I’ve been in semi fresh air for a day and a half now, my lungs are starting to clear, and I’m feeling good, albeit the slight tugging in the back of my mind.
‘It’s not too late.’
I smile and light another cigarette as my car slides through Garden City, and a few more till I reach the outskirts of Cullman. I look at my phone and check the time. Not too bad since I wasted quite a while back in Georgia trying to procure this damn thing. Ah well, M should still be at work and, lo and behold, there it is.
I pull in and let the last little bit of smoke out of my mouth before I gear up for my trip inside. Wallet, phone, knife, keys, here we go. I walk up past the machinery, admiring the nice, unmarred paint coating each of them, and slide in through the door. In front of me, walking around to the register is a very cute, short woman. I smile and nod and continue on my unknown path. The alarm goes off, lights flash, but, being who I am, assumptions can’t be relied upon in these situations.
I make my way through the aisles, the nice new pneumatic tools lining the walls. I walk through the garden section, seeing another person in a red vest. No bells and whistles. Ooooh, I like these watering systems. Handy dandy. I walk some more.
PTO hitches.
¼” nylon rope. Gee, have to get some of that when I get back to Arkansas, might come in handy.
Chain hooks.
Air compressors. 150 PSI? Bwahahahahaha, what kinda wuss only uses 150?
Carhartts. Very nice selection, might think about picking up a hood for my jacket.
Ah well, none of these red vested heathens instill fear within me.
I walk back past the counter, but she’s turned the wrong way for me to see the nametag, and busy. Ah well, we’ll make a call. I get to my car and phone up B.
“Hi, this is Brian. I’m up here at M’s work, knowing my luck she’s off isn’t she?”
“No, she should still be up there. Can’t find her?”
“It’d help if I knew who I was looking for, heh.”
“She’s real short, about 5’2”, brown eyes…You should know her when you see her.”
“Ah, thought so. Well thank you.”
As I enter the doors yet again, I hear the loudspeaker click on.
“M, you can a call on line 3, M, call on line 3.”
Bwahahaha, B, you’re quick on the phone. Lessee, no service phones at the front desk, kiosk in the middle with a computer, ah there we go, our cute woman giving me the ol’ stink eye. I give her the patented ‘Brian-is-a-goofy-ass’ look and make my way around to the other side.
“S’good to finally meet you!”
We exchange words, I find out what time she gets off of work, and go to fill up on gas and fiddle with my phone.
Colin calls. “So, you out of Alabama yet?”
“Um, I’m like, right near the border.”
“Well I suggest you get out.”
“Heh, I’m supposed to spend the night here, what’s up?”
“Arkansas crushed Auburn.”
…
“Oh shit.”
But luckily, as it was explained to me, northern Alabama are hardcore Bama fans. So, I was safe for the moment.
I followed M home, enjoying the spread out rural community to the fullest extent. We pulled up to her house, and I stepped out, looking over the fields, noticing the treeline, and the yapping.
DOGGIES!
Angel and Bullet came rushing out, with B following them. After a hug and a quick introduction to the dogs, we headed inside their house, where I got to see firsthand how little M exaggerated about her cats. Allergy hell, but I love them so, so it was well worth it.
Just kinda slipped into the old groove. Nothing awkward, just the usual, but better.
Angel continued to assault me with her affections whilst Bullet decided to voice his dislike of me within his space, and we talked for a while before they decided to give me a pre-emptive tour of the area.
Cullman is littered with Catholic history, and it shows. I got to see a large Monastery (with adjacent gift shop ~gag~) with a 14k gold back wall, and the classic Spanish architecture, and got a wonderful view off of the top of one of the many surrounding mountains. Very breathtaking, and so much like home. We chatted a bit more, drove around, and had a very nice dinner, the check for which I masterfully spirited away before anyone noticed (HAH to both of ya!)
More to come.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Friday, October 06, 2006
Als du mich noch geliebt hast...
Eagerness. Twitch.
Can't sleep. Shuffle.
Gotta pee. Groan.
Up and at'm, seven o'clock on my cell, six on the computer, five in the car.
Rise, rise, and rise some more. Eagerness. Get to spend the day hanging around with V again. Shuffle, stumble, shimmy to the computer, sit and gaze, average out the miles, check the clock again. I wonder what time she gets out of class. A bathroom run, a change of clothes, some banana bread. She's online. Skipping class? What a fucking lazy ass.
Shuffle, stumble, shimmy to the car, to the first wind of nicotine. A coughing fit. Holy fuck what the hell is wrong with the air here? I’m supposed to be in a semi-urban area here. I HATE not being able to enjoy my time in a city for longer than a few days. Richmond never hit me like this. That’ll teach me to drive with my windows down through the eastern coast. FUCK. The smoke helps, as strange as that sounds.
We drive on over, V’s not answering her door, I get shown out, call her up, yadda yadda, off to Denny’s! God I love Denny’s. A great breakfast to start off a great day, unfortunately I am not quite able to smite her in public for the ticket, but at least I got the tip. The little victories I suppose. We shuffle off, me in a trendy fucking Stitch shirt, very secure with myself thank ya very much. Now to see the kitty!
Evidently V has a cat. But it’s not her cat. It’s her friends cat. But make no mistake, it’s HER cat. We drive over to the apartment, I get to meet her two friends, one at a time, and witness horrendous, indecent disposal of garbage which was both LOOSE and LIQUID. It’s sad how some people just disregard the laws. V’s kitty is extremely cute, black with high white socks, and extremely sociable. Very pleasant cat. V’s friend had to burn off to work, so we left and went to the Oviedo mall, schmoozed around for a while talking about piercing, how bad I was at finding poetry in Barnes & Nobles, and general topics.
We went to another Barnes & Nobles, since I couldn’t find either of the books at the one in the mall. This one didn’t have the Saint De Whatisface’s book, but it did have the new Robert Parker Spenser book, as well as the Nick Adams stories. Score!
We went back to her apartment for a while and hung around, watching stupid stuff, griping about how they reformed Cookie Monster into some vegan freak, and how Grover was still quite clearly insane. Eventually the TV lost its charm and hunger began to rise up again. California Pizza Kitchen. Now, when one thinks ‘pizza’, one does not normally correlate that with ‘California’. But don’t let the name fool you, very good Italian food, and they carried Guinness, so c’mon now, total win/win situation.
On the way back we skirted difficult topics, tension rising a little bit, and my dignity once again shrinking. We arrived at her apartment shortly after, topics still lingering in the air.
It’s comin around again…
She asked me if I would like to read the paper she had recently done. I said sure, and she quickly produced it from her desk and set it down in front of me. I read through it.
I’ve read this before.
I know these words.
The fallacy of Love.
It hangs there. Unsaid but heard.
The question comes into my head, with almost a half twisted smile, and I know I shouldn’t say it, but I do.
That’s how I roll.
‘So what do you think about love now?’
‘I think you should go.’
…fair enough.
Can't sleep. Shuffle.
Gotta pee. Groan.
Up and at'm, seven o'clock on my cell, six on the computer, five in the car.
Rise, rise, and rise some more. Eagerness. Get to spend the day hanging around with V again. Shuffle, stumble, shimmy to the computer, sit and gaze, average out the miles, check the clock again. I wonder what time she gets out of class. A bathroom run, a change of clothes, some banana bread. She's online. Skipping class? What a fucking lazy ass.
Shuffle, stumble, shimmy to the car, to the first wind of nicotine. A coughing fit. Holy fuck what the hell is wrong with the air here? I’m supposed to be in a semi-urban area here. I HATE not being able to enjoy my time in a city for longer than a few days. Richmond never hit me like this. That’ll teach me to drive with my windows down through the eastern coast. FUCK. The smoke helps, as strange as that sounds.
We drive on over, V’s not answering her door, I get shown out, call her up, yadda yadda, off to Denny’s! God I love Denny’s. A great breakfast to start off a great day, unfortunately I am not quite able to smite her in public for the ticket, but at least I got the tip. The little victories I suppose. We shuffle off, me in a trendy fucking Stitch shirt, very secure with myself thank ya very much. Now to see the kitty!
Evidently V has a cat. But it’s not her cat. It’s her friends cat. But make no mistake, it’s HER cat. We drive over to the apartment, I get to meet her two friends, one at a time, and witness horrendous, indecent disposal of garbage which was both LOOSE and LIQUID. It’s sad how some people just disregard the laws. V’s kitty is extremely cute, black with high white socks, and extremely sociable. Very pleasant cat. V’s friend had to burn off to work, so we left and went to the Oviedo mall, schmoozed around for a while talking about piercing, how bad I was at finding poetry in Barnes & Nobles, and general topics.
We went to another Barnes & Nobles, since I couldn’t find either of the books at the one in the mall. This one didn’t have the Saint De Whatisface’s book, but it did have the new Robert Parker Spenser book, as well as the Nick Adams stories. Score!
We went back to her apartment for a while and hung around, watching stupid stuff, griping about how they reformed Cookie Monster into some vegan freak, and how Grover was still quite clearly insane. Eventually the TV lost its charm and hunger began to rise up again. California Pizza Kitchen. Now, when one thinks ‘pizza’, one does not normally correlate that with ‘California’. But don’t let the name fool you, very good Italian food, and they carried Guinness, so c’mon now, total win/win situation.
On the way back we skirted difficult topics, tension rising a little bit, and my dignity once again shrinking. We arrived at her apartment shortly after, topics still lingering in the air.
It’s comin around again…
She asked me if I would like to read the paper she had recently done. I said sure, and she quickly produced it from her desk and set it down in front of me. I read through it.
I’ve read this before.
I know these words.
The fallacy of Love.
It hangs there. Unsaid but heard.
The question comes into my head, with almost a half twisted smile, and I know I shouldn’t say it, but I do.
That’s how I roll.
‘So what do you think about love now?’
‘I think you should go.’
…fair enough.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The weather is here, wish you were beautiful...
R
What a hell of a day, waking up late in a large bed, an hour behind a so called ‘schedule’. Pack, pack, pack, rush, rush, rush. And on the road we go after thanking the lady at the front desk for TOTALLY hooking me up with an awesome room for cheap. $99 for a two bed mansion it seemed like, instead of the $110 single. Awesome people seem to be basically falling into my lap.
I-4 to Florida’s Turnpike…
I-4 to Florida’s Turnpike…
I-4 to…
Hmmm….
Tampa 60 miles
I-4 to…Where the fuck is the turnpike?!?!
Jesus Christ…
I-4 to I-75 through some craptacular rush hour traffic. Sweet! Once I finally hit the bend in I-75, I turned my car roughly 90* left, strapped the wheel down and crawled into the back for a quick nap. Seriously though, the everglades are nice, water level about eyesight, wide, WIDE shoulders leading up to 9-10 foot tall chain link fences.
I suppose the reason for the wide medians is so people are less likely to stop and go croc hunting, since they’d have to go quite a ways from their car to get to the fence. Of course, I like to think the wide shoulders are to give the crocodiles a fair chance at getting a tender, juicy meal before they make it back to the road.
75 to 27 to 997 and more everglades. I am impressed with them, no matter how repetitive they might be. A part of nature within a few miles from very large cities and it has yet to be consumed. Now I’m no hippie, progress is progress mind you, but being as such, quite an accomplishment. Go soggy bottom!
I wonder what it would look like if all these trees still had their leaves.
Pembroke Pines. I chuckle. Driving some more, almost like home, small ass highway, speed limit signs that might as well not be there for most, jawsome. Maybe the day will get better.
Highway 1, your gateway to the Keys! Friggin whoooo! Two lanes, trees on either side to block the blissful tourists from the swamp, crocodile crossing signs, the whole nine. Little bit of construction, people stick to the limit, life is good. I start to think again, the road spacing out the people in front and behind. I start to think if it’s actually possible to swim to Cuba, at least when it’s warmer. Maybe it’d be a nice lil side trip if I had the money, I could almost smell the cigars from way up here, then the natural gas/swamp gas/gassy gas hit my nose and I almost puked. I hate being so sensitive to those vapors. I cough pretty hard, keeping the car on the road and
F
THUNKkkkkchhhhhhhhhhTHUNKkkkkkchhhhhthuddathuddathuddathudda WHAT THE HELL?!
I brake slowly, noticing the other lane of traffic doing the same and look in my rear view. The crap was a log doing in the road? Someone’s gotta move it I guess, and since I used it as my own personal wake up call I shifted into reverse, backed up, slipped onto the shoulder and got out, as I noticed a few others doing as well. It’s just a log, but any help is appreciated. Then I see what the hubbub is about.
Dudes, I ran over a fucking crocodile. Right the fuck over it. Evidently it had been in the shrubbery blocking the glades from the road, and the sound of construction had been agitating it, and evidently I wasn’t the only one grumpy about the smell, so it tried to munch on my front bumper, which broke it’s bottom jaw, but this thing is like 25 foot long, weighed had to be 400 pounds or more, so it’s momentum took it a lil further forward, and its upper torso rolled under my car, and continued to spin as I made like Speedracer across its jaw. One of the people stopped was a Wildlife ranger type guy, can’t remember what they call them down here, I was too friggin busy staring at the CROCODILE I had just tenderized. He said he saw the whole thing, which saved me from having to explain to the county wildlife committee what I was doing ramping my wagon over crocodiles on my way down to the Keys, and especially a $100,000 fine if they found me guilty of not yielding to a speedy reptile.
That bastard pulled out in front of me. Hate that.
Anyways, we were talking about it and the thing starts to groan, and then we notice that it’s leg is twitching in the old ‘snapped neck’ way, but its eyes are still rolling around and god does it look pissed. I could swear that thing was gonna use its tongue to paddle over to me and show me what was up. Tit for tat. The thing was still friggin alive, crushed jaw, broken neck, a head that had been smashed against the pavement many times when it started to roll (Saturn wagons also practice the ‘death roll’ technique, but instead of drowning you in water, it’s motor oil. More calories, but they get a lot of exercise.) Anyways, the wildlife official checks him out and radios into the crew that he had just called in before he got out of his vehicle and told them not to bother. This thing had been crushed and skinned basically, but those damn groans were really starting to get to me.
We had to put it down.
So, since I was the one that put it in this condition, I had to do the duty. I pulled out my gerber, very nice knife, kept it sharp, but never thought I’d put it to this, and straddled my frozen friend. Now, I hate reptiles pretty much, especially those that want to kill me, and crocodiles who try to snack on my ride are no exception. I’m not doing too good at this point, but nevertheless, suffering is suffering. I put the tip of my knife at the point the ranger had specified, took a deep breath, bit my lip, and shoved the knife forward, completely severing the spinal cord at the base of the skull instead of simply mangling it.
This thing must have had lungs like an oil tanker, and they rushed out as I yanked my knife back out from between its skull and vertebrae. It was a long, tragic death gust, and as it finished off the third eyelids involuntarily slid up, giving his eyes an odd, milky look. Some of the onlookers were none to pleased with me. I’m not sure how well I’m going to be liked in Florida from now on, just glad there was no press to ask me what it felt like to be an amphibian hating redneck. The officer, myself, and a few of the larger construction workers coiled the body up in the back of the truck and said our goodbyes.
Then I got airlifted to my hotel. Turns out that croc had been on the rampage, dealing dope, smuggling crack, murders, pimping, you name it. So tonight Jimmy Buffet is flying down here to Margaritaville to name me the Crocodile Slaying God of Key West in a celebration which will involve much drinking, and then give me a couple mil to ‘stay cool’ as he will put it, and say if I ever need a drinking buddy to call him on his private go-to line. It’s been a bitchin day.
What a hell of a day, waking up late in a large bed, an hour behind a so called ‘schedule’. Pack, pack, pack, rush, rush, rush. And on the road we go after thanking the lady at the front desk for TOTALLY hooking me up with an awesome room for cheap. $99 for a two bed mansion it seemed like, instead of the $110 single. Awesome people seem to be basically falling into my lap.
I-4 to Florida’s Turnpike…
I-4 to Florida’s Turnpike…
I-4 to…
Hmmm….
Tampa 60 miles
I-4 to…Where the fuck is the turnpike?!?!
Jesus Christ…
I-4 to I-75 through some craptacular rush hour traffic. Sweet! Once I finally hit the bend in I-75, I turned my car roughly 90* left, strapped the wheel down and crawled into the back for a quick nap. Seriously though, the everglades are nice, water level about eyesight, wide, WIDE shoulders leading up to 9-10 foot tall chain link fences.
I suppose the reason for the wide medians is so people are less likely to stop and go croc hunting, since they’d have to go quite a ways from their car to get to the fence. Of course, I like to think the wide shoulders are to give the crocodiles a fair chance at getting a tender, juicy meal before they make it back to the road.
75 to 27 to 997 and more everglades. I am impressed with them, no matter how repetitive they might be. A part of nature within a few miles from very large cities and it has yet to be consumed. Now I’m no hippie, progress is progress mind you, but being as such, quite an accomplishment. Go soggy bottom!
I wonder what it would look like if all these trees still had their leaves.
Pembroke Pines. I chuckle. Driving some more, almost like home, small ass highway, speed limit signs that might as well not be there for most, jawsome. Maybe the day will get better.
Highway 1, your gateway to the Keys! Friggin whoooo! Two lanes, trees on either side to block the blissful tourists from the swamp, crocodile crossing signs, the whole nine. Little bit of construction, people stick to the limit, life is good. I start to think again, the road spacing out the people in front and behind. I start to think if it’s actually possible to swim to Cuba, at least when it’s warmer. Maybe it’d be a nice lil side trip if I had the money, I could almost smell the cigars from way up here, then the natural gas/swamp gas/gassy gas hit my nose and I almost puked. I hate being so sensitive to those vapors. I cough pretty hard, keeping the car on the road and
F
THUNKkkkkchhhhhhhhhhTHUNKkkkkkchhhhhthuddathuddathuddathudda WHAT THE HELL?!
I brake slowly, noticing the other lane of traffic doing the same and look in my rear view. The crap was a log doing in the road? Someone’s gotta move it I guess, and since I used it as my own personal wake up call I shifted into reverse, backed up, slipped onto the shoulder and got out, as I noticed a few others doing as well. It’s just a log, but any help is appreciated. Then I see what the hubbub is about.
Dudes, I ran over a fucking crocodile. Right the fuck over it. Evidently it had been in the shrubbery blocking the glades from the road, and the sound of construction had been agitating it, and evidently I wasn’t the only one grumpy about the smell, so it tried to munch on my front bumper, which broke it’s bottom jaw, but this thing is like 25 foot long, weighed had to be 400 pounds or more, so it’s momentum took it a lil further forward, and its upper torso rolled under my car, and continued to spin as I made like Speedracer across its jaw. One of the people stopped was a Wildlife ranger type guy, can’t remember what they call them down here, I was too friggin busy staring at the CROCODILE I had just tenderized. He said he saw the whole thing, which saved me from having to explain to the county wildlife committee what I was doing ramping my wagon over crocodiles on my way down to the Keys, and especially a $100,000 fine if they found me guilty of not yielding to a speedy reptile.
That bastard pulled out in front of me. Hate that.
Anyways, we were talking about it and the thing starts to groan, and then we notice that it’s leg is twitching in the old ‘snapped neck’ way, but its eyes are still rolling around and god does it look pissed. I could swear that thing was gonna use its tongue to paddle over to me and show me what was up. Tit for tat. The thing was still friggin alive, crushed jaw, broken neck, a head that had been smashed against the pavement many times when it started to roll (Saturn wagons also practice the ‘death roll’ technique, but instead of drowning you in water, it’s motor oil. More calories, but they get a lot of exercise.) Anyways, the wildlife official checks him out and radios into the crew that he had just called in before he got out of his vehicle and told them not to bother. This thing had been crushed and skinned basically, but those damn groans were really starting to get to me.
We had to put it down.
So, since I was the one that put it in this condition, I had to do the duty. I pulled out my gerber, very nice knife, kept it sharp, but never thought I’d put it to this, and straddled my frozen friend. Now, I hate reptiles pretty much, especially those that want to kill me, and crocodiles who try to snack on my ride are no exception. I’m not doing too good at this point, but nevertheless, suffering is suffering. I put the tip of my knife at the point the ranger had specified, took a deep breath, bit my lip, and shoved the knife forward, completely severing the spinal cord at the base of the skull instead of simply mangling it.
This thing must have had lungs like an oil tanker, and they rushed out as I yanked my knife back out from between its skull and vertebrae. It was a long, tragic death gust, and as it finished off the third eyelids involuntarily slid up, giving his eyes an odd, milky look. Some of the onlookers were none to pleased with me. I’m not sure how well I’m going to be liked in Florida from now on, just glad there was no press to ask me what it felt like to be an amphibian hating redneck. The officer, myself, and a few of the larger construction workers coiled the body up in the back of the truck and said our goodbyes.
Then I got airlifted to my hotel. Turns out that croc had been on the rampage, dealing dope, smuggling crack, murders, pimping, you name it. So tonight Jimmy Buffet is flying down here to Margaritaville to name me the Crocodile Slaying God of Key West in a celebration which will involve much drinking, and then give me a couple mil to ‘stay cool’ as he will put it, and say if I ever need a drinking buddy to call him on his private go-to line. It’s been a bitchin day.
Monday, October 02, 2006
I'm letting it out again, again...
Ecstatic. It’s been a wonderful day. A long sleep through the night in a tent, the sounds of the interstate roaring nearby, and an early waking to a dark, cool world. I’ve always liked the night, the feeling of it, the simple security it seems to offer. I suppose that’s why often I’m a nocturnal creature.
During the days, people yammer on and on, creating a world of cacophony and disorientation. It’s almost impossible to get a word in edgewise, to be heard clearly above the clatter and clutter that seems almost nonstop. People don’t listen during the day, either that or they simply can’t hear. But at night, they strain to hear the smallest sound. It’s almost as if they need the noise to survive, they have to hear it to be…hell, I don’t know, human?
At night, people will listen to me. They will listen to each other. They will listen out for another. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, as we all know the dark is ‘evil’ and ‘haunting’ and ‘dangerous’. I don’t think so though. It’s calm, comforting. You can hear everything that’s going on around you. You don’t have to worry about people coming up to you in your safe little spot. You can just relax.
At the campground when I arrived were two dogs that I can only assume to be jack/corgi crosses, long and low, but sharp and alert. Well trained, well mannered, well taken care of. I woke up about midnight, thinking I’d heard Einschlafen grunt to be let out. She’s at home…I get out of my tent to make the short hike to the restroom, and what do I find outside my tent but two dogs, laying silently, pricking their ears up as I unzip the panel to my tent. That hits hard. They follow me to the bathroom and back, taking guard back up outside of my door.
Why me?
This morning was one such morning. Packed up and on the road before the sun had even started to vault above the horizon, steadily gliding across the interstate with little ahead, little behind. Just how it should be. When you drive you have a lot of time to think. Perhaps too much. But it’s a different situation than just sitting at home, staring at the ceiling, slack-jawed and wore down. This is clear reflection. Everything I do when I drive is automated. Clutch, shift, gas, clutch, swerve, cuss, switch lanes, cuss some more. Nothing that needs to be thought about. No interruptions, no true responsibilities. Just keeping alive and letting scenarios and memories roll through your head.
V has always evoked strong memories. She’s a really fun person, good sense of humor, a bit of an ass, but always a pleasure to talk to…When you’re not deciding where to eat fucking lunch at. What do you wanna eat? Food. What kinda food. I don’t care. JESUS CHRIST, you sound like someone else I know. It was humorous to see a twig down a half pound hamburger, and surprising to say the least. More memories. Dear memories. Arguments over directions, laughs over beating her to her own residence, and she shows me around the student housing at her college. Amazing really, quite a lovely lil colony they’ve got rigged up, but evidently rent is abhorrent . A tour, some laughs at my character, memories, memories… And my visit is through. Some people really teach you about mistakes, staying strong, not letting one section of your life ruin the next. V was that person, unfortunately. Only through loss can some see what fools they have become, been, are, will be. You can only hope for some form of redemption. You can hope for more, but that is not anywhere under your control. Only by the grace of those who … who have every right to hate you.
It’s been an insanely fun day, one that I’ll think on for quite a while.
Maybe I’ll find my answer one day.
Maybe I won’t.
But what I do know, that if I do not, I cannot be allowed to feel sad. It was my fault. It was my mistake. And as much as I hate to do it, I must suffer the consequences of my actions. To truly call myself an honest human, maybe even a good person, I have to take that responsibility, and bear that burden and shame.
I stand.
I will face myself.
I will not run from myself.
I will not repeat the same mistakes.
I will not be a fool.
I will be a man.
I will be an honest one.
I will be honest with myself.
I will be honest with others.
Maybe this is my rite of passage? Hah, novel idea huh?
During the days, people yammer on and on, creating a world of cacophony and disorientation. It’s almost impossible to get a word in edgewise, to be heard clearly above the clatter and clutter that seems almost nonstop. People don’t listen during the day, either that or they simply can’t hear. But at night, they strain to hear the smallest sound. It’s almost as if they need the noise to survive, they have to hear it to be…hell, I don’t know, human?
At night, people will listen to me. They will listen to each other. They will listen out for another. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, as we all know the dark is ‘evil’ and ‘haunting’ and ‘dangerous’. I don’t think so though. It’s calm, comforting. You can hear everything that’s going on around you. You don’t have to worry about people coming up to you in your safe little spot. You can just relax.
At the campground when I arrived were two dogs that I can only assume to be jack/corgi crosses, long and low, but sharp and alert. Well trained, well mannered, well taken care of. I woke up about midnight, thinking I’d heard Einschlafen grunt to be let out. She’s at home…I get out of my tent to make the short hike to the restroom, and what do I find outside my tent but two dogs, laying silently, pricking their ears up as I unzip the panel to my tent. That hits hard. They follow me to the bathroom and back, taking guard back up outside of my door.
Why me?
This morning was one such morning. Packed up and on the road before the sun had even started to vault above the horizon, steadily gliding across the interstate with little ahead, little behind. Just how it should be. When you drive you have a lot of time to think. Perhaps too much. But it’s a different situation than just sitting at home, staring at the ceiling, slack-jawed and wore down. This is clear reflection. Everything I do when I drive is automated. Clutch, shift, gas, clutch, swerve, cuss, switch lanes, cuss some more. Nothing that needs to be thought about. No interruptions, no true responsibilities. Just keeping alive and letting scenarios and memories roll through your head.
V has always evoked strong memories. She’s a really fun person, good sense of humor, a bit of an ass, but always a pleasure to talk to…When you’re not deciding where to eat fucking lunch at. What do you wanna eat? Food. What kinda food. I don’t care. JESUS CHRIST, you sound like someone else I know. It was humorous to see a twig down a half pound hamburger, and surprising to say the least. More memories. Dear memories. Arguments over directions, laughs over beating her to her own residence, and she shows me around the student housing at her college. Amazing really, quite a lovely lil colony they’ve got rigged up, but evidently rent is abhorrent . A tour, some laughs at my character, memories, memories… And my visit is through. Some people really teach you about mistakes, staying strong, not letting one section of your life ruin the next. V was that person, unfortunately. Only through loss can some see what fools they have become, been, are, will be. You can only hope for some form of redemption. You can hope for more, but that is not anywhere under your control. Only by the grace of those who … who have every right to hate you.
It’s been an insanely fun day, one that I’ll think on for quite a while.
Maybe I’ll find my answer one day.
Maybe I won’t.
But what I do know, that if I do not, I cannot be allowed to feel sad. It was my fault. It was my mistake. And as much as I hate to do it, I must suffer the consequences of my actions. To truly call myself an honest human, maybe even a good person, I have to take that responsibility, and bear that burden and shame.
I stand.
I will face myself.
I will not run from myself.
I will not repeat the same mistakes.
I will not be a fool.
I will be a man.
I will be an honest one.
I will be honest with myself.
I will be honest with others.
Maybe this is my rite of passage? Hah, novel idea huh?
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