Trip quotes:
"...Maybe it is that I long not for the perfect but for the complete, and there is something incomplete about a life that is dedicated to escape from life."
"Responsible behavior does not increase love, nor does irresponsible behavior decrease it."
One can only love someone because they feel that person is deserving of their love. It is a gift as opposed to a codependency; it is shared as opposed to harbored.
Prologue:
My dearest little Wrenna, My noble Kudra, I have spent many days heatedly in intensely reading and looking into myself and although I do not discount that I will still need the counseling and medication to mediate my physical shortcomings and abnormalities, I believe I have, too late, discovered the nature of how to truly love you. If only we could press rewind and I keep the knowledge I have at this juncture.
The bus ride has an uncanny length and ennui to it. Your diatribe holds me at bay while my heart continually attacks me from the inside out and I can't seem to shake the pain that pulsates like a nuclear reactor.
At least the landscape's pretty. The rolling hills and greenery have a certain vacillating nature to them and they change as quickly as desert changes to coniferous forest. On our way to Flagstaff, one could almost mistake the trees and forests for the winding highways that weave the a-linear loom of the Virginia mountainside. However, without warning, the landscape tricks me and transforms back into desert only a few minutes out of Flagstaff.
At the bus station in Flagstaff, I had my first encounter with serious dehydration. In all the months of being in Arizona, I had yet to see a person lying face down, surrounded by 40 Ounce bottles of Old English, while a clearly agitated policeman, uniformed in black clothing talked to them and stared ashamedly at the crowd of onlookers, to keep them alive. The desert giveth and now I see it also taketh away.
"Looking out a dirty old window," all of a sudden there is nothing but shoddy brown fences, stale yellow grass, dirt and light green shrubbery as far as the eyes can see. In the distance, scattered mountain ranges loom like mice on the horizon. For the distance away that they are, however, it could be hours by rocket car before anyone were to reach them.
As with the desert, the way it sleeps in its sun soaked pain and barren soul; so too must I try to mimic it and hope, at the very least, that my tepid dreams carry me far, far away from the moment.
I awake to see a train running parallel to our bus. Nothing seems to exist on this road but the occasional car, trucks, and other busses like ours. The train is an indication of a legendary tradition of how the west was won. The desolation around it, however, indicates how little changes.
We enter the Navajo lands only to find it's a blink of an eye through its "city". So this is where the trail of tears ends for them. A faint trace of society breaths its quick breath and then melts back into the desert like your mother's candlewax. I think of the trail of tears and the hardships they endured and although the situation was ten times worse for them, the ironic conclusion beats me with a cudgel as I begin to mutely cry as we continue on my own trail of tears to Roanoke, VA.
Dusk brings renewed strength in me. My dichotomy has been known to me my whole life that during the daytime, I am overrun by fear, sadness and stress until night falls and I become fecund with, at the very least, a modicum of relaxation. The strange thing is that during the day, even if I turn off all the lights and block out the sun's face, my unease still exists as an unconquerable force. This is not to say that I am devoid of the unrest and uneasiness at night but I find it easier to control and/or moderate.
The desert begins to fade and becomes populated with medium sized trees. The dusky sun turns the clouds navy blue and the yellow grass, under the bold green trees, shines like the gold that I have, many times dug from your eyes and into my soul. The vastness of it all still exists, though, and I look out past the medium sized trees, over their tops and into the immortality of a desert motif not unlike the immortal motif that exists in my heart. Just like my love, the horizon doesn't seem to ever end...
There are three boys accompanying us on this trip and they sit in the seats around me making apparent the reason for their friendship in their callow interactions. Instantly, I see why their friendship works like a well-oiled machine. They each play a special role in their primitive dynamic:
The first sits a seat up on the opposite side of the bus. He is the quiet one who's so quiet, he mumbles like an old jazz man when he speaks. He opens his mouth only when he has, "a real gem." I quote this because his mumbling and short sense of humor makes his statements so queer that his gems might as well be cubic zirconium.
The second sits directly behind him and across from me. He continually talks, forcing the petulant and pusillanimous diatribe to plod on at gun point with his 50/50 style of humor. By this I mean not every jewel is a diamond but occasionally he makes the others laugh. He fires so rapidly, however, that it would seem as if they were laughing at everything he says. He keeps on using the same phrase over and over and it sends pains into my brain like bullets each time he says, "Mike Laaaaaaaauuury," which makes the third titter like a 12 year old girl, loudly and constantly.
The third, interjects rarely but when he does, it's always loud in addition to the loudness of its nonsense. I realize quickly that the reason he interjects rarely is because he's always laughing with the high pitched melody of a retarded tweety bird. His phrases are just as loud and high pitched as that retarded tweety bird as well and he might resemble most closely, from cartoon history, the kid with the beanie over his eyes on Fat Albert.
What a combination they make, feeding off each other’s personalities like a pack of wild Dobermans puppies.
My saving grace is a middle ages Native American man with one blind and glossed over eye that sits next to me. He is quiet as a mouse but every once and a while, he seems to force a chuckle at some joke that may very well come from nowhere. I try to address him twice and ask him where he's going but he acts as if he doesn't hear me or maybe he doesn't. Despite his silence, in the midst of the three black stooges, I can respect his quiet and demure verisimilitude.
The desert stretches out to eternity still but it's now greener than it was when we started our trip. Honestly, I'm growing tired of the reminders of how long eternity is and shortly after starting this trip, I would love it, if it could be over.
The storm clouds gather in sunset's funeral procession. Behind them, the mountains and hills quickly cloak the sun's death. The pinks and the blues of the thick, threatening clouds mix together and cloak the horizon like a mourner's veil. I think of a Grateful Dead quote to end the day with as I begin drifting off to sleep, "what a long strange trip it's been..."
The sweet smell of urinal cakes permeates the back of the bus and I rewrite those lyrics on this page: What a long strange trip I have to travel; my feet, don't fail me now...
Coming into Albuquerque, we pass by an Indian Casino, or maybe it should be called a Native American casino? I don't know. In any case, there are thirty feet tall arrows in the parking lot that lead up to the door. It's truly amazing. Vicious and enticing because of its in your face nature, I think to myself, "what pizzaz!" I can see, now, how they're getting their reparations and it makes me think, "if only we could have them teach the hood rats who still claim white people owe them something because their ancestors were slaves." I immediately feel guilty for this thought...
The real sight was before we even made it close to the city; while we were still over the vast mountains that overlook the city of Albuquerque. Looking down on the city, I think of how it looks like a giant Christmas shrub; the electric orgasm of light being characteristic of all the dreams I've had about desert cities and the make out points that overlook them. As I think of the couples in movies who sit on the side of the road and look out on the light shows of a city from points on a mountain just like this, I think to myself how much I wish you were here.
Lines of bright buildings looked like a light tapestry and the desert around it, dark and cold as it was, made me think of this picture hanging from a wall of God's studio apartment if you were standing sideways in heaven and looking down.
As we get to Albuquerque, the blind Native American speaks to me and it comes as such a shock, I am barely able to listen to him begin to quickly tell me about basketball games in Albuquerque and friend's he's come to visit and how he loves Albuquerque because there's always something to do. I feel bad because I try to reiterate what he told me by telling him to enjoy the basketball game while he tells me, "you mean the concert?" He quickly leaves as if hurt by my lack of attention. I want to tell him I'm a little out of it from sleepiness and I did try to listen but I thought he was mute and deaf but he's gone before I can really say a word.
We're leaving Albuquerque! I wonder if I'll sleep tonight? With renewed vigor from a Venom energy drink I had in the station, I wonder if I'll sleep tonight or just read Tom Robbins? I feel like reading and writing but I've been doing those things all day. I wonder if I can apply this night time vigor to my internet searches for places to go for training and jobs?
HA! I'm supposed to be enjoying my trip and yet, I'm thinking about jobs...
I feel revitalized and good. It's an odd thing: feeling this good and in control at night when just hours ago daytime beat me into submission and pain but as I mentioned before, this is my dichotomy; at least for now.
In any case, the idiot trio got a new musketeer in Albuquerque; a middle aged, larger man who they all seemed to cling to like a Michael Jordan mentor coming from nowhere to imbue them with wisdom and superficial attention. They clung to his every word a he began to speak loudly about getting away from the police and smuggling kilos of high grade pot all around the country.
My mind thinks, "idiots..." until I think about my own problems with keeping my mouth shut and I begin to learn the hard way that this i a karmic lesson that I feel I will have had beaten into me, figuratively speaking of course, by the time he gets of the bus... Karma's a bitch...
The bus backs up sharply and stalls. They tell us it could be hours before we get another bus out there and I begin to feel the energy that I got from the drink morph into panic as I begin to fear being trapped in Albuquerque. The feeling is similar to claustrophobia and then Facebook makes it worse as I try to call you but cannot reach you to quell my anxiety.
Last night we were laid over in Albuquerque because of mechanical troubles with the bus and my nerves caught up with me in the worst way. I began to fear being stuck there and our lack of moving forward plus the caffeine in my system managed to cause me to have a panic attack that only two Advil PM's were able to put down. I harassed you though, and for that, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart.
Today, we were also laid over for hours, because of mechanical troubles, in Amarillo Texas. So, I suppose this is standard practice for the Greyhound bus system. As I thought all along, I should have flown. Long trips amidst times of crisis (whether it be emotional, physical or mental or in my case, all three) are a bad idea, as I have learned. My theory is that enough people fly now a days that the busses are really underfunded and under taken care of.
My heart sinks like I had a lead weight on my chest because I miss you so badly and this journey, last night and today, is proving to be a hellish nightmare. I wish you were here to hold my hand or at the very least I wish I could hear your voice to calm me down. I haven't heard from you at all last night or today so I'm thinking you may be at the point of isolation from me. In lieu of this, I decide that after Amarillo Texas or Yellow Texas (I get a kick out of this because the bus station smells strongly of urine) I won't call you or text you until you call or text me. It hurts like hell but if it's what must be done, then bon voyage my love; until I return...
PS: I needed a smoke so I bought a pack of the only kind of cigarettes they sold in Albuquerque called All Natural Natives. They're disgusting. Never buy them...
PPS: Stuck in my head on repeat: "WONDERBOY! What is the secret of your power?"
PPPS: Choked down a hot dog, because my stomach still aches from missing you, and thought of "you gais want a hot dawg?"
I woke up this morning, half asleep, to tell the guy sitting across from me, "You have to pick up Oliver James from band practice, hunnie." Luckily, he had a sense of humor and we laughed and talked for a while about other things in order to get over the awkward moment of me addressing him as a beautiful red head.
The Texas deserts Morphed slowly into fields. A plethora of yellow grass waved at me as if to say, "Welcome to Texas, we got pee grass here." The farther I get from you the more intense the pain is, I think to myself, with quiet resolve and a turned away face, "I wish it didn't have to be this way."
Oklahoma brings back the sweltering, sticky and humid heat I've met before. The fields roll back and forth and up and down with the familiar dips and curves of Virginia and before I'm with my parents, I feel their home upon me. The only difference is that here, there's still many dry patches, scattered sparsely across the unforgiving hammer of the mid-day sun. The best way to describe Oklahoma: Where the fields outnumber the trees.
Reaching Oklahoma City, I found out quickly that it's one of the worst terminals in the country. Here, they had no place to charge our phones, the staff was rude, and we got there so late that the only bus to Little Rock Arkansas was at 12:15 AM. It was, at the time of arrival, 12:30 PM. The terminal consisted of bathrooms that looked like subway entrances (the boy’s bathroom looked like a subway or one of those weird torture chambers from the first SAW movie.) There were food machines and game machines that were not in use but there were signs all over to not unplug them to charge their phones. The center of the room consisted of uncomfortable benches that you could not lay down on because of the uncomfortable arm rests that were spaced just evenly and low enough to not allow weary travelers a place to lie down.
Outside the heat was unforgiving and the nearest restaurant chain or stores were said to be six blocks away. Fortunately, a girl I was traveling with who desperately wanted me to believe in God, named Johanny told me that she got her ticket changed for an earlier bus at 4:00 PM and I managed to do the same. Unfortunately it was still only 1:00 PM so I went with her and some people she had become acquainted with on the bus to a restaurant that they saw from the girls room upstairs.
It was a hot dog and spaghetti restaurant that was very small but it filled our bellies as we talked about our different situations. The women I sat with were 23 (A single mom whose boyfriend was in jail. She traveled with her seven year old son who liked to mimic the sounds of guns and bombs the entire trip) 30 (Johanny who as I said was a girl who wanted me to believe in God. She had just gotten done with a semester of theology at some university) and a third lady who was a truck driver but did not give her age. I imagined she was over 40 though because she was certainly an older woman. They talked to me and gave me council and represented the first road family I have had. They gave me such warmth that I found unusual in strangers but I thought of Blanche Dubois from A Streetcar Named Desire when she said, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."
The rest of the trip my writings fell off but I remember thinking in Knoxville TN: "Knoxville, where the beards are as thick on the women as they are on the men." For real though, I saw a bearded lady.
Going towards Roanoke, I got a call from Dan who said to get off the bus at Wythville which saved me about an hour and a half. On the way there (because I know how conversation seems to make time go quicker, I talked to a nice ex stripper / 24 year old mother named Ginger. I tried to talk to her a little bit about what I was going through but instead she poured out her whole story to me as well as her philosophies and I couldn't really get a word in edgewise. She was very sweet and very nice, she just had no off button.
Getting into Wythville my head swam with thoughts of what I was going to do to get my life in order as quickly as possible to make my way back to you because the pain in my heart was so intense I probably looked the a crack addict going through withdrawal. Since then I have determined that I can probably get my life together rather quickly and could have gotten my life together there as well, however, this wasn't just about me, it was about you as well.
I'm thinking that a few weeks of counseling will put me in the right direction. Besides that, I grasped how to get a job while I was there and had a plan in place that would have taken care of that while I was still with you. I know I need to soul search but my mind's made up that if you'd have me, I'd have nobody else. It was always you. So, I think the plan at this point is that I will live my life until you're ready to begin dating again and then ask you at that point if it's still me you want. At the moment, though, I love you more than anything in the world and I await you're getting better because being with you is the best thing I've ever done.
I love you and I wish you all the best. Until we meet again.
Love,
Dylan
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