Indian Summer

The westward drive from Miami to Naples covered a long stretch of road, bypassing concrete landscape, flooded grassland, and wildlife on thin bodies of water. There was a wistful feeling about the long road which connected the east to the west, a romanticizing spirit that seemed to linger well after the journey's end. It was on this long road that Fred Walters came to grips with something he’d been avoiding for so long.

He had already packed his suitcase and backpack into his sedan in anticipation of the three-hour drive. A move-out van was parked in the entrance and the entire floor of his apartment was covered with cardboard boxes each stacked to the brim.

Clusters of envelopes could be seen scattered across the floor following a path from the door to the main living area- a result of his perpetual habit of putting off mundane tasks until they were piled up, leaving him hurrying and organizing at the last minute.

At some point in his adult life, Fred became accustomed to a rather passive lifestyle, lacking in fervor and intent. Working in finance wasn’t something he loved but he worked diligently, begrudgingly embracing it as a temporary means .

Finding better opportunities in the city grew increasingly challenging and the cost of living skyrocketed over the past year. So like many others of his generation he found himself in a cycle that would be called the nine-to-five rat-race. He kept very few friends in the city and barely made time for social activity due to constant exhaustion or his avoidance of unnecessary expenses.

Days passed by blurringly without the thrill and adventure of his younger years; it was a life of perpetual boredom. He missed his hometown, the days of freedom, his escapades and most importantly his friends.

After he ransacked the dusty corners of his wardrobe, the thought that he was avoiding something of importance slowly dawned on him. So he returned to the letters and envelopes, sorting through them one-by-one. One thick brown envelope stood out from the pile- the invitation addressed by Mitchell White Crow, his long time best friend.

The contents of this envelope almost immediately triggered a strong sense of belonging- a wristband and a handcrafted photo album put together by his best friend. They brought back recollections of his formative years up to his teens, days of kayaking across the everglades, volunteering in the Big Cypress, and holidays in Daytona Beach.

These photos reminded him of better times when the day seemed longer, time was abundant and the weight of responsibility felt light as air-days when he felt he would live forever.

Fred folded his vests into his duffel bag as he reminisced about his teens. He stared closely at one of the photographs- prom night at the bowling alley with his five of best friends Sara, Dean, Mitchell, Rachael and Indigo.

The six friends shared a bond as strong as a close-knit family. Like many relics from the glory days, this photo carried a lot of significance, too many memories to recollect at once. The signature of the top right corner said June 1983, the last time they were all together. He stuffed it in his breast pocket close to his chest for the precious gem it was. Each of them had their own copy of this photograph which they kept dearly.

Things were different in this city now that the six friends were separated. Every now and then, Fred struggled with the listlessness in his body as a result of loneliness. Everyone lived miles away , each with a distinct lifestyle .

Nevertheless, they managed to keep in touch, this priceless photograph being the one thing that kept them connected especially in memory of one person, the very thing he’d been putting off for a long time. The invitation to Indigo’s memorial service.

He remembered how he first met Indigo . It was an evening of pizza and movies on VCR. She wore a headband under her big frizzy hair, large hoop earrings, a pink sweater and leggings. She had graceful facial features with perfectly rounded bone structure, a face reminiscent of Seminole beauty.

He remembered thinking to himself God must have taken his time on this one. When she first saw him, he immediately noticed her eyes, big spheres of hazel staring right at his. They couldn’t stop staring at each other until Rachel called from behind.

“Indigo, That’s Fred. Mitchell’s best friend.”

And that was the day Indigo was introduced to the Alley Pack. That was the day Fred realised his friend Mitchell had a sister. It may have been some twenty years ago, but he pictured it as vividly as it was yesterday.

Before heading out of his bedroom he paused and took out the photograph. Every time he looked at it, he couldn’t help but think of Indigo. He was never the same from the day they met; he reminisced about the bonfire nights they spent listening to stories from Seminole oral tradition, the long walks together along the Tamiami trail.

Fred remembered how every room lit up when she walked in, her thoughtfulness and peculiar love for the animals of the rainforest. She knew the animals by species as was depicted in her artworks, drawings of the woodlands, caves and of nature all round.

In a world where people tried so hard to blend in it was rare to find someone like Indigo, a brave soul who brought him out of his cocoon, letting him try things never fathomed. Fred never imagined a world without her.

When the news came in the fall of 1985 the world around him spun out of control. On a surfing trip at the beach over one long weekend with friends, Indigo fell off her board into the water . She was found the next day washed along the shorelines of Miami River.

Since then, the world around Fred lacked the colour it once had. Aside from the photographs , he cherished the token she left him on prom night , her painting of the Tamiami Trail. He kept it mounted safely on the passenger seat so every time he drove, her words “it will keep us connected in spirit” roused a sense of comfort.

He stepped on the pedal prepared for the long road trip to the west with the hope that a new environment would give him a new sense of rhythm. The trip to Naples was specifically arranged to precede Indigo’s birthday, July 7th. Mitchell had invited all five friends for a get-together in memory of his sister. He looked forward to seeing all their faces once more.

When the letter first arrived in the mail, Fred tried his best to avoid it. Indigo’s passing was something he never completely came to terms with. He didn't understand how somebody so loved, so pure and so full of life could be taken from the world. Driving to her memorial was something he never imagined doing, an unpleasant thought to bear. It was easier said than done.

Ten minutes into the journey, he passed the pine trees, the bald cypress, the bowling alley, Mitchell’s old house, all the remnants from his childhood. Through the rear-view mirror he could see the city slowly disappear until it was but a tiny lump of haze.

He remembered the things again as he drove past Mitchell's old house. He remembered coming over and asking Indigo’s father for permission to take her to prom. Indigo’s father Rodney White Crow was one of the last remaining tribal chiefs in his community, a man of impressive status revered by all local clans. He seemed to have a poor first impression on Fred on their first encounter. Fred was rather skinny with dark curly hair and thick glasses which looked like goggles.

Rodney, who was descended from a line of warriors, had an intimidating and fierce disposition. He seemed to wear a permanent frown with a stern gaze as if he were constantly scrutinizing something in the far distance. Within the first few moments of their meeting, Fred nervously made a comment about fishing in the river which seemed to startle the Chieftain.

It was a rather unconventionally humorous comment about catching the best fish. The Chieftain paused and looked at him for a few seconds before he let out the most hysterical laugh Fred ever heard, a laugh so loud the neighbours could hear. Henceforth, Fred gradually saw the other side of the Chieftain’s nature, the adventurous open minded father, a selfless leader.

Fred recognized there was something in the air that particular afternoon, a sad pleasure or homesickness about the whole journey, a feeling which invoked a yearning for things out of reach . Perhaps it was his beloved 80’s record Don’t Stop Believing by Journey playing on the radio, the painting sitting beside him or or the cluster of thick shrub and dense woodland passing by as he drove. It aroused sentimental yearning for the things long gone and out of reach.

Perhaps it was memories of Indigo’s father, going on fishing trips with him and catching bullshark, bass, and other diverse species Lake Okeechobee was blessed with. As he drew closer to his hometown, he became more gripped and overwhelmed with feelings he’d suppressed for so long. Death was something he never quite understood.

He had a near death experience in 1983. A seizure which left him in the hospital. Indigo was the first to arrive at the hospital. Somehow she knew when it happened; she could feel it but couldn't explain how or why. It was a profound mystery among the six friends that whenever Fred was sick Indigo felt. And whenever Indigo was in danger, Fred could feel it.

He took a short sigh in an attempt to suppress the feeling of melancholia and pressed harder on the accelerator. Through his windscreen, the vast and ghostly white-blue sky opened wide as if ready to swallow him at any moment. The cumulus clouds slowly closed in on one another, forming a thick grey heaven .

News about a possible thunderstorm was announced earlier on the radio that afternoon- something he could vaguely recall. Small droplets slowly trickled through the thick grey clouds forming droplets on his windscreen .

Fred had a deep love for rain and thunder. He believed it had a purifying effect on him and awakened the hibernating animals of the rainforest.

Within a few moments the rain drops began to fall harder, concealing the entire highway. A deep violent thunder shook the atmosphere so heavily Fred could have sworn it was the voice of God. A lightning bolt stabbed the asphalt creating bright purple electric sparks emanating. Veins of lighting soon decorated the atmosphere, tearing through the sheets of grey sky and rain. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, brilliant, frightening and alluring all at once.

Slowly and steadily the radio signals began to trip on and off. His music became muffled and intercepted. He heard sounds of waves, nature, birds followed by indistinct sounds which sounded like a party full of young people. In an attempt to change the station, Fred was momentarily distracted. He was approaching an incoming truck which slammed into his sedan sending it somersaulting.

In an instant all he could see was a white canvas. The sounds of nature from the radio played in the background- ocean waves, wind, chirping birds in the distance. Suddenly the white canvas fades to a shoreline where he found himself lying soaking in the sand. He heard Mitchell,a voice call from behind and a Dean threw a football at him. He lifted his head and stood up with his feet immersed in the water.

He walked slowly deeper into the water. Waves seemed calm, the strong wind tugged against the surface of the water causing ripples. The sunlight from the horizon revealed a lone figure in the distance standing in the water.

He recognised indigo. She turns around with a smile so peaceful and convincing that all was well. Before he can even think of stepping into the ocean, the light from the horizon expands to fill the entire body of water.

The blinding light overwhelms and consumes everything until he wakes up yet again to another place. Music fades in and he recognises the songs immediately .He finds himself in a massive hall with a disco ball in the centre filled with youthful faces in their best attire. There's a giant staircase leading up to an angelic figure in a white dress. It’s indigo looking exactly as she did on the night of prom 1983. She is beautiful as ever with a glowing haze surrounding her .

He treads carefully up the staircase and the steps seem more narrow on the way up. He extends his hands and she extends hers. Their contact is broken by a light emanating from behind, a greater force pulling her away until he’s back inside the car in its rightful place, miraculously intact as if there was no collision whatsoever.