How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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Ril, if you look closely at things (closer than you've ever looked in your entire life), you might be amazed at how much beauty there is around you. On the drive down, I tried to suck in every beautiful detail. I felt like I had been holding my breath underwater for so long that I was gasping to breathe in each beautiful molecule of oxygen. After I did, I thought I could see everything. And understand everything, too.
Crossing the length of the dashboard broken only by the cracks in the vinyl, I saw an oblong field of dust. It was silver or sort of gray‑silver with a black vinyl soil beneath it. All those thousands of particles of dust made the world inside the car so smooth. It was like paint flattening with the grain on an already smooth piece of wood.
It was still early in the morning and the sun's rays were low. They were so low that they seemed to be trying to slip beneath the dust and hide, but they didn't fit under there. And it reminded me of when the cats would ambush my feet if I walked too close to where they were hiding. Or they'd think they were hiding. But I could see them all along.
The cats would lurk behind a chair or a door, but I'd see a tail floating and swishing. It was detached as if it didn't really belong to them. And so, they couldn't really hide. There was no way.
Inside the highway median, spring was trying to escape from winter. All the bushes and trees were still brown, but not completely brown, because someone had painted them with just a little green beneath. It was spring green. And the color was like the cat's tail floating and swishing. All I had to do was look for it.
Unlike the trees in Baltimore, these trees were stuck exactly in the middle – halfway between winter and spring. Most important of all, I was in the middle too and that felt good.
Just past milepost 60, I saw the sign for 95-South to Richmond. When I looked ahead, the exit ramp was moving toward me. Or it seemed like it was. It was a small square swelling and brightening. This was the same exit that Dad had hated so much because the sign was hidden behind some trees. But now, the sign is much better. It's big and green and not blocked by trees at all.
The first time we went to North Carolina, Dad drove right on by and missed the exit and we had to go all the way into Washington, D.C. just to turn around. Dad swore it was the sign's fault. He got so angry about it that no one could talk. No one in the car was allowed to talk. And that's exactly what he said.
"You're not allowed to talk. None of you...friggin' sign."
But it was also funny. Really funny. Except we didn't dare to laugh. Crow and I just shut up in the backseat and made mad faces all the way into Virginia.
This new sign was really easy to see, but it was coming at us too quickly. The motion made me feel like I couldn't possibly slow down before we'd skid off the highway, but that didn't happen. I drifted onto the exit ramp expecting the worst but found out that it was easy. The car simply swept smoothly around the ramp and started onto the new road. Interstate 295 goes into 95.
Whoosh!
It was like leaves or dirt brushed away by a broom in slow motion. Whoosh. Only slower. 295 goes into 95. Just three more highways and we were HOME.
Suddenly, everything seemed simple again.
On all sides, the land around us flattened. Toward Virginia, there were rows of hills disappearing in the distance. The closest ones were green and gray, but as the distance increased, all the colors became bluer. Blue like the sky is blue or blue like water. A thin ocean reflecting blueness. The further you saw, the bluer it looked. Droplets of water floating in the air. A three-dimensional puzzle with holes that only makes sense when it's on its side because all the blanks are filled in.
I turned to show Crow the blueness in the distance, but he was sleeping. For a moment, I thought about waking him, but changed my mind. He had helped me get this far, so I wanted to be quiet for him.
