Departure

I’ll talk about the heavy pollen and ripe Marionberries. I’ll talk of the grey, drizzly days. I’ll talk about a life that will stand opposite of a flowing river of experience. I will stand other the farther bank and speak of a time that exists in photos and old notebooks.

I’ll talk about my old habits of wandering the city and jotting down story ideas. I’ll explain a place I’ve needed to leave, but will find myself scared to depart.

The unknown is inevitable. If the law of the universe is constant change— the unknown lives at the edge of our reality as a constant Spector.

Class

“If I had a super power it would be time travel. So that I could go back in time to teach Hitler’s dad the pull-out method!”

“Uh, thank you Abby, for sharing with the class. That’s certainly a specific use you’ve got for your power. I think that wraps it up for our sharing circle today. Let’s go ahead and jump into our worksheets and not say anything else that will get your teacher fired.”

April Arrived

April fifth doesn’t sound like the type of day to change your life. But it can be. I was in a middle school language arts classroom trying to pacify energetic pre-teens when I learned I’d be headed to Japan in July.

I’ve been riding a wave of fatigue since I took a red eye flight to Atlanta. But each day since has brought incredible adventures. From the plethora of ridiculous road signs— including Tenkiller lake, Deaf Smith, Devil Dog Road, & Matachie, to the moments of ludicrous beauty. Where I believed that time stood still as the sky expanded beyond comprehension. I watched a pair of ravens weave together over the vastness of the Grand Canyon. A name that feels incomplete when sizing up the enormity of its being. I’ve lived and died and lived again in soul.

It hasn’t sunk in. It hasn’t sunk in the way anything bigger than yourself can’t sink into the perspective you’re currently occupying. Instead, I jumped into back to back soccer practices and work appointments for teaching. Maybe I will awake from a deep dream and know that I had put myself on this path long ago. Or maybe I’ll wake up and wonder why I still don’t feel like it’s happening.

Buda

He admired the audacity of the trapeze artist. It had been a long time since Carl Langeford had seen such an athletic feat. Let alone one that possessed a magnetic beauty.
Carl hadn’t planned on traveling through Budapest during the carnival season, but fate brought him under the eaves of the famous Orban troupe outside of the capital.
It was under that slicked tarp that he saw magic in the form of suspended flight. It was there that he understood the universe still had marvels for him.

Honk

It was something like a second start to a first run that was always headed for disaster. Jeremy hadn’t wanted to give up on his juggling routine, but the economic downturn forced him to put his oncology degree to use. It was the age of doctors, not clowns. He had to give up the red nose to squeak by in this economy.

Big Purple

A giant purple semi-truck chased us along the I-40 West as we passed from New Mexico to Arizona. The transition to lonesome stretches was never lonely enough as our left lane companion stayed well above the recommended speed for a truck. I wondered if he was late for a delivery or deep in the throes of boosted self-medication. Either way, we were the surprise point car for a two vehicle armada.

Amarillo

We’re charging into the heart of an Oklahoman storm. A stake of wood punctured our tire after we got out of Oklahoma City after grabbing pizza with my cousin who’s headed off to New Zealand soon. 

 We arrived in Amarillo on the heels of a gusting night— to find a sweet, dowdy woman at the arrival desk at the hotel in downtown. She looked at the Vegvisir hanging around my friends neck and asked “Are you a Pagan?” 

Not a question you want in the Texan panhandle. She gave a wink and said “Be true to yourself” and said she was the daughter of a pastor. She upgraded our room and told my friend to remember that he is “Water, Fire, Air, & Earth.”

What an arrival to Texas. 

Carpet

Sitting at the gate with gaudy green carpet. It’s flecked with yellow and red with intermittent blue stripes. It’ll be the first time in the air in two years— but instead of heading to Montana it’s Georgia. And instead of a chill party weekend it’ll be a trouble twins American road trip as we blast from Atlanta to Los Angeles.

Midway across the South I’ll receive an email that will change my life. It’s weird to be sitting on a thinly padded blue chair welded to the ground above this iconic carpet and know that in a couple of days I’ll learn if I’ll be moving to Japan.
The weirdest part is that regardless of the decision— the hardest part will be over. There’s been this sensation of straddling a fence. Squishing your nuts on a cold, rickety metal bar isn’t pleasant for anyone. But finally hoping off? Fucking glorious. Doesn’t even matter which yard I end up in. As long as I don’t keep this purgatorial view, I’m golden.

Lawns

I wonder at times and others I don’t wonder at all. There’s a simplicity to gliding through moments of life in a mauve colored haze. I mowed the lawn and the gasoline vapors nipped at my nose. I wove a curved path through the grass— trying to avoid the blocked end of the ladder sidled next to the porch. I remembered the nerves of a younger version of myself. The one that worried about sharp pieces of wood flying out from behind the mower towards my face. Not that that ever happened. Closest I got was when some bark chips splattered my legs.

I used to want to mow the lawn. In a bid to prove I was growing older or more responsible I don’t know. It might have just been the boyish desire to be around a running machine. Later, in my young teenage years, it became a way to earn money to pay for my cell phone. The one that I’d use in burgeoning relationships. One’s where I’d be too afraid to cross the bridge from my own world into one of mutual trust. Still, fresh grass kept me in T9 and for that I was grateful.

Lemons

I hammered two rabbit punches straight into his front teeth. I knocked those fuckers out at the cost of some spilt skin. Worth it. Jeremy Konkel has been an class A prick to me for the past twelve years and I had had enough. He looked like a razor stood sideways and had the face like a lemon sour patch. 

Midas Touch

“I know that ass,” Standing off in the distance was the Golden Donkey. It was the last treasure to be recovered for the exhibit on King Midas.

In the past few years Frankie James had worked on several cultural reclamation projects. Medusa had been her favorite, but El Dorado and Florida man were also notable adventures. It had been Coyote that had gotten her into all of this trouble— but she pushed him from her mind. King Midas! Now that was a gold star to add to her career finds.
“What are you standing around for? Let’s load it up and get a move on. We’ve still got a flight to catch!” Toran yelled as he directed the grunts towards the Donkey.

Frankie waved him off and began sizing up the Donkey’s dimensions for the shipping container. This thing was a monster— Midas could have bought an empire with its weight in gold.
Good thing her boss had experience dealing out that kind of coin— otherwise, Frankie would have been tempted by the shining sight.
Her time in the field had outstripped her brief experience in the exhibition hall, but she was still waiting on her breakthrough case.

Of course, she’d avoid the ocean to make that happen. That was her line she refused to cross. She’d tussled with the waters once and it cost her both the Argonauts ship and Atlantis. She’d be damned if she ended up in a fire on the ocean again. The waxy flesh on her left shoulder was a bright reminder of how quickly jobs can go south.

Frankie snapped some photos on her phone before calling the dock foreman over to consult on using the crane to move the Donkey or not. She didn’t take chances with jobs. Not anymore; not under Minerva.