7:57 pm - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
Song:
Let me tell you first it involves a car. I�m going to get into and I�m going to drive. With camping gear in the trunk and my Minolta. In my immediate mind these are the only things I need in my life. My mother will be reasonable for me though. She�ll give me the state maps and the AAA booklet just incase. I�m paranoid about carrying money so half will be mine thorough my ATM card only. And the other half tucked in various places in the car.
The idea is not to go North, because lover lives north, and this isn�t about being with him. It�s a vision quest. The idea is not to go south, because San Francisco is south, and I�ve been, and I�m not sure I could leave it again. The idea is not to go west just now, because west you reach a major black, a body of water, a hole in your plan.
So you start out by going east. You hop the closest thing to an eastbound highway, and even numbered interstate, and you start going. Just drive. It�s beautiful, because in this it is fall. Fall is the most beautiful time of the year. Because I�m going to stand on cliff sides and take pictures of the way fog rolls through the crevasses, and snap the hills in a leafy blaze, and capture the child with their face to the sky, soaking in the purity of dirty rain.
I�m going to turn off my cell phone and claim I was too far from a tower when I check my mothers worried messages later. I�m gong to drive and art, and learn. I�ll find a small town and abuse their librarian to learn what the place is all about. I�ll eat fudge at inner harbor, and poke a cactus in Arizona, stand underneath the statue of Liberty again, and go cow tipping in Vermont. I�ll learn to surf somewhere in California on my way back.
I�ll see Megan in LA, Mary in Ohio, Rahnia in Maryland, Shaila in Washington. I�ll reacquaint myself after a 6-month missing period. Then I�ll make the mistake of entering Seattle to fall into the arms of the most beautiful person in the world. And I�ll ask him along, and Chris and I will go to Georgia because I�ve always wanted to. We�ll make love in the backyard of an old plantation house, he�ll take up calling me Scarlett when I demand things, he�ll hold my hand, and give me those hugs that make me fall apart, and I�ll feel silly for not wanting him there all along.
And he�ll listen to my stories, in that rapture he always does. And laugh at my jokes and take in my soul eyes and breath out love after kisses. And he�ll concentrate heavily, and we�ll buy a quilt and lay on the hood of the car and count the stars till I fall asleep and he gently moves me someplace better.
At some point we�ll say good-bye again, and I�ll go to Louisiana, and he�ll ride the greyhound, because he knows how I need this time.
And then something will call to me that tell me to go go home, and 500 rolls of film later, I just might.
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