World of Wanderers, pt. 1

There are a lot of eccentric people in the world. Just the night before this story, I saw someone walk into a gas station at 9 P.M. on a Friday and walk out with two coffees. I thought to myself, “Why coffee? And why two of them?” Coffee seems distinctly like something you only have in the morning, right? It was so late in the day, too - it really made me wonder what someone would possibly be doing to want to have so much caffeine. At least it gave me something fun to think about on the way home from work.

At any rate, the next morning, I was out of the house on a short walk through the local Coyote Hills golf course. I’m no golf player, but I respect the well-kept green grasses and sculpted landscapes. On weekends, I like to wake up really early and take a nice walk as the sun comes up and the air is all crisp and cold. It might be a little trite to say that it feels like the world is waking up with me, but it rings true. It was a wonderfully foggy morning that day. It felt like it had been ages since conditions for a morning walk were so good.

Typically, the golf course doesn’t open until around 6:45. I estimated that I had until around 5:45 to cut across the green and wander around before any employees showed up. I probably could’ve gotten away with a little more on that day since the fog was very thick. I didn’t have a care in the world. I couldn’t begin to understand why more people don’t do this sort of thing.

At some point fairly soon into the walk I decided to try to test my spatial recollection of the golf course by walking to where I remember various landmarks being and seeing if I was right. I ended up at 3 for 5. Not bad, right?

After visiting the fifth landmark, I decided to leave the golf course and go walk along a sidewalk instead. At the time, it seemed more interesting to me to watch passing cars phase in and out of existence as I walked along a road than to wander across some hazy turf. Shortly after I started towards an exit, however, I found myself at an interesting portion of the course. From where I stood, absolutely nothing of note was visible. It was just a nearly-flat plane of grass that faded into morning fog after ten feet or so. I was mesmerized. I must have stood still in that spot for five straight minutes. It felt like I could’ve been anywhere. It felt like I was nowhere at all.

After a little while, I took a few steps forward toward the exit of the golf course. I noticed that something was awry almost immediately, something on the fringes of the fog. A worrying silhouette. It definitely wasn’t supposed to sit in the middle of a golf course, and yet there it sat. It was some kind of small house. I had never seen it before. It probably wasn’t there. It looked like it must’ve been built in the 50s or 60s - even more of an oddity considering this golf course was erected within the past 10 years and only an empty lot remained there prior. It certainly wasn’t like any of the copy-pasted townhouses or condos or HOA tracts you would normally see around these parts these days. I love little houses like that. So homely, so steadfast. I figure that’s probably a pretty common opinion, though.

I strolled up to the house and tried to peek in through the windows. “Why would a house be here?” I wondered. “Is it occupied? Had it been occupied for the past half a century?” I half-expected the window on the entry door to be caked in dust. No such luck.

Through the window, I saw… a modestly-furnished entryway and kitchenette. The entire building had to be no larger than one of those IKEA showroom floor plans with 300 square feet to their name. It was just a house. A house someone would live in. Who would live in the middle of a golf course? My curiosity was piqued harder than it ever had been before. I tried the doorknob - unlocked. I debated for a second whether or not I should actually trespass into this mysterious house. This was a building that by all means was not present inside this golf course the day before - or ever - to my knowledge. I figured all legality and rationality left the window at that point; anything goes. I stepped in and took a good look around.

The house was mostly pristine. It seemed like it had been cleaned and vacated recently. There was no debris strewn around, hardly any messes or dust, and few personal belongings that seemed significant to anyone in any way. It reminded me of a well-kept Airbnb. I just stood around inside for a little while, marveling at such a weird place. I didn’t really like the feeling it gave me. Strange.

I left the house promptly. I decided it was time to head back home, towards the exit and down the sidewalk. The fog had cleared somewhat. More of the space around me was visible. I walked down the green and out towards the fence I’d exit through. I didn’t feel disoriented, but as I walked I didn’t see any of the landmarks I had come to recognize in my walks through this course before. I kept walking. I started to wonder if I had missed some of the landmarks. I walked some more - surely by now I would’ve reached the fence and the exit. I started to wonder if I had missed it somehow. My sense of distance had been completely thrown off by this uncertainty. I just kept walking.

The fog cleared further as I went. No fence or exit or sidewalk or road ever appeared. Somewhere down the line I walked, I stopped dead in my tracks. “I’m somewhere else.” I knew it.

A slight slope of a hill had developed as I walked, and I was rounding its ridge. I decided to get to higher ground and gather my bearings. I’d wait for the fog to clear if I had to. I only took a couple steps up the hill before a voice startled me out of my climb. “Hello?” Someone called out to me. I couldn’t tell where the voice came from. It could still just be a security officer for the golf course.

“Hey,” I responded, weary. I tried to look around for their figure and listen for footsteps.

“Who are you?” The voice sounded curious, maybe even optimistic. I started to make out a figure approaching the inner edge of my haze. What business does this guy have with me?

Naturally, I responded with my name. “Um, I’m Calem Bogdan. And you are…?” I wasn’t really sure if this person was even human yet.

The interloper kindly responded, “I’m James Auguste. Nice to meet you.” He emerged from the fog and reached out his hand to shake mine. It was refreshing to know I wasn’t whisked away or about to be caught trespassing. I sighed and shook his hand.

Immediately after gaining some semblance of this man’s trust and acquaintance, I decided to ask him a stupid question. “Where am I?” On second thought, I should’ve probably realized in the moment that someone walking up to me in a sea of fog and greeting me when I’m clearly disoriented is very strange. Luckily, this man’s response clued me in well enough.

“Where are you? Well, you’re about a half-mile south of a public building.”

“Excuse me?” By my estimate, we should be within at most a quarter-mile of one.

“I realize the fog is making it hard to see, but I’m not fucking with you, sir. I’m currently doing labor for local maintenance. Gotta have a good sense of distance to do that in this weather.”

This man’s phrasing is really unusual for some of these things. “Local maintenance…? Are you working on this golf course?”

“What? Golf course? The hell is that?” I think he noticed the deeply confused look on my face because he paused for a moment before asking: “Can I take a look at your ID, man?”

It was admittedly a strange request, but out of some deep-seated worry that he actually was a security officer, I pulled my driver’s license out of my wallet and showed it to him. He gave me an extremely concerned look. “What the fuck? I’m going to go to the local council about this.”

He sprinted away from me after that, evidently heading to that ‘local council’ he mentioned. Any semblance of authority I saw in him instantly evaporated with that line anyhow. He was just some eccentric prankster to me then. Taking up my valid ID with the city council? What a joke. If he expected me to follow him, I certainly wasn’t going to oblige. I started walking in the opposite direction, which luckily happened to be uphill again.

The fog was growing modest now. I could see the bulk of the hill’s arc as I climbed it, the brightness of the daylight seeping in over the upper strata of low-lying cloud.

I rounded the top of the hill. It was nice up there, air especially crisp. I looked around at what all I could see. It wasn’t much yet. I laid down and stared up at the sky and the shifting clouds obscuring the sun. I wasn’t yet sure if this hill even existed normally. I just wanted to see a road, some passing cars. But it seems that there are no more roads, no cars, no sidewalks. Not even many buildings. The space I was in was completely different from my life and world prior, but it didn’t seem cataclysmic. It didn’t even really seem apocalyptic or negative. It just seemed different. As I laid there, a curiosity washed over me. I wanted to learn more about wherever I was, and not merely so that I could go home and get back to relaxing for the weekend.

Some time passed and then I stood up. I looked around. The fog has lifted. A great basin laid itself out before me - a valley before the northern and eastern hills that pours itself into an alluvial fan against the western coastline. It was a cloudy day, and the pockets of light that shone through the cloud layer gave this world a sense of blissful realism that it had lacked. I can feel real here, strangely enough.

I began to take in more than just the nature in the environment. There were no roads, no sidewalks. There were hardly any buildings compared to the real world, and they weren’t clumped together. The buildings varied greatly in size and shape, from small shacks like the one I saw earlier to large warehouses and public spaces and stations and small kiosks and stands and signboards. The world was bound and banded by railways with stations and little else, at least from this perspective. It seemed to be a world that flowed freely, by its own whims. I thought it was a little beautiful, if not extremely strange.

The most important telltale sign of humanity’s dominion over the planet dots the landscape instead - people. Little bright dots spread across the landscape like glitter. Wanderers. Weirdos. Walking from place to place, taking in the sights and sounds, keeping their presences small. How could a world like this function? Would I belong in a world full of eccentric people? I had to learn more.

My first order of business was to learn how habitation worked here. Houses are spread thin across the land, with some being larger or smaller. If my hunch is right, based on the earlier encounter with the barren house that possibly led me here, people came and went between houses. As though they were all hostels or airbnbs.

After that, though, what would I do next? Would I try to meet someone and make a connection? Could I make a connection with the strange people of this place? Would they see me as strange instead? Would I be able to fit in with this culture? I’d like to consider myself someone who is willing to change and accommodate to different cultures, but this might be a little too much too soon.

Wait, will anyone even believe my story? How should I frame something like that? How would I describe myself? Let’s look over the facts. My name is Calem Bogden. I’m 29 years old. I work as a general manager at Yard-Mart… Does Yard-Mart exist here? Will I get made fun of for mentioning Yard-Mart - and I’m only realizing this now - just as I was ridiculed when I mentioned being in a golf course to the other guy? Actually, a world without golf courses is a price I’m willing to pay for a world without golf. Terrible game. What’s next about me, though… my connections?

I have two parents who I contact rarely, two cousins who I also contact rarely, and three close friends, two of which I contact frequently. What will I do about those connections? How will I contact them? How quickly will I grow to miss them, and will I be able to return to them? I wave of pensive dread sets in at this thought. I felt as though I had no choice but to push past it. I considered all the times in media I’ve seen characters encounter a circumstance like this and struggle with it for a long time, perhaps even most of their character arc. I remembered that I hated seeing that happen and decided firmly to not allow myself to do the same. I had to hold my reservations and not worry about getting back until I’ve come to grips with this place. So I did.

I set out towards the nearest house shortly after this. As I approached it, a nearby bulletin posted up next to some flowers in bloom caught my eye. I walked up to it and noticed that it prominently featured a map of the local region. It was also called Orange, just like the region I was born and raised within. Come to think of it, the shape of this whole area was remarkably similar, but not exactly akin, to its shape in reality. It also featured some local news and a whole host of other information I wasn’t interested in at the time. I found the whole setup charming. I found myself feeling kind of bad over feeling that way about the bulletin. Reminds me of annoying, insensitive tourists. Not that Americans think anything of tourists to their own country. I haven’t been out of country myself, but if I were to go, I certainly wouldn’t at like those people you see online or on those awful clip compilation shows from a couple decades ago.

As I approached the house, I noticed a few people inside. A family. They seemed cheery and positive enough. It was a small house for four people. A grandfather, a mother, a tweenage daughter, and a younger son. I tried to flush the accumulated cynicism from my system and put on an approachable, friendly managerial face to prepare for the interaction to come.

Those people were wonderful to talk to and meet, and a great help too. But that’s a story for another time. I’m here now, narrating this, so surely it’s clear that I made it back and survived. What a kind trip down memory lane - my first real vacation, and a meandering one too.