Day 96 - Letters

     I prefer to write you letters.  When I write you a letter I am taking time out of my day to think about you.  When I write you a letter I actually take my glasses off so I can read what I'm writing.  My age is getting to me.

     I write my letters by hand.  I leave the mistakes to show my humanity.  Sometimes e-mail and text can be too perfect.  Occasionally there is a funny little auto correct but for the most part texts are short pseudo sentences that are a quick action or reaction to something immediate that may or may not need a response.

     When I write to you I stop to look at the world around me and I think about how I can share it with you.  When I text you I look at the screen and try to see how fast my thumbs can move.

     If I'm lucky your text back will be immediate and it will almost be like we're having a conversation.  It doesn't matter if you're in Connecticut coming up with reasons why we can't hang out, in California wondering why we haven't hung out, or in Europe wondering why I won't fly out.

     When I write a letter I'm lucky if the letter gets to you.  Sometimes it is just lost in space.  Other times it is taken by someone who feels I have no business writing to you in the first place.

     When I send you a text lately I have been worried about your safety.  I am hoping that the regional tragedy that has struck your area hasn't somehow taken you, my friend or acquaintance, away from me.  My text is a knee jerk reaction to fear.

     When I send you a letter I have time.  I am safe and I'm hoping you are, too.  I don't have a fear that I'll never see you again.  I'm not worried while I wait for your response back.  It's still like we're having a conversation BUT it's a more leisurely, relaxed conversation where we are allowed to laugh and smile quietly.

     When I read your letters I know you've taken time out of your day to think about me.  I actually have to take my glasses off so I can read what you've written.  My age is getting to me.

Day 95 - Momentum Part 2

     My Father pulled his car just passed the little sedan and clicked on his hazard lights.  You always turn your hazard lights on because you never know what to expect.

     "Stay in the car.  We need to see if we can get this puddle jumper out before the plows come."  The sedan was just passed the turn.  A plow coming at full speed wouldn't see it.  It wouldn't have mattered if we had cell phones at the time.  To this day there is no cell service on that strip of road.

     "OK,” I said.  He stepped out of the car and looked back and forth to see if anything was coming.  I rolled down my window and poked my head out to see what was happening.
     The little sedan was still.
     "Hello,” I heard my father call out.  "Hello?"  A light snow started.  He slowly moved towards the car.
     A young female Stotler rolled the window down.  There were tears in her eyes.
     "My parents are going to kill me," she said.
     "Are you hurt?" he asked.
     "No," she said sadly.  "I'm just stuck.  I was trying to get home from work before the storm."
     He crossed his arms and surveyed the situation.  You could tell he was holding back a lecture.  He looked up and down the road to see if anything was coming other than the storm.
     "Doesn't look like there's any damage to the car.  We can get you out," he finally declared.
     "I don't think," she started.
     "Well, we could drive to the nearest house and call George to see if he'll be able to tow it out.  I think he'll charge about $50.  I don't have $50.  Do you?"
     "No," she said crying a little.
     "I also want to try to get this out before the snow plow comes.  We're too close to the corner for them to see you.  They'll just bury you deeper.  Let me get behind the wheel.  Just let me know if anything is coming around the corner."
      My father sat in the little sedan.  The vehicle moved forward just a little then back just a little.  The next time it moved forward just a bit more then back just a bit more.  Finally, with one great lurch back, the car broke free of its snow prison.
     My father looked at both if us for a second and then drove the car back into the snow bank.
     "What...why...Mr.," she stammered.  "We were out."
     I was confused, too.
     "Come on out of the car, son."  He called, motioning me over to the little sedan.
     "I helped you get the car out.  Did you watch what I did to get it out?"
     "Yes, but,"
     "Good," He said definitively.  "Son, make sure no cars are coming."  I ran to the other side of the road, checked both ways, and gave him the ok sign.
     "You won't always have someone to help you get out when you get stuck.  You need to be able to survey the situation and get your self out when you can.  I know you can do this."
     With a deep breath she climbed into the driver’s seat.  The little sedan moved forward just a little then back just a little.  The next time it moved forward just a bit more then back just a bit more.  Finally it broke free.
     "I did it!"  She said, poking her head out the window.  "I did it.  I did it!"
     "Now, slow and steady," he instructed.  "No reason to try to fly home.  Your house ain't goin' no where.  You just have to get there safe.  Slow and steady is how you do it."
     We watched the car slowly disappear into the night.
     "My sister."  He said as we got back into the car.  "I'll have my sister dance with me at the telethon."

     I looked at him with a bit of confusion.

     "You won't always have someone to help you out when you get stuck but sometimes with a quick survey of the situation you can get out."

    

 

Day 95 - Momentum Part 1

     Winters in New England tend to be long drawn out affairs.  I am not a big fan of the cold or the snow but I must admit one of my favorite sounds in the world is the sound of snow falling at midnight.  Even if the machines are trying to hammer their way through my skull they will stop for a moment to listen and enjoy the peace.

     The ride home with my Dad was quiet.  We were driving home from a theater that had once been a national landmark.  We were going to be in a telethon to raise money for its restoration.

     I was playing a few Hendrix tunes.  He was performing a dance tribute to James Brown.

     "It just needs something," he said.  I could tell he was working out the steps in his head.

     He had plenty of time to work it out.  The recent snowfall made driving home on the back roads a nightmare.

     "Slow and steady," he instructed.  "When you get your license in a few months some of this mess will still be on ground.  No reason to try to fly home.  The house ain't goin' no where.  You just have to get there safe.  Slow and steady is how you do it.  As long as you have the momentum to keep moving you'll get where you need to go."

     A little sedan passed us on the left and disappeared around the corner.

     "No reason for anybody to be passing on roads like this," he said shaking his head. "Isn't that your friend, Stotler?"  He raised an eyebrow.  "Looks like his parents car and they're out of town."

     "No?"  I said, wondering out loud if it was true.  There had been incidents with bikes, quads, and snowmobiles so the question of a Stotler joyride in the snow wasn't far fetched.

     "He doesn't have his license so I don't think he'd be that stupid."  I questioned myself again.

     My father had raised children for years.  He was well aware of the stupidity of teenage boys.

     "All that matters is that the boy gets home safe."  He shook his head with the concern of a parent.

     Curtis Mayfield played quietly in the tape deck.  Between songs you could hear the crunching of snow beneath the tires.  This was just the beginning of the storm.  It was supposed to snow heavily from midnight until mid afternoon the next day.  We would be home well before midnight that night.  Everyone knew school was going to be canceled.  This meant I could stay up and listen to the snowfall.

     "Damn it."  I heard him say as we came around a corner.  The little sedan had gone off the road into a snow bank.

     Winters in New England tend to be long drawn out affairs.

Day 94 - Wings & Things

     "So let me get this straight," continued Derich finishing off the last Thai flavored wing.  "You just let her leave?"

     "She was up and gone before I was able to say anything else and I..."

     "Poohstabber."  He said shaking his head.  He dropped the well picked bone into the basket.  "It's been years and this still seems to be a pattern with you.  Some woman is all about hanging out with you then after a little while she's all about getting away from you."

     "In my defense," I started, about to enjoy one of the dry Cajun wings, "she..."

     "What was the super hot Asian chick's name," he interrupted, "You know?  She's friends with that chick, Paris.  Twinkie, Kinky?"  

     "Kiki, god damn it!  Her name is Kiki."

     "Whatever, the same thing happened with her over and over again."  He took a deep pull on his beer.  "Love these wings by the way."

     I had introduced him to my favorite wing place near work.  It was a rare Sunday that Derich was able to get out.  He was a married man now with two kids under the age of four.  He was happy to do anything that got him out of the house or away from the office for a few hours.

     To everyone's surprise he and the wife were doing really well.  It was one of the few weddings that I actually put money on to last.  The odds were so high against it that even the hardcore wedding folks didn't think it would work out.

     "This is different.  She said no."  I dropped the bone in the basket.  "As far as I'm concerned everything ends at no.  Even if she wants to get down to business later I just can't.  I think of my friend Marcus and how his life fell to shit."

     "This conversation is far too deep for wings and things.  I'm going to need shots if this is going to keep circling the drain."  He bit into a dry Cajun wing and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

     "You know we can't do shots," I said.  "She'll kill us.  We're both lucky you're out now.  If you call home two hours late, fucked in half drunk, you might as well plan on freezing to death sleeping in your car because she will NOT let you in the house. Personally, I won't be a party to that.  We'll talk about it later."  I picked up the last tasty Cajun wing.

     He pushed himself away from the bar, crossed his arms, and tried to look into my soul.  I could hear the machines starting to whir.

     "You need to get out of your own head.  It's like a pattern with you.  Just when you are about to open things up and get to the next level you find a reason to shut down.  What's going on?"

     I took a quick look up and saw myself in the mirror behind the bottles.  I could clearly see I was hiding but I didn't know what or from whom.  The machines whispering whir cascaded to a cacophonous clanking.

     "Love these wings."  I said as I dropped the last bone in the bucket.