The Bonesaw Trail

By Dorian Dalta

A road trip? A road trip down the rabbit hole? Bonesaw makes a beeline toward providence. Bonesaw blazes a path to destiny. He leaves what has become a familiar yet tainted existence on a rural Caribbean island to rendezvous with the life he came from. His action-packed excursion will meet its apex upon reuniting with his beloved and estranged pal, Johnny.

Johnny is also embracing a journey, a passage of his own, a lost and mysterious drive through the night. A curious wolf and a self-sufficient feline act as unforeseen guides. What is their message? Where is he going? Where will his path lead?

Will Bonesaw and Johnny ultimately come together? Will their paths eventually converge? What will transpire amid their ventures? What will it mean for each of them?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: May 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452551128

Dorian Dalta

Dorian Dalta has a double master’s degree in counseling psychology. He is a freelance musician and lives in St. Cloud, Minnesota

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Copyright © 2012 Dorian Dalta

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5113-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5112-8 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-5111-1 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012908043

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Credit: William Stafford, Our Story from The Way It Is: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 1988, 1998 William Stafford and the Estate of William Stafford. Reprinted with permission of the Permissions Company, Inc. on behalf of Graywolf Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota, www.graywolfpress.org.

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Balboa Press rev. date:5/11/2012

To John George Phillips, aka Johnny.

Rest in peace, buddy.

Our Story

Remind me again -

Together we trace our strange journey,

Find each other, come on laughing.

Some time we’ll cross where life ends.

We’ll both look back as far as forever,

That first day.

I’ll touch you

A new world then.

Stars will move a different way.

We’ll both end.

We’ll both begin.

Remind me again.

—William Stafford

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 1

SKU-000558327_TEXT.pdf

Somehow I knew this was always my destiny. It dawned on me like … like it was with me all along. I don’t really know what riddle teased my mind into this consciousness.

I continue to drive. I think I know where I’m going. This isn’t the first time I’ve driven this particular road. My thoughts drift. I’m relaxed. I don’t have far to go. Am I the only one driving tonight? The road is so bleak, uninhabited. Have I passed any cars? Driving at night is isolating anyway. You can assume a greater reality exists, but all you really know is what’s revealed by your headlights—a small bubble through the expanse of darkness, a beacon, alone. Has the world gone to sleep? Isn’t anyone else driving tonight? It’s not that late, is it? What time is it?

I turned off of Highway 10 about fifteen minutes ago, I think. Highway 10 was dead. Did I pass any cars? Why can’t I remember? I must have passed a car or two. Highway 10 isn’t some crazy interstate. I’d like to think of Highway 10 as a normally bustling, well-used thoroughfare. From Highway 10, I make my way to Highway 25. This, too, is well maintained, although certainly less traveled. I speed on through the night. Things don’t look as familiar as I would have expected. I must still be on the right road. I’ll keep driving. I can always turn around. That’s the thing with driving at night; it’s based on assumptions. What’s really beyond the guidance of my headlights? I don’t mean to sound unconvinced. This element of mystery is compelling, taunting me. I’m sure this is further enhanced by it being a rather cold evening. I’m in my warm, moving island, passing through the night. Menace may lurk, but I am presently secure. My beacon is purposed motion, determined yet flexible, drifting, not aimlessly.

I turn on the radio. Static fuzz seems the only option. The white, familiar noise could be a comfort. Even if I could get a signal, I think I’ve heard everything the radio would provide – the same old, commercial crap. I twist the volume knob counterclockwise until it clicks off. The silence is outgoing. The cold wind whistles as I drive the intermediate highway. My tires produce a familiar, calming hum along the cold, dark blacktop.

I push on through the night, clipping along behind the wheel. This silent drive is pregnant with thought. Behind the wheel, I’m afforded a bit more in the way of sensory perception, yet the redundancy of this road lingers. I remain a lone flare in an empty night. The wind whispers at my vehicle, reminding me of its power. I wonder if it will snow. This vacuum I seem to be driving through has sucked away any semblance of time I may have claimed. I could give a good guess. Yet, as the road cranks on, I feel a sort of twilight-zoned timelessness. Any sense of the familiar has been shunned by the absence of sunlight. I couldn’t really tell you what time it is. I should really have sense enough to throw you a good guess. I am, however, just not able.

I would expect to see a road sign. I am also starting to wonder about the lack of other vehicles. I haven’t passed any other cars. It isn’t creepy, although I have begun watching a bit more intently for another driver. I like the privacy of knowing I’m the only driver. On the other hand, a hint that some other drivers actually existed would be a nice sliver of reassurance. Where is everyone?

Something flashes on the road at the limit of where my headlights reach. Something darts across the road. My senses tighten. Mother Earth has come to life. My energies are tensed and revived. This boring, lonely ride has awakened. What will I witness? Was it a deer? I methodically apply the brakes. No, that looks like a wolf or a coyote. If not, it’s one big-ass, wild-looking dog. As I slow to check it out, it appears as though this wolf has captured something. I continue to slow down. The wolf ignores my presence at the scene. It has downed a deer. The chase appears to have concluded right here alongside the roadway. I’m struck by the raw, graphic display of nature, as if Mother Earth was putting on a show right here for me tonight on this lonely, old highway.

While the presence of people has, for now, evaded me, I am reassured by the appearance of these animals. As I slowly move my foot from the brake to the gas pedal, the dog, wolf, or whatever it was starts in on what looks like an ample and hearty meal. It’s so carnal, steam from the innards of the deer and the jowls of the beast rises to meet the cold, outside air.

I ponder the wolf and the deer. I am taken slightly with an insinuation of anxiety. A shudder runs under my skin. It’s not the sort of thing you see along a somewhat well-traveled roadway. Would this big dog attack a human? The wolf hardly took notice as I drove by. Pride, fulfilled determination, and the excitement of a soon-to-be-filled belly seemed the wolf’s singular concerns. Why wasn’t the wolf more frightened by my presence and the presence of a vehicle? I certainly feel safe and warm here behind the wheel, but what if I had to walk? What if I had to be outside, without the protection of my warm driving capsule?

The road speeds up as I apply the accelerator, but somehow it doesn’t really change. Where am I going? I am trying to get home, but somehow the idea of heading home is fading. I don’t really have anywhere to be. The gas tank is nearly full. My thoughts fade until they are as mundane as the road. Though I’m aware of faint themes to my train of thought, nothing seems to really stick. The road seems to suck away any specificity. As I drift along the highway, my brain rides along in neutral. Although I am mildly aware, this sense of neutrality lends a great degree of contentment. I am relaxed; I am being. I drift in and out of an awareness concerning this present state of mindfulness.

A smoke sounds good, so I grab for my pack. Where are my smokes? I check my jacket, the cubby set conveniently in my car’s dash, the passenger-seat floor, and the passenger seat. My smokes—where are my smokes? I have nearly a full pack somewhere. The search continues to no avail. Instead of continuing the search at a mad dash down the highway, I let off the accelerator and coast onto the well-groomed shoulder of the highway. I haven’t seen a car. Nevertheless, I stop the car well off the highway, nearly onto the gentle incline of a ditch alongside the shoulder and engage the hazard lights. The search for my smokes continues. Are they under the seat? Are they in the glove compartment?

The hunt is becoming urgent. I just had them, for gosh darn sakes. What did the wolf do with my smokes? I can accept being out here on the highway in the middle of the cold, blustery night. I can even accept the lingering doubt as to the existence of other humans. The lack of smokes, however, I cannot accept. I recheck all the likely