First Impressions

In August of 2019, I flew to Colorado to close on the cabin I had purchased. I was giddy with excitement, and it went well, except when I asked the seller to give me the names of neighbors so I could stop by to say hello. Alarmed, both the real estate agent and the former owner said simultaneously, “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because someone might shoot you,” the real estate agent said.

“I warned the Jehovah’s Witnesses,” the former owner said. “I couldn’t believe they came right up my driveway and knocked on the door. I told them, ‘You can’t be doing this. You can get hurt.’” The really bad news was I might be at 9300’ in a remote area, but I still couldn’t get away from Jehovah’s Witnesses.

“How do you meet people?” I asked.

“You walk by and if they are outside, you say hello,” the owner said. “From the road,” the real estate agent said quickly. “Don’t go on their land unless you’re invited.” I learned later they had probably exaggerated. Probably. I haven’t really tested it so I’m not sure, but I don’t know any neighbors with shotguns by their front door.

The only other bad moment was when the owner said, “Do you have a chain saw? You’ll need one.”

“I don’t do chain saws,” I said.

She paused, looking at me. Finally, she said, “I guess you could get an electric one,” as though whatever problem I had with chain saws would be fixed by an extension cord.

“I don’t do chain saws,” I said firmly. I’m not clumsy, but I tend to be easily distracted when my brain is free-wheeling about, and it’s always free-wheeling about. The combination of me thinking about ravens and a running chainsaw seemed ill advised.

Freed from the interminable papers I signed, I headed for the airport. I had never negotiated these mountain roads by myself, and I had a little anxiety about them and about Denver traffic. I stopped at an organic food place to pick up lunch and came out with some chocolate with CBD in it. CBD doesn’t make you high. It’s good for your health. I headed for my bright yellow rental car and got in, only to see that the steering wheel was covered with fringe, which it had not been when I got out. It took a moment for my brain to comprehend I had gotten in the wrong yellow Honda, and when I did, I jumped up so fast, I left the chocolate and a cup of water behind. If they shoot you for knocking in the front door, what do they do if they think you are stealing their car?

I jumped in the other yellow Honda. I had been wolfing down chocolate on the way to the car, but I had no intention of going back and retrieving the rest of it from the other Hondo. I have not idea what the owner thought when he came back to his car. Ten minutes later, the walls of the car started closing in and expanding, in and out. The countryside developed neon colors and a bright shimmer. A part of my brain marveled at the rich colors and delighted in the shifting car size. But somewhere in the back of my brain, a voice said, “CBD, my ass. You are so fucked. You are fucked. You are never going to get to this airport.”

“Look at the colors. They’re incredible,” the voice in the front of my brain kept saying.

“GPS. GPS. Pay attention to the GPS,” the voice in the back of my head said. Somehow, I made it to the airport and although I don’t remember parking, I do remember getting in the line for security. At this point giddiness and wonder began to shift to paranoia. “What if you didn’t leave all the chocolate in that car? What if there’s some still in your purse?” Colorado has strict rules about taking marijuana out of state. “You’re going to lose your professional license. You might go to jail. You are so fucked.” Sober me doesn’t usually curse, but stoned me sounded like a drunken sailor. The paranoia followed me all the way through security, and I had no sooner breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t in handcuffs when I saw it:

It was a silver and black snake, easily 40’ long. It was moving, and in the light, it seemed as though it was pulsing like a strobe light. I stopped dead in my tracks as people flowed around me. The voice in the front of my head said, “What the hell is that? What the hell?” and the voice in the back of my head said, “It’s an escalator, you idiot! You’ve been on escalators.”

“I can’t get on that thing,” the voice in the front part said.

“Yes, you can. I promise. Just grab the rail. Now step . . . ” With little faith I did and found myself riding the black and silver snake all the way down to the basement of the world where I don’t have any memory of the train ride. No doubt, I was still obsessing over my miraculous escape from the strobing snake. I got to my concourse and then found the United lounge where I ate every brownie on the buffet table until my flight was called.