(70) Journey

I got up this morning and immediately thought that today wouldn’t be so bad. It’s maybe ten degrees cooler and my hair hasn’t up and marched itself into a belligerent pagoda of sticky shenanigans. It’s a promising state of affairs already. I traipsed about the house, sipped coffees, took the dogs out, and then oops I’m late for my gigs and it’s almost noon and HAHAHAHA IT IS NOW JUST A NOTCH HOTTER THAN SATAN’S GRUNDLE HAHAHAHA DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE MOISTNESS OK. Ok. So instead of hauling ass to my gig in my car like normal people, I expanded my armpit until it resembled a methane riddled cousin of the Atlantic whose every riptide pulls you straight out your own asshole. I swam around for most of the afternoon and finally slunk into my car, trailing salty slug laden smears of failure behind me. I drove home as the afternoon squealed to a blistering end.

One thing about here is the coast. Living along the coast is a magnificent, precious, thing that I take for granted all the time. Even miles inland, the air is thicker and unexpected. Water has strong opinions about everything; its dance and sulk is always in stark contrast to the stoic earth hugging its edges. The water will tell you how its day has gone, and the sky is always empathetic. You can’t have an angry ocean and a pristine sky; even if your sky is mostly blue, its blue will match the sorrow in the waves somehow, each and every time.

As I drove, the light changed. It floated behind flat clouds and in between the layers of gray that filled my eyes. The water was restless, waiting with an air of contempt and frustration that made the waves snub the shores. The sky grew murky like its friend, but kept its warmth even as the light faded. Sometimes contempt leaves once it’s forgiven. I waited for the light to dissipate, and remembered my fairy guides from childhood.

I watched the streetlights blink themselves to task, and remembered, refelt, my excitement over the arrival of my fairies. The daylight still waned, its persistence suddenly trifling, as I searched between my car and the streetlights for their return. I neared my house, and finally saw the silvery strong strands of my fairies’ arms, pulling me from light to light, making sure my car stayed on the road, that I would be home soon. I remember being rocked to sleep by the rhythm of my fairies’ pull, and the gentle belief that they helped my dad drive somehow.

I got out of the car, my adulthood gone and a smile stretching my face in the unknowing helpless way that nostalgia has.