Somewhere we have become seamless. Rhythmic.

I don’t know what ends up happening, what road we end up on, what places we experience or in what order. I don’t know that it’ll last or that it won’t and I guess it’s a good thing we don’t know all those things because possibility is what we spend half our nights talking about.

He’s on the road now, heading down to the Benton Crags to climb rocks. And he’s on the phone with me, describing what he’s passing, billboards, obnoxious stretch SUV’s, the bridge. And he’s got no idea I’m writing this all out here as we talk. I’m just listening, the phone between my left ear and shoulder.  We are teetering on some undefined edge, indefinitely, one he’s probably going to have to pull me over at some point. I always wonder with these things if we’re meant to come in and push our lives together for some common good together, some pre-defined outcome or experience we’d never have had without one another, and then move on. Two separate but better lives for having done so.

Or if we’re meant to latch on and hold tight, to share an undulating road to its vanishing point, a never-ending, wildly fluctuating, stellar, never-before-written story until the very end of everything.

But isn’t that what everybody thinks they have? Didn’t I think I had that once before? Maybe we all have more than one it.

Or maybe that’s exactly it, that way back then was one of those things that’s got a purpose and a schedule. That person came into my life all those years ago, and things for me have changed because of it, and I’m so happy where I am right now, where I’ve been the last few years. Would it all have been that fantastic if that person had never stepped into, and then virtually out of, my life?

What conjures love, what lays it to rest, and is there more than one kind? More than one plane it can exist on? Do we have it, or do we experience it? Is it an embodiment, or its own entity?

Now he’s heard me typing, and is restless to get back next week to read what I had to say. In the meantime it’s quiet while he lets me finish. I can hear the road rushing past his windows. I can hear him breathing. I remember his hands. They fit, everything fits.

Something has happened, here. I want to say that much. Something different than I think either of us even thought was happening when it was happening, or in the days following. I wish I could have found at least two of the pennies to bring back with me, one to mail to you in memento.

Posted by tee in de la vida
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It has occurred to me that I don’t like May 23rd’s. Next year, I will stand on the edge of May 22nd and fearlessly vault myself up and over and land on the morning of the 24th.

Today I drove a total of 1,301 miles, yet somehow never left the city of Reno. I was attacked, violently and unprovoked, by a 200 pound folding table. I risked life and limb to attend a phone conference nine minutes late and it turns out they didn’t even need me. I am taunted by something that feels like a headache but doesn’t seem to know what it wants to accomplish. I am starving, but pouting like a child and refusing to get up and make myself anything.

And then I watched in horror as solar wind velocity plummeted from 871 to 565 just as it began to get dark.

3 hours, 37 minutes to go.

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What I remember of New England is mostly salty and vague. I remember being a kid and riding my rusty bike up and down the narrow, mucky, muddy, pot-holed streets near the coastal towns, past rows and rows of heavily shingled, water-damaged, dilapidated houses with fat ladies in nightgowns standing watch out on their porches. Everything smelled like ocean and meatballs. The rickety peer where I fell into the delta when I was four, that’s the strongest memory I’ve got of that place.

Just as well.

I’m not sure what possessed me to hold an eleven year old boy’s birthday party smack in the middle of Mother’s Day. Never underestimate how many mothers are willing to drop their kids at your door on Mother’s Day and run. I think I made it out alive, but I’m crawling now up to the hot tub for confirmation.

Posted by tee in favorites, sense of place
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