This is a work of fiction. Characters, events, locales, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The Barrier
by Christian Horst
At the end of a canyon lies a town, and all who live there share in abundance and joy. There is no way to the town but through a canyon, and the canyon walls cannot be climbed. My tribe has journeyed far to reach the town, as have many others from all over the land.
Before us stands a great vertical surface, stretching from wall to wall and high into the air. It is transparent like tinted glass, darkening the view of the other side. I wonder about it, but no one else seems to mind, walking through it as if it isn’t there. When I reach it I pause in curiosity. What is this boundary, and why is it here? I reach out my hand and touch it, and find it solid as a wall of plastic.
“Hey.” One of the elders of the tribe calls my name. “You going to stand there all day? Come on.” He passes by me and walks through the barrier.
Confused, I feel around on the area of barrier he just walked through. It is as solid as the rest.
He turns around. “Why are you just standing there? Get a move on.”
I raise my eyebrows and knock on the barrier. The hollow sound echoes through the canyon.
The elder steps toward me and says my name. “Don’t be difficult.”
I throw up my hands. “What am I supposed to do?”
He looks at me for a long moment, and then turns around and says, “If you won’t come, then we’ll move on without you.”
He steps forward, and the rest of the tribe follows, walking around me, passing through the barrier as if it doesn’t exist. I stare after them, tongue-tied at the elder’s casual cruelty, and the ease at which the other tribe members follow his lead. The last member passes by, looks at me, and keeps walking forward. I am left standing alone.
“Hey,” a woman’s voice says. I turn to see a beautiful woman standing nearby, a stranger, smiling at me. She holds out her hand and introduces herself. I shake it and give her my name in turn. “I’m going to the town,” she says. “Want to walk together?”
“I’d love to,” I reply, “but I’m having trouble getting through here.”
“What do you mean?” She asks.
I pat the barrier. She continues to look at me with questioning eyes. “I mean I can’t get through,” I say slowly. “I don’t understand what’s confusing about that.”
“Well,” she says, “I guess if you’re not going, then it was nice to meet you.” She walks through the barrier.
“Wait,” I say, “I’m going, I just can’t get through the barrier.”
She turns around and looks at me. “What barrier?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean, what barrier?” I say, hitting it several times with my hand. “The one you just walked through? The one that’s about as easy to miss as the color of the sky?”
She frowns at me. “Look, maybe we’ll meet again in town.” She turns and walks away.
“Wh—” I say, holding up a hand. But she recedes into the distance without looking back.
It suddenly dawns on me what the difficulties I’m having with communication must be. Not only are other people unhindered by the barrier, but they can also neither see nor hear it. It appears that this barrier, as incredible as it may be, only exists for me.
Determined to find a way through, I search the barrier from one wall of the canyon to the other, from the ground to as high as I can reach. Every inch feels as solid as the rest. After a second time through, and a third, I sit down on the ground, exhausted. All around me, strangers continue to walk through the barrier, completely unaware of its existence.
I fall asleep on the grass. When I awaken the next morning, I lie there, staring at the barrier, trying and failing to think of any options for attempting to get past it.
In the corner of my eye, I see a man walking by wearing a psychologist’s uniform. With a spark of hope, I sit up and call out to him. “Hey, can I ask for your help?”
The man sees me and smiles. “Sure,” he says, “what can I do for you?”
“There’s this barrier preventing me from going forward,” I say. “No one else seems to be able to see it.” I tell him about what happened to me yesterday.
“I see,” the psychologist says. “It sounds like you’ve had some failures, and you’re discouraged by them.”
I look down for a moment, thinking. “Yeah,” I say, meeting his eyes again. “I guess that’s true.”
“Well then, if you’re willing to work with me, I’ll have you back on your way toward town in no time.”
I smile and stand up. “All right!” I say. “What do I have to do?”
The psychologist beams. “Great job! That’s the first step down with flying colors! Now, repeat after me. ‘I am not a failure.’”
“I am not a failure,” I say.
“Good. Now say, ‘I have what it takes to succeed.’”
“I have what it takes to succeed.”
“Head high, back straight! ‘I am worthy of success.’”
Enthusiasm boils up within me. “I am worthy of success.”
“‘I am worthy of esteem.’”
“I am worthy of esteem.”
I continue repeating after him, saying things like, “People like to be around me,” and, “I belong in town.” By the time we finish, I am full of vigor, shouting the lines with all the energy I have.
“Awesome!” the man says, clapping me on the back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I’ll see you in town.” And without another word, he strolls off.
I hold out my hand, pressing on the barrier. “B-but . . .” He is too far away and doesn’t hear me. I mutter, “But what about the barrier?”
I rap my knuckles against the barrier. It’s still as solid as ever. I wrack my brain, trying to think of where I went wrong, of what I could have said to make the psychologist understand my problem instead of assuming it was in my head.
Maybe he did understand it. Since nobody else can see the barrier, maybe it really is in my head after all. Maybe all I need to do to get it to stop blocking my path is to stop letting it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. There is no barrier. I am just like everyone else. On my way to town, where there is food and celebration and friendship. There is nothing in my way. I confidently start forward on my journey.
Pain explodes through my nose and forehead, and then my rear. In a daze, I open my eyes to find myself sitting on the ground, the barrier looming above me, dark and solid as ever.
Reality is a bitch. I groan through gritted teeth, and sorely lift myself back to my feet.
Several voices call my name. I turn around to see around ten of my friends coming my way. I sigh, and smile at them. They approach me. “We’re going to town. Come with us!”
“I would like to more than anything,” I say, “but there is a barrier preventing me from moving forward. It seems to only affect me. Look.” I lean against the barrier in such a way that without it, gravity would pull me to the ground.
“Huh,” one of the men says. “That’s weird.”
A woman points and says, “Have you tried going that way?”
I follow her finger to a path in the side of the canyon. Its entrance is on the other side of the barrier. I shake my head. “I can’t reach it.”
“Oh.”
They stay with me for a while, talking and laughing. For a time, I can forget the barrier and the town, and enjoy the company of these wonderful people. But eventually things start to wind down, and they decide to move on.
“We hope you can join us in town soon,” one of them says.
“If it takes a long time, we’ll come visit,” another says. “And you can give us a call anytime you need someone to talk to.” She points to a phone on a small table . . . which is on the other side of the barrier. “See you.” They turn and leave.
I smile sadly and wave. “Bye.”
Others pass me as the days go by. Most ignore me. Some give me dirty looks or shake their heads while pretending not to notice me. Some are kind and believe me, and I can see in the eyes of a few that they have barriers of their own. But I can’t see theirs, and none of them can see mine. Some come back from town to visit me from time to time. They brainstorm ideas with me, or talk about the joys and struggles of town life. I treasure their support. But I learn that I am the only one who can understand my barrier. I am the only one who has a chance at finding a way through.
There is one thing that gives me hope. When I press my thumb hard into the barrier, so much that it starts to hurt, it leaves an indent, which takes about a minute to smooth over again. With no other options, I press hard. Then, I push on the lip of the indent, widening it.
It is a long, tedious task. I have to keep applying pressure to the whole area, lest it rebound and force me to start over from the beginning. I keep pressing until the skin of my thumbs is raw and I start to bleed from beneath my nails. Then I switch over to my knuckles and push with them until they are skinned and my joints throb. Still I keep pushing, hoping that if I push enough, the barrier will tear and I will be able to open a hole big enough to crawl through. I don’t know if that is possible, but there is nothing I can do but try.
People continue to pass by me. Most don’t understand. They don’t see the effort I’m making. A few call me lazy, and tell me that if I refuse to move forward, I don’t deserve to live in the town. I ignore them and keep pushing. They were lucky enough not to have barriers, and because of that, they have the luxury to believe that the world is fair.
As I lean my shoulder to rest against the area I have been pushing on, I notice that others are struggling too. Some lean forward, as if pushed back by a strong wind. Some lift their feet with effort, as if crushed under a great weight. And I realize there is so much more going on, a whole world of struggles and barriers that most people never notice.
At the moment, I don’t have energy to put into anything but my own efforts to get to the town. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a seed is planted, and I think that maybe, once I reach the town, I might devote a portion of the happiness and energy I receive there to helping others through their invisible barriers.
