The Forge

THE FORGE

“You’re never gonna stop.”

Olivia sped down the near empty highway. Her hands were positioned at ten and two and her stern gray eyes focused on the road. A permanent scowl smeared her face from the time she arrived at the bar to find Elliot slouched on a barstool and scented with repulsive aromas like scotch and tequila.

“Maybe I don’t wanna stop.” He slurred and giggled a little as he slid down in the passenger seat.

“Well, why would you?” she said sarcastically. “You can puke in city streets if you want. Such freedom!”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many.”

She pressed harder on the accelerator. Her speed made him uncomfortable as she shot pass a blue Honda civic. He looked at her hands as they gently guided the steering wheel. If she slammed into someone, the air bag would deploy. He’d once heard a podcast say that the air in those things was so hot, it could de-glove a person. Burn and peel the skin right off every digit and leave nothing but muscle and bone down to the wrist.

He grimaced, sickened by his thoughts that were constantly plagued by darkness and made worse when inside of a car.

He wanted out.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He crossed his arms in defense.

“I don’t like you like this.”

“I’m just blowin’ off steam. A little weekend fun.”

The person in front slammed on their brakes and she followed suit. Elliot propelled forward before he was caught and jerked backward by his seatbelt. His heart raced, and his head drummed with the beginnings of a migraine. Sweat moistened his brow. Visibly panicked, he looked at her hands and was relieved to see the skin still there. Dainty and pale, he loved her fingers. He relaxed a little and eased his hand off the door handle, unnerved by the instinctual grab.

“This is the last time. Has to be. I just…can’t…” A single tear, illuminated by the red brake lights of the car in front, slid unceremoniously down her cheek. He thought it looked like blood and the red lights painted her face in it like a death mask. Blood soaked face and heat-flayed hands.

He turned away. Traffic moved again and he didn’t dare look at her, even when he heard sniffles and deep sighs beside him.

Elliot closed his eyes. When he sobered, the thoughts and memories would come back like parasites. He could hear Olivia weep quietly beside him and unsuccessfully pretended to be too drunk to care.

***

“I’m Elliot.” The room was dimmed and silent except for the occasional shuffle and cough. The hard plastic seats were arranged in a circle with somber looking people full of secrets and guilt.

“A little louder, Elliot.” Jake, the group host said softly.

Elliot took a swig of the cold coffee and frowned at the abundance of sugar. The cream was always the first to go at these meetings, so he overcompensated with artificial sweetener. He cleared his throat and sat up straight.

“I’m Elliot and I’m an alcoholic.”

“Hi, Elliot,” the group said in unison.

“My girlfriend gave me an ultimatum. That’s why I’m here. Crazy, our reasons. I mean, I didn’t do this for myself. I did it for her. Like I have no value.”

He lowered his head, and avoided the pitiful looks of the listeners. His face grew hot with shame and he clenched his teeth to suppress tears.

“You have value, man.” Jake placed a hand on his shoulder and Elliot looked up. He didn’t see conviction or disappointment in Jake’s eyes. Jake was a good guy. No judgment.

Everyone watched and waited for the usual cues in silence, and he took a couple of deep breaths. Nervous, he swirled the coffee cup in his hands.

“It was before the drinking. I was a first responder at a car accident. A teenage girl slammed into a tree and was trapped inside her car, and we couldn’t get her out in time. She bled out… right in front of me.”

A few sniffles. A cough. A deep sigh. A chorus of sounds from the sympathetic audience.

“Manufacturer took the blame. Faulty headlights. Massive recall on the cars of her make and model.” A quick swig of the disgusting brew to wet his throat and he continued. “Her mother puts up one of those homemade memorials. Got a large picture of her face and some flowers and I take a detour so I can pass it on my way home.” He shifted uneasily in his chair. “Her name was Heather Willis. They, uh, tell you not to take it personally, but…how could I not? I see her green eyes all the time. Awake and asleep… Because she died looking at me. Hopeful… Knowing that I would rescue her somehow. And I was supposed to…but…”

Shoulders hunched, he slouched in his seat and stared at the dusty hardwood floors to signal that his turn was complete. He wanted to say more, needed to even, but his throat clogged and he was blind with tears. For a while, no one spoke, yet he continued to wait. There was a method to these things.

“Hi. I’m Trish and I’m an alcoholic.”

Right on cue.

***

The cracked and weathered sign had been carved out of wood. Time had done its job and faded the letters as well as caked it with dirt and grime. Abandoned spider webs and dried fly carcasses dangled from the edges, yet the location was still discernable.

THE FORGE.

Jake mentioned this place to Elliot after he learned of his love of hikes. It was touted to be peaceful and isolated. Way off the tourists’ maps.

A place so beautiful, it makes you forget all your troubles, Jake said earlier that day. That’s what the locals say, at least.

Elliot noticed the slight indentation of other words carved beneath and long since eroded away. As he read, an elderly man smiled and waved. So, he returned the greeting and watched him approach the sign with a chisel and hammer.

“Take your time going up,” said the man. “That elevation’s a sneaky sombitch!”

Elliot nodded. “Looks pretty steep. Is it dangerous at all? I mean, for someone going at it alone?”

The man shook his head. “Nah. Just don’t wander off the path. Some idiot did that a month ago. Found his body smashed to bits.”

“What?! How?!” Fear rattled and smacked his nerves.

“Fell. It’s easy up there. Lot of loose rocks and gravel. That or the wind got ‘em.” The man dislodged the sign and laid it as flat on the ground as possible. He knelt beside it and wiped the dirt and dead leaves away. “But that’s if you believe the legends. And you do look like a man who likes his spirits.”

He said this last part with a wink, and Elliot flinched. The old man smiled, and pointed to the AA chip that dangled from Elliot’s backpack. “Twenty years sober myself.”

He pulled out what looked like a miniature broom and cleaned the wood thoroughly, then lifted his chisel and hammer.

“This place was Lakota territory once. Rumored to be the meeting place of the great wind spirits. Eya, the west wind. Yanpa, the east. Yata, the north. Okaga, the south.” He pointed with his chisel in every direction, respectively. “They meet here four times a year and await the arrival of their father, Tate, to convey messages and special duties to be carried out. Legend has it that this particular space is blessed.”

Elliot, the recovering alcoholic became Elliot the great skeptic. He rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure the dead guy with his bits in the ravine wouldn’t think so.”

The old man sighed deeply and hunched over to begin his work. “Nope. Guess not. Just stay on the path. You’ll be fine. One thing they got right. It’s beautiful enough to make you forget all your troubles.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

The loud clacking of metal against pine resounded behind Elliot as he continued forward.

***

The air was cool and thin and he paused now and then to sit and take in some water. He was relieved when the harsh incline plateaued and exposed beautiful views of a multilayered canyon in a variety of browns, reds and whites. Petal pink and lit oranges and yellows of the fresh morning accented the pale blue sky and he sighed.

Just go there and think, man. Jake said before he left. Think about all the good things you have.

The only good thing in his life was Olivia. She came along at a point when he was at his lowest. She’d heard his confession and forgiven his sin with love and patience. Never rushing him to move on, she cared for him and waited until he could live with himself once again. However, everyone has a breaking point and the drinking was hers. No more would she arrive at some hole in the wall bar to pick up his drunken self, full of liquor and self-loathing. She was done washing vomit from his clothing and covering for him when he missed important events. Her threshold had been reached. And he couldn’t blame her.

CLUNK! clink… Clank…CLUNK! Clink…

He turned, the lovely silence broken, to see a guy with platinum blonde hair done up in course spikes. He was dressed in a red and blue plaid shirt with dusty blue jeans, and hastily lifted and tossed about large rocks and small pebbles. Frustration furrowed the man’s brow and he was completely oblivious to Elliot’s arrival.

CLUNK! Clink… Clop!

Finally, Elliott rose to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Seriously?” he blurted in agitation. The guy was now on his hands and knees and peered underneath a large stone.

He looked up at Elliot, and after he let the stone drop, stood and dusted his palms on his pants.

“Sorry! I just…I was looking for something.” He smiled, brightly.

“Underneath rocks?”

“Well, it’s gotta be here somewhere. Do you see it over there?”

Elliot looked around at the ground and frowned.

“See what?”

“Anything out of the ordinary, I guess.”

Now he was certain this guy was crazy and attributed it to the altitude. “You guess?”

“I just figure I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

“How do you know you even lost something?”

The blonde shrugged. “Just a feeling. Like when you leave your house and you feel like you’ve forgotten something, but you’re not sure what.”

With that, he dove back into his search.

“Look. The air’s kinda thin up here. Perhaps you oughta sit for a bit.”

The blonde was too occupied in his task and Elliott plopped back on the ground near the cliff’s edge, annoyed. A brisk breeze scraped past his cheek and now he shivered as two hawks danced and twirled in the bright morning sky. Their arms outstretched, they glided and spun like graceful figure skaters. He grinned and turned his attention to the distant, rocky below.

It was about a couple of miles or so downward without any protrusions to latch onto. The floor was covered in jagged rocks, knives to pierce delicate skin and rupture organs, yet he sat on the edge a couple of inches away from falling to his death. He wouldn’t jump himself, but perhaps if someone pushed him? Nudged him gently? He wondered if he would even protest or struggle to save his own life. A sharp image of Heather’s green eyes flashed into his mind and he dangled his legs over the cliff.

Suddenly, he was aware of the blonde guy who now squatted a couple feet away.

“Christoph.” He held out his hand and Elliott shook it politely. “Got troubles, bro?”

“Who doesn’t?” Elliot replied.

Christoph nodded. “Bad memories?”

Elliot shrugged, silent.

Christoph gestured toward the base of the cliff. “That’s one way to get rid of them. Stupid way, though. You end up getting rid of the good with the bad.”

“I wasn’t going to -”

“Everybody’s got problems, bro. Stuff you can’t lose or forget.”

“I thought that’s what this place was for?” Elliot said, sarcastically. Christoph snickered.

“I think it’s more to learn to use those troubles. Grow yourself with them. Use ’em for good. Easier to do here without the rest of the world talking so loud, you dig?”

Elliot was silent. They turned from each other and stared off into the ravine below in reverence. Finally, Christoph turned to Elliott and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget it, bro. They say when you forget, you lose a piece of yourself that made you you. And you feel it for the rest of your life. So, don’t forget. Just learn to control. ”

With a stretch, Christoph rose, dusted himself and walked the path down. He said over his shoulder. “If you find anything that doesn’t look like it belongs here, pick it up.”

Elliott turned. “And do what?”

But he was gone.

Elliott turned back to the canyon and lay back on the cool ground. Smooth pebbles and rocks dug softly into him and he closed his eyes and thought of Olivia.

She was the love of his life. He knew instantly. She was beautiful, kind and forgiving. She loved hot wings, colorful eyeliner and Jason Statham movies. They both had snooty taste in pasta and could spend hours in the anime section of a bookstore. When she was around, he forgot to be sad. He forgot to grieve and feel sorry for himself. He laughed more, drank less and dreams replaced nightmares. It was beautiful.

Yet, he needed to be ruled by his guilt and had no right to happiness. He even used this as an excuse to stop drinking. His inebriation halted the thoughts and temporarily suppressed his shame. It was a self-gifted reprieve he knew he didn’t deserve.

Elliot pictured Heather’s jeweled green eyes and felt a weight on his chest. Sweat dampened his brow and his breathing grew erratic.

Horrible place to have a panic attack, he thought.

A strong gust of wind brushed against him violently. The air was sharp and abrupt and forced his teeth to chatter. Sitting up, he hugged his knees to his chest.

A deep hum echoed between his ears. He heard a loud snap and felt something slither and slide around in the inner ear on his left side. He flinched and whatever it was tugged and pulled, clawed and yanked his lobe as though desperate to hang on. Then, a dull ring followed by more humming and suddenly-

“Ow!” A sharp pain like a pin prick and it was over. The wind died down and the air grew warm. He massaged his earlobe between his index finger and thumb. It seemed irritated and hot to the touch, but there was no blood. He pictured it red and swollen and decided to douse it in alcohol once he got home.

Looking at his watch, he noticed it was just after noon and with one last look around, rose to his feet.

This truly was a beautiful place, he thought. Peaceful.

He missed Olivia and pictured her messy brown hair and calm gray eyes lined in her favorite green eyeliner and purple mascara. He longed for her and grew anxious to hold her as soon as he returned home. He focused on the image of her gray eyes lined in green and sensed an unexplained sorrow. Did he miss her that much?

As he took a step away toward the path down, he was overcome with the sense he’d lost something. Digging around in his pockets, he realized everything was in place and turned to his backpack with the same outcome.

A green and blue butterfly fluttered by, and perched on a large boulder. Green and blue. Green eyeliner around her eyes. Green and her eyes. He felt that unexplained heaviness and shooed the butterfly away. Why was the color so disconcerting? And what did he lose?

He bent over and looked under a large rock. Nothing. He shoved a big stone and winced as it scraped loudly. He thought of Christoph and chuckled at what he might look like to any stranger that approached. Yet, the sense of loss was so great, it drove him and though he couldn’t picture the object, he knew it was of great importance.

He continued his search and moved leaves, twigs and small stones.

Clunk…clink! SCCRRR! Clank…clink…

Footsteps approached along with the ragged breath of someone who climbed the path, but he was too consumed to chance a glance. He sensed his search had a time limit and the longer he took to find the thing, the more likely it wouldn’t be found.

“Hi.” A petit woman with jet black hair and a backpack struggled to catch her breath and gulped from a small water bottle.

“Hello,” he replied and completely disregarded her puzzled look. Finally, she moved to the edge of the cliff and looked out at the beautiful scene.

Overcome by desperation, common courtesy and politeness no longer mattered. He was driven by the urge to find this unknown thing that he’d lost and to do so immediately!

***

The old man successfully refreshed the writing and blew away the excess dust from the sign. The paint was mostly dry, so he lifted it from the ground and hammered the wooden legs solidly into place. He pushed and pulled to assure it wouldn’t budge and finally satisfied, took a step backward to admire his work. It read:

THE FORGETTING PLACE.

Underneath were the words, “So serene, you forget all your troubles.”

He smiled and shoved his chisel and hammer back into the tool box. With one more look up the mountain, he returned to his truck and golden flecks of dust in the afternoon light kicked up behind the red pickup as he swiftly pulled away.