Walk in Lithia Park

A Walk In Lithia Park
By Sean Nelson

It is a black story indeed I have to relate to you today. A dead man is
talking through these pages. Yes, I have been on a journey through a
mystical nether land from which no man should return. For many years
I've tried to repress the bizarre experiences I had on a foggy Autumn
day in Ashland, OR. My efforts were all in vain. Dreams of my journey
haunted me day and night. The horrid visions compelled me to tell the
world about them. And so it must be.

I was attending University in those days. I had spent the night before
in the dorm room of a beautiful black haired girl named Nicole. I awoke
about noon.

She took me for a spin and stopped at a Safeway. Here, I bought a liter
of Glenfiddich, a fine Scotch whisky. She then drove me to the bottom
of the beautiful plaza, where she summarily dropped me off. Armed with
my trusty whisky bottle in a paper bag I set about wandering the plaza,
deep in thought about Nicole, the black haired girl of my acquaintance.
I cannot particularly recall when I passed through the gates of Lithia
Park. Often I had walked in Lithia Park, finding peace in escape from a
world too often more vile than anything else. But this afternoon, I
must confess, there was a strange air about the park. I passed many
strangers on the forest path, but I had never seen a single one of them
before. All of them, young or old, male or female, had raven black hair
and were dressed in all black, though the fashions varied from spiked
leather jackets to elegant black dresses. When I passed the playground,
it was busy with many young black haired children. Like the adults,
their clothes were entirely black.

However, though I thought this most peculiar, I can't say I gave the
matter much thought. My mind was recollecting the feminine voice of
Nicole and many things she had said recently. In retrospect, I was
smelling the airy scent of her shiny, raven black hair and feeling the
delicate softness of her white skin.

The whisky in my paper bag had reduced somewhat in weight and I felt a
pleasant dizziness. I took a slight detour to rest a while on a bench
adjacent to a beautiful duck pond. Often I had stopped at this same
duck pond to relax and sometimes to think. There were many ducks in
this duck pond but the most beautiful of the birds were a pair of black
swans. I loved to sit and watch these graceful creatures swim about and
preen their feathers. I was amused by their bird brained pride and how
they seemed to look disdainfully upon the other ducks, who were not
nearly such beautiful birds.

I do not know how long I spent watching these two birds as they swam
about from place to place in the murky pond. But when I looked up from
the black swans, I saw a strange sight indeed. Sitting and talking on
the stone edge of the pond were two beautiful mermaids. The lower part
of one was a gleaming pink and the other purple. The long flowing hair
of each of the two mermaids matched the fish part of their
bodies.

They appeared to be playing a game of cards but instead of cards, they
held hands of brightly colored sea shells. Often they put feathers in
and took feathers out of a giant blue sea shell. They talked
energetically in a strange language I couldn't understand. The
beautiful mermaids seemed entirely oblivious to my presence. On a
strange impulse, I went up and introduced myself to the creatures, in
English. Much to my surprise, the purple one responded in perfect
English.

"My name is Crabia and this", she said as she waved her hand at the
pink mermaid, "is Labia. Although Labia cannot speak your language,
I'll be happy to interpret for both of you," said Crabia, the purple
mermaid. She invited me to play a game of sea shells, which I happily
agreed to. Labia, the dealer, proceeded to give me five shells, which I
held like a deck of cards. The feather-cards were of many bright
beautiful colors and they appeared to have no markings on either side.
Labia proceeded to cry out in their strange lilting language. "She says
not to show us the pictures on your shells,"said Crabia. I quickly
turned my cards around and they seemed satisfied. However, as the game
went on, the two mermaids became energetically involved. They seemed to
forget that I was playing and did not explain what I was expected to
do.

Thus, I did nothing but watched the two mermaids play. For a while, the
three of us sat by the edge of the pond, enjoying each other's company.
There was something mind bendingly idlyic about looking at the black
glassy surface of the pond. Also, unable to control mself, I would
often look at the bright, scaly lower bodies of the two mermaids. Their
slimy, fish like bodies and almost translucent, shiny fins seemed
stunningly real to me.

"Why aren't you playing with us?", asked Crabia, poutingly.

"I don't know how." Crabia spoke a few words in their lilting tongue to
Labia.

"Labia says you don't mean that. It's not that you don't know how, it's
that you don't feel how."

"To be honest, the shells look perfectly blank to me."

"Do you think they're blank?"

"Yes."

"Why would we be playing a game with the pictures on sea shells that
have no pictures?"

I smiled cunningly, although I was a bit confused. "You wouldn't. So
there must be pictures on the shells. But I can't see them."

"Give me your hand." I gave my hand to Crabia who gently led it to
Labia's slimy bottom fin. My fingers grasped the slimy, scaly pink fin.
Life radiated intensely from the fin into my arm. Then, firmly, Crabia
took my hand away and let it go. "Now look at your shells."
I did so and a picture of Labia had appeared there. I looked at Labia
and she smiled at me with the smile of an animal that is both vicious
and loving.

"Why is Labia on your shell now?"

"Because I just felt her fin??"

"Exactly, you felt Labia and so you can feel what she is. You can use
her in this game we play. But all of the things you know, you can't
know them like you knew her fin in your hand. So they're nothing in
this game we play. Remember feelings you've had and the pictures will
appear on your shells. And then you can see your hand."

I drew back into my memory. I remembered a boyhood friend and how I'd
felt around him. I remembered a white statue of Jesus and the feelings
of admiration I'd felt for the man. I remembered Nicole, the beautiful
girl with the long black hair and her erotically bare whitest of skin.
And then, a different picture flashed into my mind. One I'd never seen
before; a black wolf with gleaming white teeth. A shudder of terror
convulsed through me and I opened my eyes.

In a panic, I skimmed the periphery of the pond. The black wolf was
really there, lurking in the shadows, watching the mermaids intently.
The shells fell out of my hands and clattered on the rock rim of the
pond. "Excuse me," I said to Crabia, "But who is that wolf lurking on
the edge of the forest?" Crabia took one look at the black wolf and
cried out in her strange language. Grabbing their shells, Labia and
Crabia dove into the shallow pond. They disappeared immediately. I
can't imagine where they could have gone as the pond is quite shallow
but they vanished gracefully into its unseen depths. Curious, I picked
up a stick and tested the depths of the murky pond. Only three feet of
my stick was enveloped in water before it hit solid bottom.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the black wolf. Magically, he was
now walking on two legs and wearing an elegant tuxedo with a white rose
on his lapel.

"So, are you a tourist here?", the wolf asked in a gruff, if polite
tone.

"Well, I often walk through these parts," I said confused.

"Much pleased to make your acquaintance then," said the wolf. "I always
like to meet visitors to my park."

"My name is Sean. I'm a college student. Who are you?"I asked the wolf
in the most respectful tone I could muster, for he was quite a vicious
looking wolf.

"Why, I'm the devil of Lithia Park. You must have heard of me."he said,
surprised. It's my job to rule over this park and and keep all of our
creatures in line, you see. If I weren't around, the creatures would
surely destroy themselves and there would be nothing for visitors like
you to see," the wolf went on. "I always recommend the trail of the
glass horsemen to visitors he said. The horsemen are kept up on that
mountain path," the wolf said as he pointed to a narrow dirt path
leading up the side of a steep hill. I took a sip of my
Glenfiddich.

Just then, the wolf's black ears pricked up. Before my eyes, the tuxedo
vanished and he dropped onto all four paws and sniffed at the ground. I
followed his intent gaze and saw a small fawn on the side of the hill,
grazing. No sooner had I seen the fawn than the wolf leaped, blood
thirstily, in the direction of the fawn. The fawn saw the wolf and a
look of terror came to it's soft brown eyes. It took off as fast as it
could go, the wolf right on it's tail. The two vanished into the
forest. I was alone again.

Interested, I walked up on the path the wolf had indicated. I had
walked on the same path many times but, like the whole park, it seemed
different today. A warm air hung over the valley and a thick mist
enfolded the path. I watched my footing carefully on the narrow winding
path. A misstep would send the walker on a fatal fall down the wall of
the steep cliff. Furthermore, the Glenfiddich had gone to my head and I
felt a little unsure of my feet.

Nonetheless, I made it quite a ways along the mountain path before I
felt like taking a rest. Magically, as soon as I thought of sitting
down, a beautiful blue bench appeared before me. A bronze plate was
attached to the front of the bench that said: In Loving Memory of
Pierre Jacobin-1969-1999. I lay down for a moment, thinking I'd get up
and walk in just a minute. I could feel the faint buzz of the alcohol
in my head. The last memory I have before I drifted out of the world
was the glenfiddich bottle slipping out of my fingers and landing with
a glassy clang on the ground.

I opened my eyelids and looked out at a hazy world. The bench seemed
somehow soft against my legs. Comfortably, I seemed to sink into the
wood of the bench. Gently, I started knocking my Doc Martens
rythmically against the bench. Thud. Thud. The noise kept me awake. I
found it easy to rise and resume my walk. I felt a thirst for alcohol
in my throat so I looked for my bottle of Glenfiddich. I looked under
the bench and all around on the path but I couldn't find the whisky
bottle. Meanwhile, I remembered that I'd finished it. It probably
rolled down the hill, I thought. Anyhow, I didn't care anymore because
I knew it was empty.

So I continued to walk along the beautiful mountain path. The
world was so alive. Moss grew on hard wooden branches that were
regularly soaked with rain baths. As I walked, I found a slick, mossy
log blocking my path. I took an athletic leap over the log and landed
easily on the other side. My black leather boots cleared the top by at
least a foot and it felt beautiful. I was truly alive.

I walked for a ways more. I wasn't thinking at all. I was just
walking. Then I turned around on the path. To my back was a beautiful
clearing on the cliff face where bright living grass lay out like a wet
bed. It was the type of clearing where fairies might live. In
front
of me, the whole green valley spread out before me like a vast kingdom.
The creek flowed by and I could see the places where it was frothed up
into white streamlets. I could hear its waterfalls speaking to me in
the lucid, lilting voice of water.

Far to my right, I could see over the city of Ashland and onto a
stunning black mountain. Above the mountain, the white mist hung thinly
like an amorphous Unicorn slowly flying by the hill. I breathed in deep
and felt a rush. The beautiful, enchanted green forest all around me
uplifted me like a drug.

I turned around to see something incredible in the grassy
clearing.
A beautiful fair skinned girl was dancing, seemingly in rhythm
with
the slight wind that moved the green branches of the trees. Her
feet
were naked as she pranced with utter silence. Her bright red hair
flared with the brilliance of real fire. Her slightly smiling lips were
a live female flame. She had a skirt made of green leaves. In between
the leaves I could see small patches of her peachy flesh. Around her
genitals, I could pick up just a hint of her red pubic hair. Her top
was also made of leaves and was tied around her chest like a tube. And
she danced gracefully; so gracefully she floated on the light, bright
grass. With a slight smile on my lips, I watched her. I'm sure she saw
me, though she ignored me completely.

We were both standing visibly in the opening. I was entirely
relaxed.
I felt a wave of complete content wave over my muscles, freeing
each
small muscle with new glory. I felt like an animal; a strong stag
crossing through the forest. And I watched her skillful, coordinated
dancing. I've seen a lot of good dancers in my life but I've never seen
a girl who moved with as much beauty or mystery as she did then. She'd
bend her knees, and then kind of twirl around 360 degrees with complete
ease. She'd land facing me but she never looked at me. I have no idea
how long I stood there, watching her. God seemed to reach down with his
all powerful hand and remove time from my consciousness. Maybe I only
watched her for a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe a week.

Then she stopped dancing. Silently and briskly, she walked into
the dense forest and dissapeared.

And so I kept on walking up the path. The path was a little
saturated with the rain of the past few days and my boots sunk into the
softness of the mud, dirtying the black leather. I didn't care.

Now, I came to a section where the side of the cliff was a gray
cement wall. Moss had appeared on the rocky surface sometime long
before I was born and had stayed there. More recently, someone had
sprayed a huge anarchy sign in black paint. Underneath the classic
symbol, the words "Forever Wild, Forever Free" were written in the same
paint. There were a lot of other messages. They were all
environmentalist messages like "Save The Whales" and "Greenpeace". I
didn't pay much attention to these because I'd seen them before
countless times. But the Anarchy sign was new.

Again, I lapsed into a period of quiet, thoughtless walking.
Brilliantly colored leaves covered the path, radiating in red, yellow,
orange, and the occasional purple. My foot fell on one gigantic purple
maple leaf and I looked around for a maple tree but there wasn't one.
The leaves were the colorful floor of the forest hall. One side of the
path, elegant dark green pines created a solid wall. On the other side
of the wild hall, the only wall was air that stretched out toward
eternity. For a long time, I contemplated the beauty of the park and
only the crunching leaves beneath my feet broke the silence of my mind.
Walking seemed entirely effortless.

Gradually, I approached the very top of the cliff. There was a small,
unpainted
hut I'd never seen before. Maybe they just built it, I thought.
Right
next to it on the side of the path was a petrified tree stump. The
wall
of maybe half the circle stuck up, making a perfect round chair
facing
the path. The center of the tree had been burned out by a fire
countless ages ago.

As I started to walk past the stump, I was surprised to see a
tall, muscular boy with long somewhat curly brown hair. His chin
was
very muscular and just a little jutting. His features were very
sharply
defined. Brown eyes peered out from a handsome, confident face.
He
was wearing a black and white plaid polo shirt, which was
unbuttoned.
Over it, he wore a sleek, black leather jacket. He also wore
light
blue jeans which were snugly, though not tightly, fitting. In his
right hand, he held a smoking cigarette.

Casually, he smiled at me. "Wanna cigarette?", he asked, clearing
a spot for me on the log.

"No thanks. I'll sit down for a minute, though", I replied.

"My name's Pierre", he said, offering me his left hand(he had
a cigarette in his right).

"I'm Sean". For a moment, we both just looked out at the misty,
twisting landscape spread out before us. I could hear him dragging
on
his cigarette. The distinctive, harsh smell of nicotine floated
unpleasantly to my nose but I didn't mind that much.

"So where are you from?", I asked.
'
He gestured to the wooden hut. "I work on the trails and I live here
just in case somebody gets lost in the park. It's a big, wild
place,
y'know and you don't want to be lost too long. We have wolves,
here."
Just now, a sleek, shiny black cat pushed the door of the hut open
and
walked toward us.

"What kind of wolves?"

"Oh, I don't know", he smiled. "Just wolves." The black cat had reached
us and was rubbing lovingly against my leg. Enthusiastically,
I reached out to stroke him. I love things that are bad luck.

"That's my cat Parrot."

"Why's he called Parrot?"

Just then, the cat hopped past me onto the stump and then leaped
up on my back. After struggling for a second, he found steady
footing
on my broad shoulders. Pierre watched, amused. "That's why", he
said.

"I saw a beautiful girl dancing down there on the path", I said,
pointing in the direction I'd come. I decided not to tell him
about
her leafy clothes because he might have thought I was crazy.

"Yeah, I know her. Red hair, big tits, right?"

"Uh-huh"

"Her name's Mary. She's a tree spirit." Now I thought he was
crazy. Lately, he'd been speaking rather absent mindedly and digging in
his coat. Now, he brought out a fat joint and lit it. Then he reached
out with his free hand and put out his cigarette and threw it
carelessly
on the ground. Littered under our feet were, say, a hundred soggy
cigarette butts. "You wanna hit?", he offered.

"Thanks", I said as I took the joint from him. The sweet, familiar
smoke of marijuana passed between my lips. Now a time passed when we
said nothing. We just passed the joint back and forth and more and more
I could feel myself getting high. I don't mean a little bit buzzed; I
mean stoned. It was like an all powerful hand reached down and
pulled
me up into the thrilling depths of the sky.

Then Pierre broke the silence with one of the most stunning
things
I'd ever heard. "You wanna meet god?"

"You're crazy, man. I'm outta here." I got up to leave but
suddenly Pierre caught me with a hard punch to the jaw, destroying my
rising balance. I heard the cat give a shrill squeal as I landed hard
on my back. I struggled to get up and take him on but he was on me in a
flash, pinning me to the ground. I could feel a warm fatness coming to
my lip as I struggled under his powerful strength.

"Chill. Listen, man. I'm serious. You're gonna meet god." I stopped
struggling.

"Whatever you want. Let me the fuck up." He did. I felt my lip. As I
took my hand away, I noticed it was smeared with blood.

"God's visiting the park. That's why Mary was doing her dancing down
there. I can take you to see him." I was on my feet now and I
considered taking off running. I'm a fast runner and I was sure I could
lose the psycho. But the trouble is, I'm a little bit crazy
myself.

"Allright, cool. Let's go see god." Pierre led me further up the path.
We kept on passing the joint back and forth and I was becoming
dangerously stoned. I felt a lot like a stone statue walking along the
path. I was invincible. The mountain was carrying us higher and higher
and now the trees in the valley below stretched out endlessly like
unreal
green toys. With the drug in my bloodstream, I was happily remembering
my black haired lover. I remembered her beautiful black vest. I
remembered her dark red, sophisticated lips and her tight body. I ran
my hand through my short blond hair and it was damp with sweat. Then
suddenly, we reached the end of the path. My jaw dropped. Right
next to a deep green tree sappling was a five foot long lizard. He was
the exact same color as the tree and I might not have seen him except
that he was switching his tail energetically.

"Here's God", said Pierre, waving his hand carelessly in the lizard's
direction. God was entirely silent and I didn't know what to expect. I
didn't know whether he would talk or not. I was caught between the
conflicting ideas that god should talk and that a lizard
shouldn't.

"What kind of a lizard is he?", I asked Pierre.

"A chameleon. He changes color to fit his surroundings. That's why you
don't see god very often. He's usually there, though." I smiled at this
last statement, not sure I understood. Meanwhile, a golden crown with
multi-colored jewels appeared on the lizard's head as if obeying
Pierre's words.

I smiled at the lizard but it didn't respond. "I'm Sean", I said.

"I know", the lizard replied in a powerful, growling voice most unlike
that of a lizard.

The lizard approached us now and as he left the shelter of the
tree and crossed over the dark brown dirt, he became entirely
brown.

Just now, Pierre lit up another cigarette. A cold wind blew
across
the mountaintop and Pierre was just dragging on his cigarette, killing
himself oh so slowly. To me it seemed strange to kill oneself in front
of god. As a matter of fact, sitting right here in front of god, I felt
a wave of positive terror come through me. I looked at Pierre. His
muscular, stony jaw was shaking as his teeth chattered with
fright.

"You can ask me whatever you want to", god said. Snow started to fall
heavily.

"Who painted the anarchy sign on the wall down there?", I asked.

"It all depends on how you look at it."

"What do you mean?", I asked. The snow started to cover the ground in a
romantic, stunning floor of ice.

"This is all a dream. Nobody sprayed the anarchy sign. The
anarchy sign was never sprayed. On the other hand, Pierre sprayed
the
anarchy sign." Pierre took a deep drag on his red hot cigarette, trying
to calm his nerves.

I didn't know why I'd asked my last question. But now I had a better
one. "What's the secret to happiness?"

"Life. Have you ever seen a happy corpse? Does a dried and rotting
butterfly have the same beauty as a live one drifting through the air?
Likewise, you will be as happy as you are alive. When you're strong and
reproducing, the earth will be your heaven. And when you are beaten and
waiting for death, the earth will be your hell. This is my law:You will
be as happy as you are alive."

"Is there life after death?", ventured Pierre.

"Is there?", replied the chameleon, taking us both off guard.

"I hope so but I don't know", Pierre said wistfully, blowing out a
cloud of the poisonous smoke.

"Have you ever played a game of shells with mermaids before?"

"No", Pierre said perpexedly.

"On the shells, they see pictures of the things they can feel; the
things that are alive in their spirits. Death is a lie. And everything
alive is true. If you can feel yourself alive when this weak body is
dead, there is life after death." The chameleon gripped Pierre's leg as
he said this and then let go, as if to demonstrate how weak Pierre's
body was.

"What colors can you turn?", Pierre asked the lizard as he kept on
milking the smoke from his cigarette, which was burning down toward the
butt. The lizard said nothing but turned green, then red, then blue,
then blue, and then purple. Each new color clashed spectacularly
against the white of the snow. The lizard was a living firework. The
snow was starting to build up and the lizard responded by becoming
clear like ice. Then, even the icy image of the lizard started to
shimmer and fade into thin air. Pierre and I were just sitting
there watching the lizard dissappear in front of us. Above the
disappearing lizard, the golden crown hung in mid air and each of the
fiery jewels sparkled fantastically. Like a magic wand, the jewels
flashed to me and silenced my consciousness. I wasn't there
anymore.

I could feel my back on the hard bench and feel a cool mist on my face.
I opened my eyes to see the dark green trees that lined the mountain
path. I tried to get on my feet but I found I couldn't move. A dull
fogginess found its way into my head. Under a nearby pine, two lines of
whisky bottles faced each other. They were mounted on horses that were
just the color and texture of paper bags. The small horses whinnied and
pawed the ground anxiously. Each whisky bottle warrior had a shield and
a lance and was lined up with a rival whisky bottle. Although my vision
was slightly blurred, I could make out many different whisky labels
emblazoned on the chests of the whisky bottles. In the center of one of
the groups was my own whisky bottle. A purple and an orange mermaid was
painted on its shield.

For moments the opposing lines just sat there, doing nothing. And then,
without any warning, the lines charged each other. Lances broke on
opposing shields and many of the bottles were thrown off their horses.
These bottles quickly jumped to their feet, drew swords and resumed
fighting. The two sides fought furiously. Occasionally, one bottle
would send a sword thrust home and the other bottle would break
loudly.

My bottle fought furiously, destroying three enemy bottles with
stunning sword play. I watched the valiant bottle admiringly. However,
victory went to the other side as one after another of my Glenfiddich's
compatriots was broken into fragments. Just as my bottle finished off
his fourth opponent, he saw the crowd of enemy bottles surrounding him.
All of his bottles in arms lay dead and broken on the battle field. The
bottle gave a tragic cry, threw aside his sword and shield and ran
desperately up the mountain path. Chanting their battle cry, the horde
of enemy bottles took off in fierce pursuit of the lone bottle. One
particularly dark bottle sat on his horse with a bow and arrow. This
bottle sent arrow after arrow at the fleeing Glenfiddich. One or two
stuck in the side of the running warrior as he ran right past my
bench.

Then suddenly, an arrow pierced my arm. I gave out a cry of alarm as a
thin stream of blood flowed from the small wound. I jumped to my feet
and leaped over the crowd of bottles and felt one of my feet strike the
mounted archer, quite accidentally. This collision knocked me down and
I nearly went careening off the steep cliff face. The black archer
bottle rolled off the edge of the cliff and shattered on the main path
below. I pulled myself up and went running down the steep mountain
path. My mind was completely controlled by a terror of the strange
visions I was running from.

As I reached the valley path, the park was empty. I heard a low
rustling sound on the other side of the wide creek. I looked and saw a
dark wolf stalking me on four legs. His eyes intently followed my every
move, his body hyperactive with interest in me. No sooner had I seen
the creature than I took off sprinting, faster than ever. The lush
green park whizzed by my eyes as my athletic legs carried me faster
than I had ever been before. I heard crunches as my feet fell on the
wood chip path. I could have sworn that I heard another set of crunches
not far behind me, gaining on me ever so slowly.
The sun had set while I was asleep and darkness had now descended
completely upon the park. I sprinted out of the terrifying park,
desperate to escape from the strange visions I had seen. At the mouth
of the park, tourists idled relaxedly and looked at a statue of Abraham
Lincoln. An athletic young man calmly sipped a cup of coffee and didn't
even look at me as I passed him. An elderly lady gave me a concerned
look as I ran madly past her into the streets of Ashland.