Amidst the Mists 2

The fog was lightening, he was beginning to see vague shapes swirling

just beyond his eyesight. Less thick, he supposed, although he really couldn’t tell for sure.

The light was as white, the ‘wall’ was just as white, scents and sounds just as distorted, but

there was some change.

Maybe it was just that the terrain was becoming more familiar. He couldn’t

explain it well, but while he couldn’t say where he was, with each step, he

somehow knew.

That’s how it was with a home place. 

Up ahead was a dark spot, almost shiny, but a kind of shiny dull, like

seeing a boulder in the fog.

That was it! He was at the Big Rock, up on the Short Ridge. What was

he doing there?

Ahead, something moved . Something on the Big Rock. 

No. 

SomeONE. Someone sitting om the Big Rock, waiting.

Waiting for him.

Oh yes, someone! He felt a little thrill, as the same unconscious that

had recognized the countryside responded to the someone.

The someone becoming clearer as he closed the distance. 

The someone dressed in black from head to toe. His own personal

man in black.

“Hello there.” his long-missed friend said.

“How are you here?”

“I don’t know. How are you here?”

“I ran.” 

“I was just –” the friend gestured, “-- here.”

“Like I was just in the fog.” The runner nodded, seating himself on the rock. 

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing, before I came?”

“Waiting for you, I guess. Like I said,  just here. What were you doing,

before you started running?”

“I was just – there. And running.”

“To me?” The man – the friend – began cleaning his fingernails

with a small knife.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think, at first, I was running away,

just running. I can’t remember why, though.” 

“At first?” 

“It changed, when I got into the fog. That’s when I started running to

something. To here, and to you.”

They sat in silence for a while, each enjoying being in the company

of the other.

“Seems like it’s been a long time,” the man in black said.

“Well, you’ve been dead for seven years or so.”

“I have? Well, that explains that.” He paused, reflecting on what

had been said. “How did I die?”

The other man laughed, and gestured at his friend’s hands. “You were

stabbed to death. Robbed in a street fight, three against one.”

“Seems fitting,” he said, as his knife was put away. “How’d you know that?”

“It was just there in my head. Do you suppose I’m dead?”

“No. You’ve had a heart attack. This is a kind of in between place, I think.

No past and no future. It’s all up in the air.’

“In the clouds. Hidden in the fog. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, sorta.”

“Makes as much sense as visiting with the dead. Or, in my case, with the not-dead.”

They looked at one another, laughed and clasped hands in a prolonged

handshake as the fog deepened and thickened again.