The Number 33

“Masons and other occultists revere the number ‘33’ above all other numbers.  Many acts of war, murder, and assassination have occurred on or near the 33^rd degree parallel,” – Cutting Edge[1]

“When expressed to the fullest, the 33 number energy is focused on its considerable abilities toward the spiritual uplifting of Humankind.  It’s the number of Christ (age of death), meaning it represents the changer and mover of paradigms,” Spiritual Paradigm[2]

Lost, on a desolate road, headed to a hotel she had never been to.  Her head was filled with images of a past lover; her first.  The years between them had been completely disconnected from one another; their lives took on different meanings as they each fulfilled their separate destinies.  She didn’t know if she would see him when she got there, and she didn’t really want to, deep down.  The vacation was something she had planned months before he had even re-entered her life.  Still, she knew she would be in town for his birthday, and possible situations danced in her head like nightmarish monsters haunting her every thought.  She couldn’t escape him now, and she desperately wanted to.

It had been nearly 13 years since they last saw one another.  He had children now, a wife, and he was a completely different person, although he would say that he was still the same boy she loved in high school.  She was not the same girl, though.  She had time to grow up, to realize that the fairy tale of love she believed in when she was young was a lie, and that she was better off believing in herself rather than wearing her heart on her sleeve.  He broke her heart in a way no one had since then, and she feared that if she saw him again, one of two things would happen…

They would fall into each other’s arms, ill-fated and lustful, nostalgic for that lost, fleeting feeling, the hope they both once had of a kind of love that lasts a lifetime.  They would have mad, passionate sex, and she would fall in love again.

Or…

She would snub him coldly, distance herself from any emotion she ever felt for him in her life, and forget that he was her first love.  Treat him as though he was a cockroach invading her personal space, even though she was the one coming to town on his birthday.  Who cared about details like that, though, when you were as striking and independent as she was?  It wasn’t her fault that he never ventured out from under his tiny little rock of a sheltered life.  He was nothing but a past mistake, a pain she got over long ago.  A notch in her bedpost.

She continued down the road, her led foot guiding the way.  No one was on the road but her, and the music blared as she hurled thought after thought of him around in her mind, trashing one romantic notion with a stiff rejection she imagined herself dishing out.  Both of the notions felt amazing, either one would have been pleasing.

But it all seemed too much.

She gazed out the window at the storm looming in the distance.  It would be raining by the time she arrived in Anthem.  Had she taken the right road when leaving Las Vegas, she would have been there by now.  Something led her to Nipton, she pondered.  Something supernatural led her there.

Maybe she really just wanted to go home.  Back to the place she knew years ago.  Maybe she thought it would be the same after nearly 20 years.  It was a pain that could never heal; one she didn’t easily forget.  Maybe she was meant to travel this lonely, two lane highway because she wasn’t meant to reach her intended destination.

The thoughts swirled in her mind like cream in coffee, oil in water, blood in a bathtub.  She imagined many, horrific things could happen between now and when the monsoon hit.  She could end her troubles with just a swift yank of the steering wheel in the opposite direction.  The rental car hurdling out of control, spinning, tossing her about inside, and finally, delivering an epic crash landing that could result in a massive explosion there in the middle of the desert between California and Arizona.

What would the papers say about that?

The sadness returned, as it always did, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it.  It was like an old, familiar robe that blanketed her in a sick, comforting sort of way.  When all the world seemed to mish mash and fall apart, the sadness was always consistent.

Looking up, she saw something in the sky that made her completely forget the entire train of thought that led her to this moment.

Speeding up, she took out her iPhone and snapped a picture of it, in awe of what she thought she could see.

A few hours later, she arrived at that hotel in Anthem.  Scrolling through her iPhone, she stared at the photo that made her forget.

[1] Cutting Edge, 2016, retrieved from:  http://www.cuttingedge.org/news/n1766.cfm

[2] Spiritual Paradigm, 2016, retrieved from:  http://blog.spiritualparadigm.org/numerology/meaning-number-33/