Deep Water

I'm not going to chronicle my adventures in the Amazon step-by-step. There's just too much minutia that happened. We boated around alot on a motorized canoe and saw some wildlife, much of which is documented in my Facebook photo album here: (http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2150522&id=3108199&l=2e2b5e5d20). We hiked some, in the day and night, and saw everything from birds to bullet ants, from monkeys to caimens, dart frogs to tarantulas (one of which I walked around with on my shoulder for awhile). Instead, let me give you some insight into my mind as it slipped away from me and drifted away with the current.

I spent the first night hunting around for any small creatures in the lodge compound. I would excitedly jump off the balcony into the mud to snatch a picture of a frog or moth on the ground, showing the photos off with pride glowing from my face. I explained all the diseases tropical mosquitos could carry over dinner, ate citrus-tasting ants off the branch for brunch, and by lunch the next day, where I gracefully shoveled my food into my mouth to continue chasing lizards, I'd developed a reputation and a nickname. Bryce the Bug Boy.

I was the first to pick up the spiders or snakes, first to taste the ants, first to taste fried pirana (before the girl who caught it), first to even cross muddly flats when everyone else was afraid of sinking in. They challenged me to be first, and waited to see how I'd respond. Were they afraid of these things, or just wanted to find my limits? My apparent leadership did not engender respect, it felt derisive and mocking instead.

The second day, we went pirana fishing. I was the first to catch something, though it sadly dropped off the hook. I proceeded to catch nothing else, while the others began reeling things in. Small fish kept annihilating my bait long before it could sink down to the levels of the piranas. Annoyed, I yank at one, and pull a small silvery fish up onto the boat. A fish like this would be great bait for a pirana, and far too big for any of the smaller fish. I drop it into the water, confident, and wait 15 seconds. Feeling a nudge, I pull up my line, and find half a fish, cut neatly in half, dripping blood. Stunned, I put the line back into the water. 5 seconds later, the upper half of the fish is gone too.

I caught nothing, but others were luckier. We kept the biggest fish to fry up at dinner. The cook presents it to the girl who caught it, but she balked at eating a fish that´s not in stick form. Everyone looks around, waiting to see who will stick their fork first, until all eyes look at me. "Bryce, you try." I did, and it was delicious. We passed the fish around, and everyone took a modest chunk, not wanting to selfishly hog the pirana. But, the fish was surprisingly meaty, and plenty was left after the plate had made its round. It fell back to me. I offered seconds to anyone who wanted it, especially the girl who the fish actually belonged to, but no takers. I proceeded to rip the fish apart, eating every scrap of meat I could find. One of the guys snickers and says "Hey Bryce, eat the eyeball!"

This time, I wont play. "Sure. I'll eat one if you eat the other with me." He blanches, and no one else makes comment. I kept the pirana jaw as a souvenir, and let my roommates pick it clean for me overnight. The next morning, I bring the shiny white bone to show everyone else. They marvel at it, until one girl points and asks, "Hey, is that a worm?" It is, and it crawls off the bone onto my hand. "Cool!", I exclaim, as it wanders between my fingers, but my excitement turns to horror as I realize the worm is trying to burrow into the flesh between my ring and pinky fingers. Freaking out, I immediately pick and pull and rub and scrub my hands together until every trace of the worm is gone (I think, I'll let you know). Either way, they finally see I'm not unflappable. From then on, they respected me.

Increasing harmony within the group was only matched by increasing dischord in my bed. At night, things were black. Without light for miles, not even the blinking light on the VCR, my room was blacker than black. So black your eyes hurt, so black you see color and shape in the ether. Awake and sleep blurred together for me, and I had strange dreams and hallucinations (nor did I try the shamen's hallucinagenic drink, 10 bucks a pop). Confusing, violent, and scary, I didn't understand what I was seeing. I tried to share my thoughts, fears, and philosophies with the teacher girl on the boat the next day, but she couldnt care less, and she was the only one in the group likely to.

I tried the next night to try what a Mormon bishop I met on my roadtrip had challenged me to try. I asked, with an open mind and an ernest voice, whether God was out there, playing with my head. No response. I asked if, despite my jewish family, Jesus was really the savior of man. No answer. I asked for Buddha and Xenu, and neither heeded my call. I spiraled deeper into my own mind, coming to the conclusion that everything we saw or did or felt was merely an extention of our biological craving to reproduce. And then I saw something.

The last day, I was to be one of the last departures to ship out downriver. As everyone else piled into the boat to leave, we all hugged and kissed each other's cheeks and promised to Facebook each other and write each other and share future wedding photos (seriously). I of course lied. There is no Bryce Walker on Facebook (actually there are 58), and I would not write or share photos or ever see them again. In my travels, I meet people at a shotgun pace. Quick, numerous, small pellets with the potential of taking a chuck out of your flesh if you're not careful. I hardened myself, and pretended to savor the sweet sorrow of goodbye like everyone else, when in reality I never bothered to learn their names in the first place. Bryce, the fake man with fake feelings. And yet, one vision from the black persisted.

I'm on the boat, speeding through the flooded forest with the rest of my trip cohort. But my friends and family are here too. The boat is huge. Everyone I knew from St. Louis and Australia was here, everyone I'd ever met on the road, however briefly, was with me. Adrift perhaps, but not alone. I carry them with me. Everyone I've ever met, anyone I've ever cared about, is with me on my big boat.