TravelingDreamer
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Chapter 39: Losing the Sense of Obligation
🕑 Added 2024-05-01 21:38:58 +0000 UTCAfter our celebratory beer, I asked Stretch, “Do you want to stay here for a while to learn your new body, or do you want to go?”
I felt a sense of speed and wind in my face as I awaited his response.
“Wait till we reach a tech world with cars. You’re gonna love the speed.”
I got a sense of a question mark, his confusion clear.
“Cars are vehicles like the bike trailer, but are bigger and much faster.”
I got a burst of excitement from him.
“You’re a speed demon, you know that?”
He was happy and licked my face, his tail wagging furiously.
As I began to break down the tent, Stretch conveyed exasperation and questioning.
“What? I can’t leave it here. It’s a great tent.”
He looked at me, sighed, and shook his head judgementally, making me laugh. He sent me a sensation that I didn’t understand.
“I didn’t get that,” I said, feeling a bit puzzled.
Again, he sent me something I couldn’t decipher.
“Maybe try something else. I can’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
He looked thoughtful for a minute, and I felt like something had disappeared. I looked at him with a giant question mark in my mind; I had no idea what he was trying to say.
He looked at me like he was waiting for something. Suddenly, I got it and facepalmed.
I’m an idiot!
I stored the tent without dismantling it. When I summoned it again, it was fully assembled except for the canopy poles I had removed. I hugged and patted him, saying, “You are the smartest, the most amazing, the best dog in the universe.”
Stretch held his tail high, displaying a smug expression, while I felt mortified, and my face burned with embarrassment. Suddenly, I remembered the ladder I had carried up the mountain and wanted to hide from embarrassment in a deep, deep hole.
We walked back to the road; this time, I could hop over the stream instead of wetting my boots. The fresh scent of the forest and the sound of the stream added a pleasant backdrop to our journey.
“You know? You owe me. I had to carry your sleeping ass to the forest and couldn’t jump with you on my shoulders. My boots got all wet.”
I got a distinct feeling of ‘and...’
“Just saying.” His communication ability was outstanding.
I love my awakened dog.
After we reached the road, we continued the same way as before: one or two rest stops a day, selling some things, healing some people. After two days, we reached a town. I was beginning to suspect that all the towns in Shimoor were carbon copies; they looked too similar. But here I had a nasty surprise: the inn was dirty, and the innkeeper even dirtier. I didn’t even want to sit on a chair in the common room, let alone sleep in a bed there.
It was late afternoon, so I went to the general store. The air carried the aroma of spices and dried goods, which sharply contrasted with the inn's stale odor.
“Hello, good sir.”
“Hello. I was hoping you could help me.”
“I will be happy to, for a small compensation.” His tone was as dry as the store’s wares.
“I’m a traveling merchant and healer. I hoped to stay in town for a day or two, heal people, and visit you later to offer my goods, but the inn here looks terrible. Do you know some other place I can stay?”
He looked at me like he was waiting for something. After about ten seconds, I realized he wanted his “compensation.” I gave him a copper coin. He looked unhappy with the amount and said, “Yes, since Barat started drinking, he stopped taking care of his inn.”
I turned to Stretch and said, “Did you hear that? No more beer for you, buddy.”
I got outrage as a response, and his ears flattened indignantly.
I asked the shopkeeper, “So, is there another place to stay in town?”
“What language was that? Never heard it.”
“I’m from the islands in the south; it’s a local dialect. Is there another place to stay in town?”
“There is a widow that rents rooms in her house.”
“Can you tell me please how to find her?”
He looked at me again, waiting. I sighed, shook my head, and gave him another copper. He still looked unhappy, but gave me directions.
The two-story house had seen better days but was not dilapidated. A lady was sweeping the front steps, and I approached. The smell of baked bread wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
“Hello.”
“What do you want?” she snapped, not stopping her sweeping, her eyes narrowing as she looked me up and down.
“I was told you have rooms for rent at the general store. Is there a room available?” I asked, trying to keep my tone friendly.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in this town?” she demanded, her voice harsh and her posture rigid.
“I’m a traveling merchant and healer and didn’t like the look of the inn.”
“From the Islands in the south?” she asked, her tone dripping with skepticism.
Huh?
“How did you know?”
“I heard stories about you from people that stayed here. Can you prove it’s you? Where is your dog?” she said, her voice laced with distrust as she glared at me.
In my search, I discovered I had lost Stretch at some point. I called him, and he came running from two houses over. I looked and saw two kids in front of the house, watching with wide eyes.
She looked from him to me twice and said, “You can stay here, but if you do something I don’t like, I will throw you out. I heard you heal people; if you heal in my house, I want half the payment for using my home, and the dog is not getting in the house.”
I felt Stretch’s outrage, and I had to agree with him. I was beginning to dislike this town.
“Thank you for your generosity, madam, but I will continue on my way.”
I turned to leave, and she called after me. “My back hurts. Heal it before you go.”
I turned to her, said, “Sorry, I’m out of mana,” and left. That is one rude town, and I understood why the innkeeper became an alcoholic.
I took out my bike. Stretch hopped in, and we rode out of town. The wind rustled through the trees, a soothing sound that helped me shake off the unpleasant encounter. I felt bad about not healing her, but her attitude and tone were so militant and demanding, as if I owed her something, and she was doing me a favor by talking to me. I just didn’t feel like it.
After riding for some time and thinking about it, I concluded I didn’t owe my healing to anybody. I wasn’t working in a hospital where I had to treat every person who walked in. Here, I had agency and could decide who deserved or didn’t deserve my healing. Maybe it was judgmental, but it felt right and like a weight that I didn’t even know I was carrying dropped off my shoulders.
I checked the Map and saw that the road curved west at some point and continued along a river to the capital.
I stopped and asked Stretch, “We have two options: continue on this road for about two or three days on a bike or cut through the wilderness on foot. It will be much shorter since we are going in a straight line, but no bike.”
He thought for a minute and jumped out of the trailer. I stored the bike, and we left the road toward the capital. The surrounding forest was alive with sounds: birds chirping, leaves rustling, and the distant sound of a flowing river. I needed to clear my mind for a while.
We walked, and I talked to Stretch, telling him about my work at the hospital, the 24-hour shifts, the fear of a lawsuit every time a patient didn’t make it, my sorrow about losing patients, and the constant pressure. I also talked about the time after my residency and how I still pushed myself to the limit because I felt I owed Sophie since her parents cut her off financially when she married me.
Talking helped me realize that when I left Earth, I was relieved not to have that responsibility and pressure. But in the first town, when I heard healers were rare, some of the pressure to perform returned, and when I heard healers were expensive, the pressure intensified. But in both cases, I created a manufactured pressure in my mind. Yes, I would still heal people; I had the means and the desire. But finally, I felt like I didn’t have an obligation. I didn’t owe anybody anything. Inhaling deeply, I sensed my entire body expanding along with it. I felt more “solid” as an individual, more grounded and stable.
We traveled through the wilderness for five days, and it didn’t rain!
Thank you, whoever you are, for that.
Being in nature was pleasant and relaxing, and I even thought I saw a bear, but it turned tail and ran from us. The air was crisp and fresh, filling my lungs with every breath. I set camp early in the evenings—with my glamping tent I didn’t need to reassemble—and we had dinner. The smell of cooking food mingled with the earthy scents of the forest. I cooked every day, played the guitar, and we sang together. It was a pleasant and relaxing time. I was tiring of people and needed a break, and the last town exacerbated the situation. I liked people to some extent, but I learned to love my alone time.
This journey was more than just physical travel; it was a journey inward, a chance to reassess my priorities and find peace within myself. Stretch seemed to understand, always close by, his presence a comforting constant. The wilderness had a way of stripping away the unnecessary and revealing what truly mattered, and for that, I was grateful.
