Chapter 4; the pleasure of the chase
You can almost always tell the kind of city you are passing by on the highway by what you see. If there are giant better fish of dancers or children on the wall of the exit, then it is an artsy town. If you see a sign advertising the world's best fried chicken, then it is a hick town. If you can't even get to the city because of rush hour, then it's probably a big city where the rain doesn't taste like rain. If you pass by several wood mill factories with steam blowing out the top, then it's a wooden area.
Well, I need grass and that's just the fact so I pull into this cul-de-sac, trimmed grass, door mat, type town. And don't get me wrong there is nothing wrong with a place like this, in fact, I could see myself in one of these look-alike houses. These are the places of fake smiles and barbecue parties; a place was your Nabors know you but not well enough to know your middle name or your high school best friends name. A place to blend in and blend in only.
So I got on the off ramp and pulled up to this quaint little mom n pop store. Bought pringles. And as I was walking back to my car the music of an ice-cream truck caught my attention. Children pouring out of every crevice running into the street without thinking -or looking- twice. Forgetting hopscotch and four square. Mothers ran out after their children. nothing like an old guy taking money from children to cheer you up.
One woman with soft brown hair runs out of the yard after her little girl. She had long curly hair, shorts, pink top, and a fake butterfly tattoo. She ran ahead not waiting for her mother. And she jumped up and down trying to see the ice cream. When the mother caught up to her she picked her up and balanced the girl on her hip
My mom uses to do that. She would run out almost as fast as me. She would pick me up and after some debate about which to get we always got delly bars. We would run back through the gate to the back year. Like we were hiding. And we would eat our ice cream on the cricked old swings. It would drip down out hands and we would have to lick out fingers clean. All smiles and sticky fingers.
And with that, I through the pringles in the passenger's seat and drove off. Again. It was a good memory but still a memory nun the less.
Maybe I will never find what I am looking for. Maybe it is just something I made up. Maybe it is impossible to forget. Or to not remember. I'll probably always be looking.
Well, either way, it almost feels like I have to keep looking. Like there is nothing else for me to do. Nothing else I can do. Even if I'm driving around the states- even countries - for years, it doesn't seem so bad.
The idea of life scares me to death. Some days I wake up and forget why. But I'm not sad, or as depressed and that sounds. I often smiled for no reason, laugh when things aren't funny, eat foods I've never tried before, read books for days, and used big words when not needed. No, I'm not sad by any meaning of the word. But I didn't know why. Why I am not depressed or Why I am happy. Because I don't understand life and that is what scares me the most.
But maybe that's why I'm not this trip. This eternal migration- that's what I've been calling it, just the idea of being a part of something, teamwork, and just the togetherness that birds have fascinated me- so that I can understand life or me a little bit better. To get in touch with myself and be who I want to become. Who do I want to become, though? Guess I'll just have to keep looking and guessing, but that's the pleasure of the chase isn't it? I hope so.
This is what I am thinking as I drive down the freeway. Hoping to God that it rains so that the thumping on the roof of the van will drown out my thoughts. Every though is a battle every breath is a war, and I don't think I'm winning anymore.
