On the Threshold

I originally wrote this piece for a creative writing class, but it is definitely one of my better works as far as short narratives are concerned. I wrote it after my mission and it is loosely based on my last night at home before leaving for my mission. I wrote it from the perspective of all the changes that have occurred to me over these past few years, and I think it is very poetic in the ways that it describes those feelings that I had on my last night home. I call it "On the Threshold"

A cool breeze whispers through the long stalks of grain, the wheat sighs and waves under the light of the freshly risen moon, raising silent hymns up to the skies. Far off in the distance the great Teton Mountains look out over the valley where the patchwork farmland spreads out before them like some great quilt that seems to move and breathe. Tiny houses dot the landscape, equally bathed in the pale moonlight and each seems to glow in the divine radiance.

The evening stars look down with their sparkling countenances on one of those small homes, built on two stories and lined with trees that sway and dance with the gentle wind as it passes from oak to willow as one would exchange partners at a ball, sighing as the wind imparts one last caress before moving on. They waltz to a symphony played by a single cricket playing his soul to the world on his solitary violin. On the steps to this humble home sits a young man, about the age where innocence and maturity wage war to lay claim on every soul that enters such territory. His short brown hair moves as the wind quietly runs her fingers through his hair and down his face. His eyelids are closed in silent reverie as he takes in the earthy smell carried by the gentle breeze, a slight smile hints at his lips and he breathes steadily of the intoxicating perfume, basking in the simple and yet elegant beauty around him. A tentative peace settles over the uncertainty inside him that comes from just being alive, the gentle lover kisses his features softly and then departs, leaving him to his thoughts.

Slowly rising from his meditative position, the young man begins to walk softly across the grass, breathing steadily and looking into the jeweled sky. His thoughts guide him to look out over the familiar surroundings of the homestead, trying desperately to soak in every detail and permanently record everything before him. It would be a long time before he would see this place again, he knows this and is preparing for the worst. The door to the house opens and a motherly woman steps outside, her breathing comes in ragged gasps through a tube in her throat, her short hair is like the young man’s only curly instead of straight. Her plump figure shuffles out to meet her son, a worried expression on her loving face. She covers the tube in her throat in order to speak in a raspy voice.

“Can’t get any sleep, I take it?”

“Nope, Dad’s snoring kept waking me up, besides, my nerves are shot anyways,” the young man smiles as he responds.

“What’s going through your head?”

“Nothing, I’m just nervous is all. Two years is a long time.”

“Not too long, it will go faster than you think.”

“So they say anyways, I don’t know as I believe them. But we’ll definitely see for sure. Anyways, what are you doing up this late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine, go ahead and go back inside, I’ll come in just a few minutes, I just want to sit and think for a bit.” The young man smiles as reassuringly as he can, his mother had a worried look on her face but she quietly nods and turns to shuffle back towards the house.

What the young man didn’t mention to his mother, what he doesn’t really need to tell her, was how his insides are churning right now. He is leaving the next day and would not be returning for two years. That is the reason he can’t sleep, he sits on the threshold of a whole new world that he has never known. That is the reason that he looks around trying to memorize his surroundings, the feeling of the cool night air, the smell of the growing wheat and the earthy scent of the wind coming in across the fields. Where he is going such things will only be fond memories of the past, the harsh realities won’t offer any such comforts. Tomorrow he leaves for Mexico City, one of the biggest cities on earth, to him this is the other side of the world and across several galaxies. Glancing back at the small home where he has lived his whole life he sighs and starts walking towards the door to try and sleep away the few remaining hours before his journey begins. He lies down in the cold comfort of his familiar bed, and then the war begins in earnest.

His fears and doubts as to what he is leaving behind simmer behind his poorly composed mask that barely contains his emotions. He asks himself what will become of his home? His mother? All these things and more press in on him, threatening to overwhelm him. He knows that change is just around the corner, hiding behind the first beams of morning’s sunlight, something unknown whispers in the shadows of the star-lit evening telling him that nothing will be the same. Telling him that his life is about to change drastically and that it will never return to the normal state he has become accustomed to. He brushes such things away from his mind, pushing them into the dark recesses of his consciousness trying ever so hard to ignore them, but they break free and again begin to torment him as he lays in his bed struggling in vain to catch the elusive bliss of sleep.

Little does he know that the voices are correct, those murmurings speak truth far greater than even they are aware. The whispers grow in ferocity and intensity as the night progresses, gradually growing to shouting, and finally a dull roar that fills every corner with a deafening silence that can only be heard within one’s head. A steady rhythm chanting “change, change, change, change, change, change!”

His blankets seek to drown him as he struggles into his bed, wrapping themselves around him, smothering him. He can’t breathe. He can’t focus. His eyes dart back and forth searching for the source of his assailants and tormentors. Closing his eyes he lays back and can see them that speak to him, telling him of the horrors that await him, a group of ugly men with bulbous noses and large lips. Yet, behind the loud-mouthed crowd inside his head sits a single person, calmly watching the progression. He is clothed in white and looks steadfastly at the young man, his confident gaze reassuring him. Somehow he isn’t surprised to be looking at himself.

The young man is forced to make a decision, to continue on this path chosen for him by his faith and his desire to do that which is right, or to stay safely concealed in the security of the known and comfortable and throw his responsibilities to the wind. Thus the war wages throughout the whole night, the loud horde screaming for attention, and the white clad figure demanding it.

Then, with startling speed, the darkness flies and the first rays of morning stab through the accusing mob and dispelling the awful gloom brought on by their fierce tirade. The dark night is over, the battle is won, and our hero emerges from his room, the purifying fire of the previous night’s ordeal burning brightly behind his eyes. He dresses for the day, knowing that it will be a difficult one. He opens the door to his house and receives one final caress from the gentle wind, and then takes one last look at his surroundings, knowing that it is the last time he will look on them the way he does now. Setting his jaw resolutely he takes a step forward, crossing over the threshold of the doorway.