Gateway (Canned Beans)

Pulling my hand out of the rubble, I find canned beans and put them into my satchel, Walking away from downtown and towards the camp, being careful while under knocked-over edifices.

In my tent, I remember the days when this place used to be bustling, before it was revealed to the truth. I dream of the gateway, that brilliant oval spewing out light and a gentle hum, a promise that the truth won’t win life over — but way too distant from me.

Every time I open my eyes, go scavenging, stay in the tent, keep loving this place, the gateway is gone. So this time, I’ll do my duties for the day with my eyes shut.

I emerge and immediately feel the heavy rain and harsh gusts of cold air, using the same route I do every time to the dangerous yet bountiful concrete mess.

I return to the tent after countless hours, my eyes still closed. Repeating the process day after day, week after week, adjusting and learning, Refraining from looking or thinking about the tent or the wreckage of this small world.

One day, while returning to the camp, I see something, a grayish fluctuating circle, in the blackness. I physically move forward towards it, and it reveals itself further and further, becoming more radiant, lengthening its height, humming and vibrating.

As I stand in front of the Gateway, I look around the sea of black surrounding me, and it feels like my eyes are open though I don’t know if they are. It’s telling me to come through, but I’m unsure. I start to reminisce about the old city, remember its comfort and think about all the renovations that never took place.

Reluctantly and with heaviness, I step into the Gateway, tears in the corners of my vision.

I want to think about that gray jungle devastated by a wildfire, feeling at ease at the immediate thought of it, effortfully attempting to cease any thought of what is happening in this moment. But I force myself to focus on the Gateway and what is behind it, regardless of how less comforting it is. Yet, as I walk through it, time slows — it bends. Everything seems different.

The Gateway doesn’t seem too bad, neither does leaving where I was. In fact, I want to leave. Please get me out of here. Time speeds up, becomes more straightforward. There is endless light and a never-ending hum past the Gateway, but I take time to adjust.

I’m free from the entrapment, the scavenging, the noise of faraway dreams, and most importantly, the truth. And I am grateful. gradually, everything gets less intense and quieter. I saw the sky again for the first time in the years.