mind relaxed. The rum helped.

Noticing his drink was nothing more than a few melting ice cubes, Griffin entertained the thought of getting another snack and refreshing his glass versus going to bed and calling it a day. Glancing at his watch, Griffin winced at the hour, 1:25 am. Part of Griffin wasn't ready for bed, and with a small amount of guilt he reached for the remote and began flipping channels desperately. Since the beach-Jesus dream, Griffin wasn't keen on sleeping in his bed. Add all the other weird shit that has happened since then, Griffin wanted to embrace a long period of mind-numbing “normal.”

An image of a comet against a black sky caught Griffin's eye. It was filmed from an unimaginable long distance by a camera fighting to keep the comet in frame. Griffin looked at the ticker at the bottom of the screen and realized this was happening now because he was watching RT, Russia TV America. Instinctively, Griffin found the volume control buttons and raised the level, neighbors be damned. The news broadcaster was speaking with an expert from NASA. Their conversation bounced between admiration of the quality of the satellite image, how the comet should breakup between the stratosphere and ionosphere, and historical similarity of other comets. Griffin rose and grabbed his glass and turned for the kitchen.

And then he was under the heavy forest canopy from his earlier hallucination. Like before he was cast is deep shadows, and he could see shards of dancing light coming through the canopy between him and the riverbank. Instinctively, Griffin looked across the river and out onto the tall grass field beyond. However, this time, no children were on the riverbank. No laughter. No play. Griffin felt a pang of grief over not seeing the children. Griffin closed his eyes tearing away from the exposed riverbank. He took in the surroundings with his other senses. The chorus of sound, balanced between the river and the forest behind Griffin, was deeply moving. His closed eyes allowed the natural sounds to wash over him. Bird calls and insect buzzes mixed with the gurgle of running water. Every few seconds a breeze pushed the canopy with haunting low wails. The rush of winds combined with sounds from taller trees with the lower canopy overhead. It was like hearing two chords from two distinctively different musical instruments. Combined the auditory experience brought a peace Griffin had never felt. He wanted to swim in these sounds. He wanted to take off his shoes and wade into that river.