The last two years I've been "working" on what I think is an interesting project. In brief, it's a set of short stories loosely based on characters in Cormac McCarthy's novel The Road. I don't know how much interest the stories will hold to anyone who hasn't read the book or seen the movie, but I think (more like hope) they can stand on their own even without the prehistory. But for the benefit of anyone who is nice enough to read my stories without the time or inclination to read the entire book I'll talk a little about the stories as I post them here. All of the stories will include an intersection with The Road; the man and the boy from The Road will be in each story although they are not the main characters in my stories. If you've read The Road you'll likely recognize the intersecting point but I didn't stick to the exact details found in The Road because the goal was more to explore the characters than to adhere to the original novel as if it were gospel.
I have completed two stories so far. I have an outline for two others and hope, in the end, to create at least two more beyond these.
The first story I'm sharing is the one that put the idea in my head in the first place and, when everything is completed, the compilation will likely share the title with this story. It's rated R or NC-17. I plan for other stories to be less graphic. I actually wrote it shortly after reading Blood Meridian, I think the tone and characters reflect this fact.
"The ugly fact is books are made out of books." -- Cormac McCarthy
Things Found on The Road by Shawn Kessler
I might talk further about this story in a later post. I don't want to include any spoilers here.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Night Noises
A poem I wrote when sleep was hard to procure.
Night Noises
Night Noises
Awoke from sleep
By some bleak seabird
Gray against black water
Afloat upon the distant ocean
Chirp
Waning moon,
Forlorn Froth
Something dredged from the depths
Where the water meets the shore
Chirp
Closer, nearer
Atop sanded crests of dunes
A lupine specter
Howling, barking, whining
Chirp
Closer yet.
Unknown feet lift and fall
Once on four, now on two
Yet still padded like a paw
Chirp
Crunching leaves
Fences scraped then jumped
The Moon obscured by tree and house
Cats on prowl, raccoons too
Both protest with hiss and growl
Chirp
Then the silence takes its form
Ghosts and ghouls
Werewolves, vampires
Stalkers, killers
All heaped up at the door
Chirp
Dog ears perked, lifted heads
The slightest click
Then the dread
Chirp
Something on the stairs
A creak
A crack
And nothing more
Chirp
Monday, March 18, 2013
A Day on the Track
Once upon a time I wanted to be a race car driver. Saturday was likely the closest I'll ever get to that once upon a time dream.
Let me start over. Once upon a time I thought I could really be a race car driver. I still want to be one.
For Christmas I had scheduled, for my brother and me, a day on the track at Laguna Seca near Monterey, CA. The track was accidentally double-booked and so our event was cancelled. Frank looked around the Internet and found that NASA (which probably doesn't stand for what you think it stands for) hosts track days as well in our area. We quickly signed up for a day at The Sonoma Raceway, aka Sears Point (for about half the price of the prior one we had hoped to do). To be honest, while the price decrease was nice I was a little disappointed to not get to drive Laguna Seca. However, I'm now convinced, 100%, that this was the best possible outcome. The Sonoma Raceway is an incredibly fun track to drive and I'm under the impression that NASA is a much better organization to be involved with than the other business I had singed up for.
But let me not get ahead of myself. Everything really started prior to the actual day of the event (we only signed up two weeks before the events so we had a compressed scheduled to get ready). First I had to get a helmet. On the pretty good chance that I would love every minute and second of the day and want to do more events I bought a new one instead of renting one. Frank went all the way out by Pleasanton to get a pair for him and me and I drove down that night to get it from his house. Then the next day I had to take my car and helmet to a service shop to have the car teched and the helmet verified. The tech was free, which was surprising but nice! They go over the car, make sure your brakes and tires look like they can handle a day of hard driving, check your fluids, look for leaks, check lights, etc. I passed and was officially all set for the day.
Friday, the day before the track event, Frank drove up and stayed the night. We should have gone to bed a little early but instead we spent about an hour playing Grand Turismo 4 learning the layout of the track (video games have never been so useful). Then we rolled out of bed at 5:30am (this is how you know I love driving, I don't roll out of bed at 5:30am for anything). We prepped our cars and headed north! We stopped for gas on our way up and as we filled up a guy came by to inform us that it would be epic to see us line up at a light on Gerry and race.
For a little clarity, Frank took his 2012 Grand Sport red Corvette to the event and I brought my 2009 black BMW M6. They're flashy cars and guys have a hard time not noticing them.
It was a nice clear drive up north. Little to no traffic. We saw a few other cars on trailers clearly being towed to the event. After getting on highway 37 toward Sonoma we came upon a thick layer of fog. The road gained a fair amount of elevation and we found ourselves overlooking a cow pasture covered in a layer of thick fog (the fact that it was a cow pasture wouldn't be revealed until our drive home when the fog had burned off and we drove through the same pasture beautifully lit by the setting sun). It was one of the prettiest mornings I've ever seen. It felt like we were on the peak of some mountain with a ring of clouds around us. Tall power station towers peaked out just above the fog and the sun was on the verge of rising so there was just the lightest color to everything. It boded well for a great day. Then we sank into the fog and quickly arrived at the track.
Arrival was probably the worst part of the day. We arrived about an hour before the first mandatory meeting and we needed all of it to figure out what we were suppose to be doing. We ended up parking where our map said NO PARKING, but all the other spots had been filled or were reserved for racing class cars. But after that it was smooth sailing the rest of the day and no one harassed us about parking where we did.
We had an all drivers meeting at 8am. There we learned the rules (no passing in our group except in three straight aways), a set of hand signals, and the meaning of the flags. In addition we met our instructors for the day. Since this was both of our first times out on a track we were in group 1. This is the noob group. The great thing about the noob group is an instructor rides with you the whole time. They give you valuable tips on where to drive, how fast you can take a corner, when to break and generally remind you of anything you might forget while driving on a track for the first time trying to take in so much new stuff (there is a lot to forget). My instructor was Sean. He was driving in group 4, which was the highest non-racing group. He was an immense help that day and I think perfect for me and how I learn.
I spent a little time talking to him and then he offered to let me ride in his car when he went out in his group (which was happening before I went out in my group). First I ran back over to my car and taped a big number 35 on the side of my car, grabbed my helmet and then came back to the staging area where Sean was lined-up in his fairly new Subaru BRZ. It was the first time he had taken the car out on a track and he clearly had a lot of fun driving it. It was very helpful to be in the car as he took the correct line and to feel the types of speeds that were appropriate for the track, it might have been the single most helpful thing he did for me that day.
I should explain how the event works a little more. There were a bunch of different groups and each group was on the track multiple times, either for 20 or 30 minute sessions. After each of group 1 sessions the drivers in the group would do a "download" where the group leader would talk about what people did wrong and what people did right. Then we had between 30 minutes and 2 hours between our next run. There was a fair amount of downtime, but with lunch and watching other people drive the track it never felt like we were just waiting around.
Before each run you line up at the pre-grid. Sean met me there for my first run and we talked a little more about the line. I didn't line up anywhere near Frank, just randomly worked out that way, so we didn't go out on the track close to each other. The first two laps of the first session are under double yellow flags. So no passing and no driving super fast. This lets you get familiar with the track and find all the flag people on the track. After the double yellow they give you the green and you're free to drive at whatever speed you're comfortable with but still only allowed to pass on the designated straights. Everyone's newness made this first session pretty slow. We stayed bunched up and everyone seemed hesitant to make their first pass.
Directly in front of me was a newer Porsche GT2. In front of him was a similarly yeared 911. I was keeping up with them well and thought I could handle some more speed and Sean was feeling it too so after about the fourth lap he suggested I pass them. Hot dog!
The pass was a little difficult because the GT2 decided right around the same time to pass the 911 too. But it was fine. We both leaped frogged the 911 and then I expected the GT2 to disappear into the distance. But I kept up with him and still felt like my car and I had more in us. So at the next straight we passed him too.
Later in the day I passed the 911 again (and my brother in his Corvette). I mention these now because they, I felt, were the only markers I had for the day that really let me know how I was doing relative to the other drivers out there. Because there are so few limits on the cars you can bring to group 1 it made it very hard to compare drivers. I passed many Subaru WRXs and STIs, a Ford Focus, a Toyota Yaris, some Nissan's, Minis, Mazda Miatas, older 933 Porsches, etc; but I felt like the newer Porsches and the Corvette were the only cars near me that were of the same caliber as (or better than) my car. So those passes gave me some confidence that I was doing alright (also, no one passed me all day, I'm so boss).
A couple other things I learned during that first run. In a straight line my car is faster than I thought. When you go from 3rd to 4th and 4th to 5th gear you are literally slammed back into the seat. Later, when I was driving closer to Frank it was even clear that the M6 accelerated in a straight line pretty close to the same speed as his Corvette. I also learned the car can corner better than I expected for such a heavy car. I didn't need to slow down nearly as much as I thought I would. And finally, cars these days can stop soooo fast.
During that first session a young kid (I suspect he was 18, the youngest you can be to drive the event) spun his car 180 degrees in the final turn of the track. Luckily that is where you're going a mere 15-20 miles per hour so he didn't hurt anything. But it felt a little crazy to drive by him and see him sitting there facing the wrong direction. It got "real" right about then. So much happens on the track that when we were done with that session I talked with Frank and we both realized we had no idea how fast we were going anywhere on the track. Looking at the actual speed was like item 40 on a list of a 50 things you need to keep track of as a beginner. So much of the course, even after that first run, was run by feel as opposed to a continual tracking of real time speed. I'm certain as you want to go faster and do better the actual speed becomes more important, but for us beginners it was only something I glanced at on the straights (where I could hit about 95MPH) and some of the broader turns (where I averaged about 60MPH).
After I got out of the car and was walking over to the download session I texted Robyn, "OMG! OMG! OMG!" Seriously, the whole day felt like that.
At the first download session the instructor started calling people out, "Car number 15, what happened?" The person was then made to explain what went wrong. They called out events as small as running off the track for half a second (which kicks dirt onto the track), to missing the checkered flag and staying out on the track for one too many laps, to the spin out, to running your car into one of the walls (oh you just wait). This was a little shocking, and I imagine humbling for those who were called out in front of the rest of the group so unexpectedly. However, it added so much value to the experience for everyone. First it made the person who had messed up really analyze what they did wrong (I noted that no one was called out more than once, so I assume it also made them more cautious, aka less dangerous to other drivers) and it reminded those who hadn't messed up how you could mess up. The kid who spun out in particular was useful for me because it was a good reminder that at the speeds we were going it's a terrible idea to brake and turn at the same time. I thought of that multiple times while on the track that day and it likely saved me from making the same mistake.
Session two was twice as fun as session one. Unfortunately it was only half as long. The spacing of the cars stretched out quite a bit as people became more comfortable passing and everyone was driving at higher speeds now that they had some familiarity with the course. I passed my 911 friend again and a bunch of other slower moving vehicles. I finally had a bunch of open road in front of me and I could push the car as much as I wanted. This was something entirely different than following slower cars. Here I got to see how fast my car could slow from 95 to about 20mph. It was a much more of an exploratory driving and I felt like I was learning a lot about mine and the car's limits. And we were just starting to work on mastering turns 3 and 3a when a yellow flag came out. On the back side of the track a car had spun off the track and hit the tire barrier. We went around the track one more time and then they called us off the track, cutting our run in about half. We again went to the download and had a discussion about what went wrong for people including this gentleman's incident with the tire walls. His car wasn't completely totaled, it still drove, but would need some serious body work, and most importantly he seemed unharmed. I'm not sure of the exact model of his car but it looked to be a Honda or Toyota sedan of some sort. I'm certain he crashed going much slower than Frank and I were, which just went to show how much of a difference huge tires can make. :)
The wreck created a substantial adrenaline rush in me. And I started to double think bringing my car to the track ever again. My instructor told me that most days there are no accidents. He was surprised by already having one and the spin out earlier. I hadn't felt out of control on the track myself but had I been near either of these two cars it isn't out of the realm of possibilities that they could have taken me with them on their detours.
Session three I lined up in pre-grid just in front of my brother so we could finally get out on the track near each other and see how we were doing. We passed a few cars together and raced down a straight together. We also discovered together, that even though our cars accelerate much faster than a Yaris, it's still pretty hard to pass them if they're taking a better line out of a corner and getting on their gas too. I was surprised how that little car was handling the course in front of us.
I again had a lot of open space in front of me and worked at mastering the 3 and 3a combo. By the end of that round I felt like I was doing them pretty good and had really perfected not getting sucked into following other people's lines. It's hard to stick to your line, even if you know it's right, when the guy in front of you is taking a bad line. You naturally sort of just want to follow him.
After that session my instructor signed my little passport booklet and said I could go to group two if I wanted. He confirmed that I was doing great. Unfortunately I wasn't going to be at the event the next day so group two would have to wait. However, he said I could drive on my own if I wanted for the last session. Group two actually runs with group one, the only difference is they don't have instructors, but they have to follow the same passing rules. I felt good about this little promotion and drove the last session on my own. We also talked about how to handle turn 1. You go into that turn at close 100MPH and I was braking pretty hard before entering it and he showed me that I didn't need to brake at all if I changed my line a little.
Between session 3 and 4 an older Chinese couple came over to look at our cars and started pointing at Frank's and talking in Chinese. He broke out his Chinese and had a nice 20-30 minute long talk with them about cars. The wife at first refused to admit that Frank spoke Chinese, her husband kind of had to convince her. But then she was thrilled. It was pretty funny.
For session 4 I continued to focus on 3 and 3a but also worked at turn 1. I was really having fun there in that session. I felt at ease in the car. I felt in control of the car. I felt fast. I felt confident in the advice I had been given and I was now flying through turn 1. Unfortunately another car, this time a Subaru WRX, went off the track and broadsided the wall (lots of damage, but the guy again seemed okay) and our session ended a couple minutes early. But it was fine. Both Frank and I had a blast and were happy to have made it through the day without damaging our vehicles, which not everyone was so lucky.
It was seriously the funnest time ever. But I don't think I'll bring my M6 back. Too much carnage, and even though I didn't feel I was putting myself at risk with my driving, I clearly can't depend on other people's driving. There was one other wreck during the day and that was in group 4. None of the racing groups had an accident.
We stayed for a little group BBQ and then drove home. Highway 37 is seriously gorgeous, apparently at all hours of the day. You should go drive it some day, even if you're not going to the track.
The next day my calves hurt. Yeah, I worked them that hard. And this morning (two days later) my back and arms hurt. It's a nice little workout to go with the fun. Yesterday I think I was a little depressed. Thinking about my boring day job. Thinking about how I felt like I did so good. Maybe I could have succeeded as a race car driver.
But then I went to the park with Robyn and Berkeley. Slept in the sun. Pushed a little angel in a swing, kissed my beautiful wife, and knew I was blessed beyond belief.
Still, I'm gonna find my way back on a track somehow, some day.
Let me start over. Once upon a time I thought I could really be a race car driver. I still want to be one.
For Christmas I had scheduled, for my brother and me, a day on the track at Laguna Seca near Monterey, CA. The track was accidentally double-booked and so our event was cancelled. Frank looked around the Internet and found that NASA (which probably doesn't stand for what you think it stands for) hosts track days as well in our area. We quickly signed up for a day at The Sonoma Raceway, aka Sears Point (for about half the price of the prior one we had hoped to do). To be honest, while the price decrease was nice I was a little disappointed to not get to drive Laguna Seca. However, I'm now convinced, 100%, that this was the best possible outcome. The Sonoma Raceway is an incredibly fun track to drive and I'm under the impression that NASA is a much better organization to be involved with than the other business I had singed up for.
But let me not get ahead of myself. Everything really started prior to the actual day of the event (we only signed up two weeks before the events so we had a compressed scheduled to get ready). First I had to get a helmet. On the pretty good chance that I would love every minute and second of the day and want to do more events I bought a new one instead of renting one. Frank went all the way out by Pleasanton to get a pair for him and me and I drove down that night to get it from his house. Then the next day I had to take my car and helmet to a service shop to have the car teched and the helmet verified. The tech was free, which was surprising but nice! They go over the car, make sure your brakes and tires look like they can handle a day of hard driving, check your fluids, look for leaks, check lights, etc. I passed and was officially all set for the day.
Friday, the day before the track event, Frank drove up and stayed the night. We should have gone to bed a little early but instead we spent about an hour playing Grand Turismo 4 learning the layout of the track (video games have never been so useful). Then we rolled out of bed at 5:30am (this is how you know I love driving, I don't roll out of bed at 5:30am for anything). We prepped our cars and headed north! We stopped for gas on our way up and as we filled up a guy came by to inform us that it would be epic to see us line up at a light on Gerry and race.
For a little clarity, Frank took his 2012 Grand Sport red Corvette to the event and I brought my 2009 black BMW M6. They're flashy cars and guys have a hard time not noticing them.
It was a nice clear drive up north. Little to no traffic. We saw a few other cars on trailers clearly being towed to the event. After getting on highway 37 toward Sonoma we came upon a thick layer of fog. The road gained a fair amount of elevation and we found ourselves overlooking a cow pasture covered in a layer of thick fog (the fact that it was a cow pasture wouldn't be revealed until our drive home when the fog had burned off and we drove through the same pasture beautifully lit by the setting sun). It was one of the prettiest mornings I've ever seen. It felt like we were on the peak of some mountain with a ring of clouds around us. Tall power station towers peaked out just above the fog and the sun was on the verge of rising so there was just the lightest color to everything. It boded well for a great day. Then we sank into the fog and quickly arrived at the track.
Arrival was probably the worst part of the day. We arrived about an hour before the first mandatory meeting and we needed all of it to figure out what we were suppose to be doing. We ended up parking where our map said NO PARKING, but all the other spots had been filled or were reserved for racing class cars. But after that it was smooth sailing the rest of the day and no one harassed us about parking where we did.
We had an all drivers meeting at 8am. There we learned the rules (no passing in our group except in three straight aways), a set of hand signals, and the meaning of the flags. In addition we met our instructors for the day. Since this was both of our first times out on a track we were in group 1. This is the noob group. The great thing about the noob group is an instructor rides with you the whole time. They give you valuable tips on where to drive, how fast you can take a corner, when to break and generally remind you of anything you might forget while driving on a track for the first time trying to take in so much new stuff (there is a lot to forget). My instructor was Sean. He was driving in group 4, which was the highest non-racing group. He was an immense help that day and I think perfect for me and how I learn.
I spent a little time talking to him and then he offered to let me ride in his car when he went out in his group (which was happening before I went out in my group). First I ran back over to my car and taped a big number 35 on the side of my car, grabbed my helmet and then came back to the staging area where Sean was lined-up in his fairly new Subaru BRZ. It was the first time he had taken the car out on a track and he clearly had a lot of fun driving it. It was very helpful to be in the car as he took the correct line and to feel the types of speeds that were appropriate for the track, it might have been the single most helpful thing he did for me that day.
I should explain how the event works a little more. There were a bunch of different groups and each group was on the track multiple times, either for 20 or 30 minute sessions. After each of group 1 sessions the drivers in the group would do a "download" where the group leader would talk about what people did wrong and what people did right. Then we had between 30 minutes and 2 hours between our next run. There was a fair amount of downtime, but with lunch and watching other people drive the track it never felt like we were just waiting around.
Before each run you line up at the pre-grid. Sean met me there for my first run and we talked a little more about the line. I didn't line up anywhere near Frank, just randomly worked out that way, so we didn't go out on the track close to each other. The first two laps of the first session are under double yellow flags. So no passing and no driving super fast. This lets you get familiar with the track and find all the flag people on the track. After the double yellow they give you the green and you're free to drive at whatever speed you're comfortable with but still only allowed to pass on the designated straights. Everyone's newness made this first session pretty slow. We stayed bunched up and everyone seemed hesitant to make their first pass.
Directly in front of me was a newer Porsche GT2. In front of him was a similarly yeared 911. I was keeping up with them well and thought I could handle some more speed and Sean was feeling it too so after about the fourth lap he suggested I pass them. Hot dog!
The pass was a little difficult because the GT2 decided right around the same time to pass the 911 too. But it was fine. We both leaped frogged the 911 and then I expected the GT2 to disappear into the distance. But I kept up with him and still felt like my car and I had more in us. So at the next straight we passed him too.
Later in the day I passed the 911 again (and my brother in his Corvette). I mention these now because they, I felt, were the only markers I had for the day that really let me know how I was doing relative to the other drivers out there. Because there are so few limits on the cars you can bring to group 1 it made it very hard to compare drivers. I passed many Subaru WRXs and STIs, a Ford Focus, a Toyota Yaris, some Nissan's, Minis, Mazda Miatas, older 933 Porsches, etc; but I felt like the newer Porsches and the Corvette were the only cars near me that were of the same caliber as (or better than) my car. So those passes gave me some confidence that I was doing alright (also, no one passed me all day, I'm so boss).
A couple other things I learned during that first run. In a straight line my car is faster than I thought. When you go from 3rd to 4th and 4th to 5th gear you are literally slammed back into the seat. Later, when I was driving closer to Frank it was even clear that the M6 accelerated in a straight line pretty close to the same speed as his Corvette. I also learned the car can corner better than I expected for such a heavy car. I didn't need to slow down nearly as much as I thought I would. And finally, cars these days can stop soooo fast.
During that first session a young kid (I suspect he was 18, the youngest you can be to drive the event) spun his car 180 degrees in the final turn of the track. Luckily that is where you're going a mere 15-20 miles per hour so he didn't hurt anything. But it felt a little crazy to drive by him and see him sitting there facing the wrong direction. It got "real" right about then. So much happens on the track that when we were done with that session I talked with Frank and we both realized we had no idea how fast we were going anywhere on the track. Looking at the actual speed was like item 40 on a list of a 50 things you need to keep track of as a beginner. So much of the course, even after that first run, was run by feel as opposed to a continual tracking of real time speed. I'm certain as you want to go faster and do better the actual speed becomes more important, but for us beginners it was only something I glanced at on the straights (where I could hit about 95MPH) and some of the broader turns (where I averaged about 60MPH).
After I got out of the car and was walking over to the download session I texted Robyn, "OMG! OMG! OMG!" Seriously, the whole day felt like that.
At the first download session the instructor started calling people out, "Car number 15, what happened?" The person was then made to explain what went wrong. They called out events as small as running off the track for half a second (which kicks dirt onto the track), to missing the checkered flag and staying out on the track for one too many laps, to the spin out, to running your car into one of the walls (oh you just wait). This was a little shocking, and I imagine humbling for those who were called out in front of the rest of the group so unexpectedly. However, it added so much value to the experience for everyone. First it made the person who had messed up really analyze what they did wrong (I noted that no one was called out more than once, so I assume it also made them more cautious, aka less dangerous to other drivers) and it reminded those who hadn't messed up how you could mess up. The kid who spun out in particular was useful for me because it was a good reminder that at the speeds we were going it's a terrible idea to brake and turn at the same time. I thought of that multiple times while on the track that day and it likely saved me from making the same mistake.
Session two was twice as fun as session one. Unfortunately it was only half as long. The spacing of the cars stretched out quite a bit as people became more comfortable passing and everyone was driving at higher speeds now that they had some familiarity with the course. I passed my 911 friend again and a bunch of other slower moving vehicles. I finally had a bunch of open road in front of me and I could push the car as much as I wanted. This was something entirely different than following slower cars. Here I got to see how fast my car could slow from 95 to about 20mph. It was a much more of an exploratory driving and I felt like I was learning a lot about mine and the car's limits. And we were just starting to work on mastering turns 3 and 3a when a yellow flag came out. On the back side of the track a car had spun off the track and hit the tire barrier. We went around the track one more time and then they called us off the track, cutting our run in about half. We again went to the download and had a discussion about what went wrong for people including this gentleman's incident with the tire walls. His car wasn't completely totaled, it still drove, but would need some serious body work, and most importantly he seemed unharmed. I'm not sure of the exact model of his car but it looked to be a Honda or Toyota sedan of some sort. I'm certain he crashed going much slower than Frank and I were, which just went to show how much of a difference huge tires can make. :)
The wreck created a substantial adrenaline rush in me. And I started to double think bringing my car to the track ever again. My instructor told me that most days there are no accidents. He was surprised by already having one and the spin out earlier. I hadn't felt out of control on the track myself but had I been near either of these two cars it isn't out of the realm of possibilities that they could have taken me with them on their detours.
Session three I lined up in pre-grid just in front of my brother so we could finally get out on the track near each other and see how we were doing. We passed a few cars together and raced down a straight together. We also discovered together, that even though our cars accelerate much faster than a Yaris, it's still pretty hard to pass them if they're taking a better line out of a corner and getting on their gas too. I was surprised how that little car was handling the course in front of us.
I again had a lot of open space in front of me and worked at mastering the 3 and 3a combo. By the end of that round I felt like I was doing them pretty good and had really perfected not getting sucked into following other people's lines. It's hard to stick to your line, even if you know it's right, when the guy in front of you is taking a bad line. You naturally sort of just want to follow him.
After that session my instructor signed my little passport booklet and said I could go to group two if I wanted. He confirmed that I was doing great. Unfortunately I wasn't going to be at the event the next day so group two would have to wait. However, he said I could drive on my own if I wanted for the last session. Group two actually runs with group one, the only difference is they don't have instructors, but they have to follow the same passing rules. I felt good about this little promotion and drove the last session on my own. We also talked about how to handle turn 1. You go into that turn at close 100MPH and I was braking pretty hard before entering it and he showed me that I didn't need to brake at all if I changed my line a little.
Between session 3 and 4 an older Chinese couple came over to look at our cars and started pointing at Frank's and talking in Chinese. He broke out his Chinese and had a nice 20-30 minute long talk with them about cars. The wife at first refused to admit that Frank spoke Chinese, her husband kind of had to convince her. But then she was thrilled. It was pretty funny.
For session 4 I continued to focus on 3 and 3a but also worked at turn 1. I was really having fun there in that session. I felt at ease in the car. I felt in control of the car. I felt fast. I felt confident in the advice I had been given and I was now flying through turn 1. Unfortunately another car, this time a Subaru WRX, went off the track and broadsided the wall (lots of damage, but the guy again seemed okay) and our session ended a couple minutes early. But it was fine. Both Frank and I had a blast and were happy to have made it through the day without damaging our vehicles, which not everyone was so lucky.
It was seriously the funnest time ever. But I don't think I'll bring my M6 back. Too much carnage, and even though I didn't feel I was putting myself at risk with my driving, I clearly can't depend on other people's driving. There was one other wreck during the day and that was in group 4. None of the racing groups had an accident.
We stayed for a little group BBQ and then drove home. Highway 37 is seriously gorgeous, apparently at all hours of the day. You should go drive it some day, even if you're not going to the track.
The next day my calves hurt. Yeah, I worked them that hard. And this morning (two days later) my back and arms hurt. It's a nice little workout to go with the fun. Yesterday I think I was a little depressed. Thinking about my boring day job. Thinking about how I felt like I did so good. Maybe I could have succeeded as a race car driver.
But then I went to the park with Robyn and Berkeley. Slept in the sun. Pushed a little angel in a swing, kissed my beautiful wife, and knew I was blessed beyond belief.
Still, I'm gonna find my way back on a track somehow, some day.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Saying Important Things
This is something I wrote to myself a couple weeks ago. I post it now because I did contact my cousin and it turned out to be a positive experience.
How do you say something important to someone you don't really know?
This isn't a problem I normally have. If I have something I feel is important to say it’s either general enough that I can drop it on my blog (like littering on the internet) or it’s to someone I know well enough that I’m comfortable just saying it to them.
I have this cousin who’s about ten years younger than I. As with most of my cousins I don’t know her very well. There are a few of my cousins who I know better, but I could count the number of times I saw this cousin, or any of my cousins, on both hands. Although, at this point it’s probably fair to say whatever I once knew about even my closest cousins has little to nothing to do with who they are now. They aren't to be blamed for this thing. If it’s a failing, it’s all mine. Admittedly I didn't have a lot of opportunities to bond with my cousins, or aunts and uncles or grandparents while growing up. At best we saw some subset of them once a year, sometimes we’d go two or three years without in person contact. And now that I've been out of my parent’s house and in California for 16 years I see everyone even less.
Facebook has allowed me to interact with a few of my cousins less directly. I can at least see where they live and every now and then what they do with their days. Mostly though it just lets me know that they’re playing Farmville or need me to join their zombie apocalypse army. I’m not knocking anyone for playing those games, I play far too many video games to judge anyone on that account; I’m just establishing the limited view I get even with Facebook around.
However, recently I friended this particular, younger, cousin on Facebook. I still can’t say I know her very well, but I can’t help but feel that had we been the same age and gone to the same school we would have been good friends. And more friends was a thing I could have sorely used during that time, and if I had to venture a guess she likely could have too. Even though such a rearranging of timelines and geographies is impossible, it doesn't detract from the fact that I have this feeling of kinship with her that I've never really felt before between myself and one of my non-immediate relatives.
And though this age gap and this spacial distance exists between us, and though I’m probably the cousin she knows least of all, I can’t help but want to connect with her in a meaningful way. I want to reach across those miles and tell her she’s a beautiful human being; that shit gets better; that life, when you stand in the light just right and close your eyes to the sun, is astonishing; I want her to know I’m rooting for her happiness. But how does one say that? How does one come out of the murky past and make such bold statements of affection? And how does one do it without coming across as creepy? I don’t know.
When I was sixteen, living in Washington, I met my “Uncle” Greg. He was twelve or fourteen years older than I was. He kept his exact age secret and it was one of the many things that made Greg mysterious to me (and everyone who met him). He isn't really my uncle and at the time he lived in California. He is my best friend's uncle. When I moved to California I moved in with my best friend and Greg. Admittedly the relationship I had with Greg was unusual. He was a mentor, a nonjudgmental sounding board, and--even with our age difference--above all else he was a friend. There were months during my four years of college when I spent more time with him than I did with anyone else, even my best friend. And though he had many mighty struggles of his own, he gave a young man who often felt alone in the world, hope in the future, and even more importantly, a contentedness with my own societal differences/awkwardnesses. More than anyone he helped me feel comfortable with who I was; figuring out how to do that allows me to remain comfortable with who I am today, even though that young man of 20 doesn't much resemble this older man of 34.
These thoughts of Greg feel relevant somehow. I suspect my cousin could benefit from someone like Greg in her life, honestly I think everyone could. But more to the point, it lends some credence to the myriad of ways that people can connect, despite their different experiences and ages.
Regardless, I don’t even know what I would say to her, other than what I already mentioned before. I’d probably send her MP3s to listen to and books to read, I’d beg her to never stop writing. I’d expect the things that helped me to have the same impact upon her. She likely needs something else, maybe she needs nothing, maybe she’s tired of other people--especially men--trying to fix her, but I've convinced myself she absolutely needed The Downward Spiral five years ago. Maybe she has her own Pretty Hate Machine and Little Earthquakes. Maybe she has her shit together. Maybe I've mistaken the whole thing, but couldn't everyone use one more friend to lean on even in the best of circumstances?
I suppose I could just be blunt about it. It’s not like I can ruin our nonexistent friendship. Worst case she can mark me down as a crazy cousin. Or maybe I can casually interact with her more. But maybe she’ll miss what I’m trying to say and maybe I’ll forget what I’m trying to say.
How do you say something important to someone you don't really know?
This isn't a problem I normally have. If I have something I feel is important to say it’s either general enough that I can drop it on my blog (like littering on the internet) or it’s to someone I know well enough that I’m comfortable just saying it to them.
I have this cousin who’s about ten years younger than I. As with most of my cousins I don’t know her very well. There are a few of my cousins who I know better, but I could count the number of times I saw this cousin, or any of my cousins, on both hands. Although, at this point it’s probably fair to say whatever I once knew about even my closest cousins has little to nothing to do with who they are now. They aren't to be blamed for this thing. If it’s a failing, it’s all mine. Admittedly I didn't have a lot of opportunities to bond with my cousins, or aunts and uncles or grandparents while growing up. At best we saw some subset of them once a year, sometimes we’d go two or three years without in person contact. And now that I've been out of my parent’s house and in California for 16 years I see everyone even less.
Facebook has allowed me to interact with a few of my cousins less directly. I can at least see where they live and every now and then what they do with their days. Mostly though it just lets me know that they’re playing Farmville or need me to join their zombie apocalypse army. I’m not knocking anyone for playing those games, I play far too many video games to judge anyone on that account; I’m just establishing the limited view I get even with Facebook around.
However, recently I friended this particular, younger, cousin on Facebook. I still can’t say I know her very well, but I can’t help but feel that had we been the same age and gone to the same school we would have been good friends. And more friends was a thing I could have sorely used during that time, and if I had to venture a guess she likely could have too. Even though such a rearranging of timelines and geographies is impossible, it doesn't detract from the fact that I have this feeling of kinship with her that I've never really felt before between myself and one of my non-immediate relatives.
And though this age gap and this spacial distance exists between us, and though I’m probably the cousin she knows least of all, I can’t help but want to connect with her in a meaningful way. I want to reach across those miles and tell her she’s a beautiful human being; that shit gets better; that life, when you stand in the light just right and close your eyes to the sun, is astonishing; I want her to know I’m rooting for her happiness. But how does one say that? How does one come out of the murky past and make such bold statements of affection? And how does one do it without coming across as creepy? I don’t know.
When I was sixteen, living in Washington, I met my “Uncle” Greg. He was twelve or fourteen years older than I was. He kept his exact age secret and it was one of the many things that made Greg mysterious to me (and everyone who met him). He isn't really my uncle and at the time he lived in California. He is my best friend's uncle. When I moved to California I moved in with my best friend and Greg. Admittedly the relationship I had with Greg was unusual. He was a mentor, a nonjudgmental sounding board, and--even with our age difference--above all else he was a friend. There were months during my four years of college when I spent more time with him than I did with anyone else, even my best friend. And though he had many mighty struggles of his own, he gave a young man who often felt alone in the world, hope in the future, and even more importantly, a contentedness with my own societal differences/awkwardnesses. More than anyone he helped me feel comfortable with who I was; figuring out how to do that allows me to remain comfortable with who I am today, even though that young man of 20 doesn't much resemble this older man of 34.
These thoughts of Greg feel relevant somehow. I suspect my cousin could benefit from someone like Greg in her life, honestly I think everyone could. But more to the point, it lends some credence to the myriad of ways that people can connect, despite their different experiences and ages.
Regardless, I don’t even know what I would say to her, other than what I already mentioned before. I’d probably send her MP3s to listen to and books to read, I’d beg her to never stop writing. I’d expect the things that helped me to have the same impact upon her. She likely needs something else, maybe she needs nothing, maybe she’s tired of other people--especially men--trying to fix her, but I've convinced myself she absolutely needed The Downward Spiral five years ago. Maybe she has her own Pretty Hate Machine and Little Earthquakes. Maybe she has her shit together. Maybe I've mistaken the whole thing, but couldn't everyone use one more friend to lean on even in the best of circumstances?
I suppose I could just be blunt about it. It’s not like I can ruin our nonexistent friendship. Worst case she can mark me down as a crazy cousin. Or maybe I can casually interact with her more. But maybe she’ll miss what I’m trying to say and maybe I’ll forget what I’m trying to say.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
The Things I Wish We Didn't Carry
We're on the verge of moving Berkeley from her crib to a bed. Part of this move will require that she learn when it's acceptable to get up in the morning. The notion of hours and time are, I imagine, rather vague in her mind at this point. A friend pointed us to some devices that use colored lights to let a child know when they should remain in bed and when they can get up.
While browsing through these devices I had this nagging reservation. Berkeley has slept without the need for a nightlight in her room; adding one now was making me nervous. I realized I don't want her to become dependent on a nightlight, but more importantly, I don't want her to become afraid of the dark.
Last night she woke at 2:30am. Robyn tended to her for a few minutes and then came back to bed. Maybe a half hour later she was up again crying. I went in and the first thing she requested was that I turn on the light. I probably spent an hour or so with her and she revealed that she was worried about "the lions." She not only voiced this concern, but kept checking behind her back as if she expected to be attacked at any moment.
While browsing through these devices I had this nagging reservation. Berkeley has slept without the need for a nightlight in her room; adding one now was making me nervous. I realized I don't want her to become dependent on a nightlight, but more importantly, I don't want her to become afraid of the dark.
Last night she woke at 2:30am. Robyn tended to her for a few minutes and then came back to bed. Maybe a half hour later she was up again crying. I went in and the first thing she requested was that I turn on the light. I probably spent an hour or so with her and she revealed that she was worried about "the lions." She not only voiced this concern, but kept checking behind her back as if she expected to be attacked at any moment.
Here I worry about DNA. I'm worried that if you zoom in close enough you will find a little sequence of A's, G's, C's, and T's that spell something frightening on both hers and mine. But that's not all I worry about. I also worry about the environment. I worry that I've hinted to her of my own fear. I worry she's picked up from my behavior that one SHOULD be afraid of the dark, even if one isn't predisposed to be so.
I often think of the things I want to pass along to her, but not this--this is a thing I hope we don't both have to carry. I've come pretty far I think. The rational mind of an adult can cope well where a child's mind is more prone to fantasy. I suspect this sort of thing happens to all children at some point; nonetheless, I'll feel guilty if it sticks long to her.
Normally we let her cry a bit when she wakes and usually she settles back in and falls asleep. But this time I heard it; it wasn't just discomfort or frustration, there was fear there. It echoed around the inside of my head like the cry of a lost child draped in white, running through some dark and unknown forest. It sounded too much like one of my own. I couldn't remain in bed and I found myself staying with her longer than usual.
Normally we let her cry a bit when she wakes and usually she settles back in and falls asleep. But this time I heard it; it wasn't just discomfort or frustration, there was fear there. It echoed around the inside of my head like the cry of a lost child draped in white, running through some dark and unknown forest. It sounded too much like one of my own. I couldn't remain in bed and I found myself staying with her longer than usual.
When I was a child I had a couple requirements for sleeping. I wanted curtains closed; this allowed me to avoid werewolves. I wanted doors closed; this prevented mass murders from standing in my doorway. I wanted closets closed; this allowed fewer shapes for my mind to contort. The problem was anything could take a terrible shape. A bookcase is easily a large man. A dresser a gaping mouth.
But the real solution was people. If I could surround myself with people I knew then I would be fine. Where people were not available, which normally they weren't, dogs made acceptable replacements.
I can't imagine this is significantly different than most other childhoods. And as the years went by I was relatively content as long as I had a dog willing to sleep in my room.
This all changed when we moved from Indiana to Washington. This was a stressful time in my young life. I hated the move. I left some really good friends behind. I was starting high school a year earlier than I had planned (because in Indiana 9th grade was the last year of junior high but in Washington it was the first year of high school). And generally I was just feeling out of place in the town we moved to.
We stayed with some friends for a little while in this new town. It was a small town that lived and died with the lumber industry. It was sort of remote and I guess most people felt safe there. The people we lived with had a penchant for leaving their downstairs back door unlocked. Their house wasn't massive so my brother and I ended up sleeping downstairs with our two dogs. We slept on two couches, one on each side of the room. And of course the state of the door always bugged me, but since it wasn't my house I guess I felt weird about locking their door for them.
One night, after having been asleep for a while, I heard a high pitched ringing noise in my ear. First it wasn't very loud but it grew and grew with strength. It grew so much that it woke me fully and I opened my eyes. There, clearly, standing next to me was a bearded man in a flannel jacket. He held a large knife over his head. He slashed it down at me. I tried to move my hands but they wouldn't budge. So instead I closed my eyes and thought, "this is what it's like to die." There was no pain. Just a horrible paralysis and the ceaseless ringing. It went on and on for what felt like hours. During that time I thought about how my dogs and my brother had failed me. How did the man get in without rousing any of them?
Eventually I regained control of my body. I opened my eyes and all was well in the room. There was no man. I had no wounds. The dogs slept next to my couch. My brother slept on his. As for me? I didn't sleep the following two nights. Eventually exhaustion took me and I returned to a relatively normal sleeping schedule. Unfortunately from that time forward, at various intervals, I'm woken by that same ringing noise and by that same dreadful paralysis. I've learned to keep my eyes close and to wait it out. But fear always hangs over me during those minutes that disappear like kidnapped children. I'm certain the stress of them must shave away hours of my life.
Once I'm awake I have to talk my self out of them being some sort of harbinger of imminent doom. I simultaneously want them to mean something and nothing. I want them to not just be some flaw in my brain, so I give them meaning, but I hate the only meaning I can find for them.Whatever it is, it has become more tricky as I've learned to cope. I now have dreams that start with the ringing. When I wake from the dream--feeling safe that it is over--something odd or frightening will happen. Soon I realize I'm still dreaming, caught in some dark Inception plot. So when I finally do awake, I have to wonder if I'm still worming my way out of my subconscious. Other times I "wake" from so many different layers of dreaming that I'm left crying in my last and final dream, wondering if I'll ever really wake or if I'm stuck there forever, wherever there is.
And so it's not the common dream I worry about in Berkeley's DNA, nor even nightmares. No, instead I hope night terrors will always only be a thing she knows about because her father has them and that they forever remain something she does not have to carry.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Stairway to Heaven
I've been wanting to share with you how we might all get to heaven. It's been on the tip of my tongue for the longest time. Then it hit me last night while lying in bed. Someone just needs to build a stairway. It's no job for the government, nor even private enterprise. It requires something else.
You start with this (
And end with this )
In between you count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, repeat
Think of this ( and this ) as arms wrapped around a body. Think of them as the left and right ventricles of a heart. Think of them as a heart and a brain. Think of them as yin and yang. Think of them as hand and foot. Think of them as man and woman. Think of them as parent and child. Think of them. Then think of those numbers in between as breathes of air. Think of them as heartbeats. Think of them an electromagnetic waves. Think of them as seconds. Think of them as years. Think of them as stairs. Think of them.
Here is the miracle and the paradox. If you buy the album (or already own it), go search it out, put it on your iPod/iPhone/iPad/CD player. Make sure it is plugged into an outlet. If you're not overly familiar with your device, spend some time to discover the location of the repeat button. Set it to repeat. Hit play. Now marvel at how every song is greater than the one before it. Ingest every sound; from that little click at the beginning to the final one at the end. Wrap your arms around someone you love and watch as the end becomes the beginning and there is nothing but increase forever and ever.
Follow these stairs up. I hope to see you there.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Where Movies Meet Reality. Or, Zero Dark Thirty at Noon
I don't want to get into the habit of making my weekly blog post about movies I've recently seen; that feels a bit like cheating and I don't have that much interesting to say about movies anyway. I probably shouldn't worry about it becoming habit since I'm averaging about five movies a year these days. But I wanted to write about this one in particular because of a certain juxtaposition with events that happened directly after seeing it.
Yesterday I had some free time and I hadn't seen my brother in about a month so I talked him into going to see a movie. I've really wanted to see Zero Dark Thirty and it looked too intense for Robyn so it was a good choice for us. To keep my critique to a minimum, let me just say the movie was superb. What you need to know is that the movie is about The War on Terrorism. It spans both the Bush and Obama administrations and is told mainly from the point of view of the CIA. It culminates with the now famous Bin Laden raid. The movie takes place across the globe but spends most of its time lingering over real events in Pakistan and Afghanistan.
After our noon viewing of the movie I drove my brother back to his house. He lives on Moffett Field, which is technically a NASA installation but it welcomes military families from all branches of the service in their small housing area. It's a mixed bag there, they have army and marines for sure and I think some air force and navy families as well, but it's a very small community. There are perhaps fifty buildings that home a few hundred families. Four or five streets run north to south and the same number crisscross them east to west. Once you enter the housing area, driving to my brothers house takes about two minutes and requires that you pass just about every other house before arriving at his. If you hate the monotony that some suburban housing developments have made famous, then the stark sameness of military housing might drive you mad.
We turned down one of these streets lined with houses of muted browns and grays; here we immediately saw two things. In the foreground a group of kids congregated around a small makeshift lemonade-stand, and in the background four or five cop cars were parked outside one of the homes. It seemed apparent that the kids were using the lemonade-stand as an excuse to stand around and gawk at the happenings further down the street. Between the parked cars and the sparse trees it wasn't obvious what the police were doing but my brother said, "Oh no, not again. This guy has had it rough."
At this point I wish I were a painter or photographer rather than a writer. As we drew closer we saw what is in my mind perhaps the most iconic image I've ever witnessed. I hesitate to even explain, as I'm certain I won't do it justice. On the door frame of the house hung a single red flag with the small yellowish symbols that are peculiar to the U.S. Marines. Below the flag sat a man in shorts and a tank-top. His chest and arms had a few tattoos that further marked him as a military man. But his most obvious badges of service were his missing legs and the wheelchair he sat in. His eyes and face--they haunt me already--stared blankly ahead. He looked not at the cops nor at the children a little ways off, instead he stared at the empty space between the two groups. At one point we were in his line of sight but I'm certain he looked right through us, into some other world. At his side sat a full grown black Labrador. One hand rested on the dog's head, the other in his lap.
The police officers formed a misshapen semicircle around him. No one appeared to be in charge. They all looked uncomfortable in their uniforms. Their body language hinted at a resistance to the task at hand, their shoulders drooped with regret and their knees bent with sadness, or maybe respect. The cops stood around and the man and his dog sat still, all waited for something to happen. But all that happened was two brothers drove by in a car none of them will likely remember. We rounded the next corner and they were gone from our sight.
My brother explained that the man had lost his legs in Iraq, which seemed obvious, but he also lost his hearing and large parts of his cognitive abilities. He can't speak. He has a wife and a baby that was merely months old when he was wounded. We saw neither as we passed by. Who knows how much pain we've collectively created here in just one house, much less across the country and across the world.
Later I went skateboarding with my nephew through the neighborhood and out around the base. We looked at the machines of war that are littered across the base. It being a NASA installation they only have a few such machines and most of them are out of service. We passed below the blimp hanger that is under repair. They've stripped it of its paneling and have just started putting new ones up. We marveled at the things man can build and fix, like a skeleton getting its skin reapplied.
My nephew stopped at the housing office to look for candy (I've been sworn to secrecy on whether or not he found any). While he scavenged I skated ahead a little ways and then took a seat on the curb to wait for him. Without being aware of it I'd sat down ten or fifteen feet from where the man sat an hour earlier. Everyone had cleared out, the kids, the cops, the man, the dog. I tried for a moment to imagine how he experienced the world. What it might be like to sit in that chair. To be surrounded by silence and confusion. And I failed. All I saw was grass and houses and trees, heard the freeway in the distance. I've likely been more successful sitting on a plane trying to imagine what a bird might think as it flies. I looked up at his flag still blowing in the breeze and wondered to myself how it is we can fix that blimp hanger out there with ease while it seems like there is so little we can do for a broken man.
Ten years from now I might not remember too much about what happened in that theater. But the images from the day will probably play through my mind like a movie for the rest of my life.
Yesterday I had some free time and I hadn't seen my brother in about a month so I talked him into going to see a movie. I've really wanted to see Zero Dark Thirty and it looked too intense for Robyn so it was a good choice for us. To keep my critique to a minimum, let me just say the movie was superb. What you need to know is that the movie is about The War on Terrorism. It spans both the Bush and Obama administrations and is told mainly from the point of view of the CIA. It culminates with the now famous Bin Laden raid. The movie takes place across the globe but spends most of its time lingering over real events in Pakistan and Afghanistan.
After our noon viewing of the movie I drove my brother back to his house. He lives on Moffett Field, which is technically a NASA installation but it welcomes military families from all branches of the service in their small housing area. It's a mixed bag there, they have army and marines for sure and I think some air force and navy families as well, but it's a very small community. There are perhaps fifty buildings that home a few hundred families. Four or five streets run north to south and the same number crisscross them east to west. Once you enter the housing area, driving to my brothers house takes about two minutes and requires that you pass just about every other house before arriving at his. If you hate the monotony that some suburban housing developments have made famous, then the stark sameness of military housing might drive you mad.
We turned down one of these streets lined with houses of muted browns and grays; here we immediately saw two things. In the foreground a group of kids congregated around a small makeshift lemonade-stand, and in the background four or five cop cars were parked outside one of the homes. It seemed apparent that the kids were using the lemonade-stand as an excuse to stand around and gawk at the happenings further down the street. Between the parked cars and the sparse trees it wasn't obvious what the police were doing but my brother said, "Oh no, not again. This guy has had it rough."
At this point I wish I were a painter or photographer rather than a writer. As we drew closer we saw what is in my mind perhaps the most iconic image I've ever witnessed. I hesitate to even explain, as I'm certain I won't do it justice. On the door frame of the house hung a single red flag with the small yellowish symbols that are peculiar to the U.S. Marines. Below the flag sat a man in shorts and a tank-top. His chest and arms had a few tattoos that further marked him as a military man. But his most obvious badges of service were his missing legs and the wheelchair he sat in. His eyes and face--they haunt me already--stared blankly ahead. He looked not at the cops nor at the children a little ways off, instead he stared at the empty space between the two groups. At one point we were in his line of sight but I'm certain he looked right through us, into some other world. At his side sat a full grown black Labrador. One hand rested on the dog's head, the other in his lap.
The police officers formed a misshapen semicircle around him. No one appeared to be in charge. They all looked uncomfortable in their uniforms. Their body language hinted at a resistance to the task at hand, their shoulders drooped with regret and their knees bent with sadness, or maybe respect. The cops stood around and the man and his dog sat still, all waited for something to happen. But all that happened was two brothers drove by in a car none of them will likely remember. We rounded the next corner and they were gone from our sight.
My brother explained that the man had lost his legs in Iraq, which seemed obvious, but he also lost his hearing and large parts of his cognitive abilities. He can't speak. He has a wife and a baby that was merely months old when he was wounded. We saw neither as we passed by. Who knows how much pain we've collectively created here in just one house, much less across the country and across the world.
Later I went skateboarding with my nephew through the neighborhood and out around the base. We looked at the machines of war that are littered across the base. It being a NASA installation they only have a few such machines and most of them are out of service. We passed below the blimp hanger that is under repair. They've stripped it of its paneling and have just started putting new ones up. We marveled at the things man can build and fix, like a skeleton getting its skin reapplied.
My nephew stopped at the housing office to look for candy (I've been sworn to secrecy on whether or not he found any). While he scavenged I skated ahead a little ways and then took a seat on the curb to wait for him. Without being aware of it I'd sat down ten or fifteen feet from where the man sat an hour earlier. Everyone had cleared out, the kids, the cops, the man, the dog. I tried for a moment to imagine how he experienced the world. What it might be like to sit in that chair. To be surrounded by silence and confusion. And I failed. All I saw was grass and houses and trees, heard the freeway in the distance. I've likely been more successful sitting on a plane trying to imagine what a bird might think as it flies. I looked up at his flag still blowing in the breeze and wondered to myself how it is we can fix that blimp hanger out there with ease while it seems like there is so little we can do for a broken man.
Ten years from now I might not remember too much about what happened in that theater. But the images from the day will probably play through my mind like a movie for the rest of my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
