[ Sunday, July 25, 2004 ]
"This song put me in the middle of the road. Travelling there soon became a bore so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride but I saw more interesting people there."- Neil Young
It's funny how torn jeans, lit candles, 5 am drives, windshield wipers that may or may not work make you feel like the girl you were, years ago, living on a whim, a hunch & nothing else. This week has been surreal. In a way that makes me feel absolutely alive.
I've collected stories this week. Tucked them inside my pockets, inside my mind. Some will be told. Some will remain just mine.
Monday night I met 'Cookie'. Cookie was released from the penetentiary 3 weeks ago. Cookie was covered in 'tacks' although I'm sure he meant tatts. Cookie was strange & I'm still not sure how we ran into him except that I seem to have a magnet located somewhere within me that attracts strange people. Cookie asked us (Sam & Mandy were with me) if we'd heard of the Rainbow. Any mention of the Rainbow immediately attracts my attention. Reminds me of the summer that Andrea & I pondered running off to Seattle. A man named Roach had the van fueled up, was ready to leave Berea with me, Billie & Andrea in tow. We tossed the idea around. Living in the woods for three months with hippies didn't seem like a bad idea. It seemed like something we needed to experience. But Tammy was pregnant with Bradley & I needed to stay here. I want to justify not going. So I say Tammy was pregnant with Bradley & I needed to stay here. Truthfully, fear kept me here. I wonder how different I would have been had I gone.
When I told Cookie that I knew about the Rainbow, his eyes widened with excitement. He made his way over to my side of the car. He explained how he ended up in prison. How he'd pulled two sentences. How he'd lived institutionalized since his twenties. How he couldn't find work now that he was out. We talked about morning glory tea & trumpet vine. How things have changed over the years. I felt sorry for Cookie. I saw too many people that I knew in him. The excitement in his eyes wasn't just excitement. It was craving coming to the surface. And I just felt sorry for him. That he'll never be able to shake that. That in actuality, despite well-wishes & good lucks, he'll probably end up back in prison. Slinging, using, buying, possession. He's spent 30 years in a state institution. Could anyone really make it after having life altered that long? Talking to Cookie, stills flashed through my mind like a slide show: slim shoulders, meat hanging off bone, disintegration, acne, nervous tics, teeth grinding. All those things that I've seen. That I wanted to correct. The times I tried to say...this is ruining you. Such potential just wasted. Men who were once poets barely able to form a complete thought. Musicians with no drive, guitars abandoned.
When Cookie left he said "Nice meeting you girls. And Becky, I WILL be seeing you again." I was momentarily scared shitless. What did that mean? Had Cookie memorized my license plate? Was he gonna try to find me? Was he thinking about taking me to the Rainbow gathering in Indiana? Or did he just assume that our paths might cross again? Cookie saw the side of me that listens...that connects to strangers, momentarily. He did not see the girl who would beat the piss out of him in a heartbeat. He didn't see that.
Just a few minutes after encountering Cookie, while Sam, Mandy & I were still discussing "What the fuck does THAT mean?", a guy I sort of know but don't really know, swung his truck in beside us. He mumbled "Hey, how are you girls doing? Don't I know you. Didn't you used to work with mom?" I said "Yeah, she was a sweet lady. I always liked her." Before I finished my last sentence, he passed out, head hitting the side of his truck. Fifteen minutes later he woke up, mumbling. We told him he was in no shape to drive. He wanted a ride home. I didn't want to give him a ride home but I also didn't want him attempting to drive. He passed out again. We decided to be quiet and let him pass out good & proper, although we couldn't quite keep our laughter subdued. Some buddies pulled in. Sam got out of the car & clued them in. Old Boy slept for an hour. Then woke up & began hitting on Sam. Sam turned him down. He was pissed. He said "You need to go to back to wherever you came from. You're panties ain't made out of 14 kt. gold. You need to figure out what life is really about." I really wish I would have been there when that sentence left his mouth. I had walked to Shell Mart when the whole 14 kt. gold panties conversation came out. But I would have loved to have heard Old Boy tell me what life really IS all about. I wanted to hear that theory. I wanted to piece together the last few words uttered as his head hit the ground again & he slept for another hour. Drunk, this boy was not. Coming down from a four day high--I believe so.
Thursday night we hit a demolition derby in Ohio. Demolition derbies excite me. The sound of metal on metal, '77 Impalas banging the shit out of one another, cars overturned, flames erupting. Part of me thinks I was born to drive in a demolition derby. I sat on the bleachers with my torn jeans, funnel cake & temporary 'tack' (in honor of Cookie) & just felt so downhome. We headed back toward Kentucky around 10:30. Approaching Cincinnati we ran into an awful storm. The rain was thick & Sam & I just prayed that the wipers would work & continue working. The last time we drove this car in a rainstorm they did not. Coming through Cincinnati the rain let up. Sam was still hyped up from the derby & intended on turning a 3 hr. drive into a 2 hr. drive. We hauled some serious ass. We entered a tunnel. We shot out of a tunnel. We didn't expect the curve ahead. We straddled the white line. My hand sought the Oh Shit handle. There wasn't one. I grasped the seat while my internal soundtrack played the intro of "Magic Carpet Ride". "I like to dream..." just seemed appropriate as we shot out of that tunnel. The semi behind us slowed way down. We missed our exit. We ended up in Cincinnati, viewing the lights & buildings from below instead of from the bridge. We wanted to go to Bogart's. We wanted to get drunk in Cincinnati. We wanted to wander the streets in our dirty clothes & muddy shoes, still high on twisted metal & the fumes of a county fair. Instead we drove on home, pretended we were chugging an imaginary 12 pack. We were slap happy & laughed & talked. And that night, when I finally settled down after running on 3 hrs. of sleep, I just felt alive. I felt like the girl I was a few years ago. I felt adventurous & alive & I wanted to make that trip all over again.
There's more that I should tell you. And I might. Soon.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 9:49 AM [+]
