A Cold Drifter in Pleasantville

There’s no key, he said to me. I glanced around this quaint little town, a place where it would not make sense not to know your neighbor’s lives in detail, but to break into their house to steal something would not make any sense either. Quiet, innocent and untainted, this part of the world where tourists don’t really take any interest. Everything seems to go on as things remain totally undisturbed, all with the same hue. I came here from the different side of the ocean, drifted here by my own curiosity. A stranger expected to bring colors to the quiet lives.

The man gave me a ride after seeing me as a lone hitchhiker in the middle of the empty road. I told him the usual story, of why I was in this forlorn country forgotten by most travelers, that remained unknown to the rest of the world. I must admit that I was here to somehow cure my own ignorance, and later on, feed my wanderlust ego of having been in this strange corner of the world.

The man was going to drive to Brazil that night to play his music and would stay there for a few days. I could understand as this small town is close to the border. After having exchanged the usual introductions and the brief stories of our lives, he finally told me, you can stay in my house.

That was a surprise honestly as I was heading to another destination.

He seemed to be a famous musician in Uruguay but he remained humble to a stranger who was uninformed about his country, let alone the music scene. I was lost in my thoughts trying to internalize the fact that my plan would have to change again if there was really any plan. As I thought of being able to stay close to the sea for a few days, I made a quick decision that I certainly wouldn’t want to miss this chance to recover from my restless wandering.

Taking chances had become a significant part of this journey, to restore my faith in humanity. I welcomed kindness into my life like the prodigal son running back to his father’s arms. My instinct sent me an alarm that this was going to be fine.

I cooked the usual traveler’s food to somehow imply that this was also an exchange, after being oriented with the parts of this unlocked house. There were dusty pieces of furniture and interesting musical instruments that occupied the couch. The house was complete and livable, it only lacked colorful characters to transform it into a home.

I would not omit the other part of this story that the man somehow tried to kiss me that afternoon as he showed me the vast stretch of empty beach. I rejected it quite nicely, without any guilt on my part. I was an ice goddess, but what could I do, I didn’t have any feelings for him. One thing I learned in this journey is to treat a man’s ego like a fragile glass. If I break it, the sharp fragments could strike back fast, like a punishment for destroying a beautiful thing. I couldn’t remember how many times in my travel I was treated differently for not giving in to their lustful needs. I admired the brave attempts though, and this flattering thought of being the object of their desire, but I also frowned at my own stubbornness, for not learning my own lesson. I run the risk of letting the shards of broken glass pierce my skin again. I must admit though, he is a good man, quite talented and attractive, however, I was as cold as the sea, grayer than the sky at that time, and I was not on this journey to search for a prince or have a casual encounter.

Surprisingly, he didn’t treat me differently, I guess he was really a nice man. In fact, he left me in the house for a few days while he was in Brazil for his concert. But the old house once again felt empty.

I went out for a walk along the cold waters of the shore. The sun's rays glittered over the gray waters, making it more pleasant to my eyes. Certainly, this is not the best of what nature can offer but for me, a beach is a beach. Anywhere with nature is always nice. Anywhere with sea I could willingly waste my time away, I would be there.

What made this beach a unique and beautiful sight to behold was its vast gray field and emptiness. I could walk for long hours as the soft sand and cold water enveloped my feet. Nobody was here as the townspeople would not see the pleasure of taking off their shoes only to find their skin wrinkled by the cold. This was one of the simple pleasures I got to do every day here, taking the much-needed break from having to repeatedly share the same story to people, and having some quality time in nature. The sea must have felt my absence.

One thing noteworthy was this small abandoned building at the middle of the beach, it seemed destroyed by time and washed up by salt water. It was painted and beautified by graffiti and notes by some lovers that went wrong. I saw the beauty in the pile of rubble and in this destroyed structure, or what the world could call the standard for ugliness. It only meant for me some strange place to explore, a safe refuge. A place to sit down and listen to the eternal whisperings of the sea for a few hours, as I continued to reflect on my life and this little adventure I had willingly embraced.

I’m part of the sea that I couldn’t imagine as well not letting it be part of my thought. Here, I studied each wave, its temper and its unpredictability. It was restless and desolate. I was hypnotized by its power and its mysteriousness.

I took pleasure in these solitary moments by the cold sea until it lasted.

I had saved the best for last as I walked back to the house along the dark empty streets of the town, that remained unattractive to the unappreciative eyes. I remember vividly the dreamlike surrounding and the smell of the unfamiliar cold night air as it hit my skin. The flickering street lights neoned over my head that magically transformed this town into a surreal scene, and became my most unforgettable memory of this place.