Momentum and History

“I had not planned on seeing this,” Momentum said, surveying the desert landscape through eyes forced nearly shut by the brilliance of an unimpeded sun. “There really is nothing here.”

“Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?” his companion concurred. “Wait for the sun to go down, and you’ll see it’s not as barren as you believe. All sorts of creatures come out after dusk, when they can see each other.”

“In the dark?”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it? Keep close to me.”

Momentum couldn’t remember having ever been made so helpless by the sun. Where he came from, the sun was the Fire Mother, ultimate provider of strength and light. “May you give us the strength to step, and also show us where to step,” his family prayed each morning at dawn. Here, the sun was a source of exhaustion and blindness; most all of Momentum’s energy had fallen in sweat to the ground, and he would not have known which direction to walk without the steady guidance of his companion.

“What is your name again?” Momentum asked.

“History,” answered his companion.

Momentum scolded himself, “History, of course! How could I forget it?”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” History replied. “Stay close.”

History’s refrain was unnecessary, as Momentum held onto History tightly, still not convinced they were safe from coyotes and rattlesnakes. “This isn’t that kind of a desert,” History assured him. “And besides, it’s kai-yotes, not kai-yo-tees.” Momentum looked at him, as best he could in the sun, incredulous. “It’s the truth,” History insisted. “You remind me of a kid I knew, who kept calling his soft, round, red vegetables . . . or are they fruits? . . . toe-motts. Kid drove me crazy, wouldn’t argue with me when I corrected him, but wouldn’t stop saying it his way, either.”

The sun began its descent at last, and the first creatures began poking up through holes and peeking out through branches. Furry round beasts settled in at their perches in the trees, polishing ladles and buckets, sifting the sky with strainers.

“We should be getting off to sleep,” History advised Momentum.

“If I sleep, I will dream,” Momentum protested. “My dreams have been terrifying of late. I am out on the ocean on a pitch black night without moon or stars, staring straight out into the darkness, unable to turn my head or move my eyes. In the far distance, I see the illuminated windows of a tremendous ship, moving parallel to the horizon. It is sailing so slowly that it seems to take an eternity to move across my field of vision, and for some reason its slow passage fills me with dread.

“When the ship has at last sailed beyond my sight, the ocean is dark once again. Just as I feel myself starting to relax I see, at the edge of my vision, light reflecting on the water. The ship has returned, still moving at the same excruciating speed, but now it appears larger than before. I start to panic, fearful of the approaching ship.”

Again and again, the ship sails, disappears, and eventually reappears, each time closer to me than the time before. The lights in its windows shine with brilliant ferocity, as if trying to claw their way out. Then, with my heart about to burst, the ship so large now that it fills my whole sight, I watch it disappear one last time. When it returns, someone has turned off the lights.”

“How do you know it didn’t just go away?” asked History.

Momentum shook his head, not even entertaining the question. “The only way I can sleep in peace is if I ask the Dream Horse to watch over me at night. Then the ships stay away.”

History shook his own head, “You know the Dream Horse isn’t real.”

Momentum did not mind.