Hands tight. Veins popping. Breathe. It’s just a blizzard. Focus on a positive.
I have low cholesterol. That’s all you can think of?
I can’t see. I can’t see! What just happened? My heats on high but the snow is frozen to the wipers. I need to get over. I need to stop. Not here. Not on highway 77.
Cliff Road exit. Perfect! Not perfect. Exits mean snow banks and untraveled snow. Putt-Putt (my car) weighs 80 pounds.
Whip it Nerissa. Just whip it good. Breathe. You are a Wisconsin Girl. Let’s do this.
Hold on Putters! With a whish and a thump-thump over the mound of snow, I charged through the onramp with no visibility just a lot of guessing.
There it is; the green light. Gun it! And we bump and spin. I crank the steering wheel left, then right, then left-right-left cause that’s what you do when the path is unplowed and impossible, just rev, try all avenues and scream like your lungs are going to explode.
And laugh. I’m freaking laughing. Not nervous laughter but I conquered the universe and now I’m dictator of Cuba laughter. I’m slamming my fists into the air like a champ.
I’m exuberant because I suck at winter driving…
I was 16 and driving to play practice. It is black ice but I’m going 65. If I just get there 5 minutes early I can find my boyfriend and try to salvage whatever’s left of our crumbling relationship.
My wheel catches. I lose control. A car is coming. I slam on the brakes. My head spins round and round. I didn’t scream. I just held on. And thump.
I’m in a snow bank. Just sitting there. My foot on the brake still. Dazed. I don’t know what to do. So I shut off the radio—
I slowed down after that. Instead of 65 I went 45 but always with the same outcome. Me, in a snow bank, flipped on the side or head first, side first, in a marsh, cornfield, driveway, country road, what I thought was a road but was actually a biking trail and of course, the fateful freeway…
A black ice advisory is out. My friend Brandon and I just finished watching Charlie’s Angels and are on the way to Wal-Mart to buy a sewing machine.
We are on 94 West. Talking. Laughing. And then the tire catches. Don’t do it. You know what happens. Pull through. Gas. It’s not working. Gas. You can do this. Gas. I can’t! NO! I slam on the brakes. We do a 180 into the next lane.
I’m like a deer in headlights. Literally because a tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX is moments from slamming into us. I can see her face—illuminated by my lights. Eyes wide. Screaming. And then it was over.
So I thought. Until I look past her tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX and witness the sea of headlights coming our way. Brandon, in the passenger seat, whips my car into reverse. I slam on the gas and we move my car to the left side of freeway.
The tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX stays where it lays; in the middle of the freeway.
The headlights find us.
A car loses control and slams into the guardrail. Brandon and I hop out of my car. We both run to help but something catches my eye. Inside that tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX there is a baby seat. The door is open and the woman has fled but I can’t tell—my eyes can’t focus from that far—is there a baby in there?
I split from Brandon running as fast as I can to that tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX. And just as I get there, I realize, no baby—no baby! And I look up as a red car is two seconds from smashing the crap out of me.
I roll on to that tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX, clinging to the hood as the red car crashes into it. My hands are slipping, my neck jarring as other cars keep smashing and crashing. I hear nothing. I do nothing. I just hold on. And then it stops.
I climb off the hood and look at the mess around me. Horns blaring, people crying, glass breaking, cars and trucks destroyed everywhere. This man roars, “Why can’t we all slow down. Why?” as he waves his arms to the world.
A van slowly drives through the wreckage and pulls behind my car. He wants to help.
I hear a scream. I recognize that voice. I look for him. Where is he? Where is Brandon?
My eyes find him. He’s lying on the ground. He’s screaming. Screaming at me. Frantically pointing at something. I turn to look.
My body freezes. Coming at me, a jack-knifed semi, and I’m its only target. I run. I run. Oh my god I run.
As I hopped on that guardrail and turned to see the back of the semi swooping past me I saw the driver of the tan Malibu license plate XXX XXX, sitting quietly as if watching a movie in a theater. I wanted to throw Sour Patch Kids at her but instead followed suit.
I watched cars zip in and crash left, right, down the middle and to the side. They never saw the accident until they were in it. Some were lucky enough to crash and keep driving.
Eventually it stopped.
6 police cars, 2 ambulances, 3 tow truck companies, 11 cars completely totaled, mine included. The semi had just missed me but was able to take it out on my car. The man in the van who stopped to help had a heart attack when the semi slammed my car into his. Brandon was hit by a car and laid out for a month. And I lost my nerves that night—
Now I’m in a parking lot off Cliff Road slapping ice chunks off my car with ungloved hands. I’m sweaty and tense. It’s getting dark which only makes it only harder. My stomach hurts…
It was outside New York City that the storm hit. We had been warned and therefore left for Minnesota early. We thought we could miss it. But it keeps piling down.
Within five minutes I threw in the towel. My intestines are all twisted up, my brain is ready to explode and I somehow got us stuck on an off ramp.
Jim hops in the driver’s seat. Adam takes navigator while I squat on my hands and knees squealing from the backseat.
Jim flips his hat backwards and says, “I’m a Wisconsin boy. No problem.” And off we go. I watch car after car slide off the road but we just keep zipping past. We can’t stop. We can’t help them. It was like war.
I find Adam’s old Gyro and start stress eating—totally a bad IBS move. Within minutes I’m stress farting. Stinking up the whole car. Jim is so ticked. He’s trying to keep us on the road and I’m distracting him with my stinky olive, dead animal farts.
My nerves are shot and I can’t watch anymore. I ball up into the blankets like a hamster.
Hours later the snow subsided and we pulled off to recoup. The bathroom and I bonded while Adam and Jim aired out the blankets.
I thanked Jim. Silently I wished I had been able to do it myself—
I’m in the driveway now. It took me an hour and 15 minutes to go 25 miles. But as I’m trudging through a foot or more in snowdrifts to get to the house with only tennis shoes on I’m glowing like a spaceman.
Now this isn’t the first snow storm that I’ve powered through without a ditch, marsh, heart attack or hamster ball required but I didn’t want to count my chickens before they were hatched or worse, jinx myself and cause an 85 car pile-up in Canada with a revoked license, bonging beer while text messaging.
Maybe accomplishment is not the right word at this point but it may be time to smile a little—a tiny proud smile for not being the worst snow driver in history…
Do you think the DMV would give me a diploma? Or at least a new photo for my license?
Channel the Yoda
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Friday, November 5, 2010
A Compulsive "Road Trip" Travelers Beginning
It was the last day of summer break; 1995 and the day before my sophomore year of high school.
I planned to spend the whole day locked in my bedroom writing horrible poetry, sulking in my pillow and reading smutty books.
Only good news--I HAD MY LEARNERS PERMIT! Good news for me. Bad news for the world.
My father had a conference in Duluth that day. He wanted me to go.
I growled, "Busy." If I didn’t sulk for a good 3 hours it’s like my day wasn’t complete and his stupid conference was not going to get in the way of that.
"We can get Chili Dogs," he coerced with a loopy grin on his face.
"Not hungry," I replied
His face went rigid. I froze. That is not a look I disobey. I've seen squirrels drop dead from that look.
"Whoosh!" That was me, out the door and buckled into the passenger seat. And there I waited with a crabby gaze plastered on my face.
Crack! I woke from my self-deprecating slump to see my father standing outside my window.
"You're driving."
Shocked I slid over to the driver’s seat.
I can't drive to Duluth! Last week I just made it to 55 mph without hyperventilating. The week before I freaked out during a Y turn and ended up in the ditch.
But I just shrugged. Cause I'm cool.
"You need to practice long distance driving," He states buckling his seat belt.
Once I was 4-Wheeling around a field and fell into a hole. Another time while mowing figure 8's into the lawn I lost control and drove into the ditch. Yes, long distance driving is exactly what I need to work on.
And so I did. With a two hour drive in silence. Not even a grunt. It was like a standoff except there was no draw and Clint Eastwood himself wouldn’t have incited a discussion between us.
I remember crossing the bridge to Duluth. AMAZING! Lake Superior— beautiful. Lift bridge— awesome. Boats— a dream of mine. Even if it’s a big, smelly oil rig, I don’t care, I want it…!
My father yanks the wheel suddenly. "Eyes on the road!" he barks. I tend to drive where I look. Hence so many ditches.
I attended the conference. I listened. I nodded politely. I have no idea what it was about.
Afterwards my father dragged me to get food. A Burger King set next to Lake Superior on Canal Street. He sat on a bench to eat while I hopped from rock to rock. Finally I stopped. Sat. Stared.
Gentle waves crashed into my rock. The lake and sky meeting so effortlessly that they melted into one. And for 20 minutes I didn't think. I didn't worry. Obsess. Pick. Scowl. Growl. Feel some sort of anger. Or even rage. I just ate my fries and breathed.
It felt good. I felt good.
I drove us back. Calmly I might add. Dad pretended to fall asleep. I know it was pretend because I was totally looking at the fall leaves on the trees and drove into the ditch. He quickly yanked the wheel again and growled.
We made it back alive. And my father, with all his concern for my long distance driving skills, actually instilled a lifetime desire of road trips and a deep appreciation for the crashing waves of Lake Superior.
So, thanks.
I still drive where I look though. But I’m working on it. Swear.
I planned to spend the whole day locked in my bedroom writing horrible poetry, sulking in my pillow and reading smutty books.
Only good news--I HAD MY LEARNERS PERMIT! Good news for me. Bad news for the world.
My father had a conference in Duluth that day. He wanted me to go.
I growled, "Busy." If I didn’t sulk for a good 3 hours it’s like my day wasn’t complete and his stupid conference was not going to get in the way of that.
"We can get Chili Dogs," he coerced with a loopy grin on his face.
"Not hungry," I replied
His face went rigid. I froze. That is not a look I disobey. I've seen squirrels drop dead from that look.
"Whoosh!" That was me, out the door and buckled into the passenger seat. And there I waited with a crabby gaze plastered on my face.
Crack! I woke from my self-deprecating slump to see my father standing outside my window.
"You're driving."
Shocked I slid over to the driver’s seat.
I can't drive to Duluth! Last week I just made it to 55 mph without hyperventilating. The week before I freaked out during a Y turn and ended up in the ditch.
But I just shrugged. Cause I'm cool.
"You need to practice long distance driving," He states buckling his seat belt.
Once I was 4-Wheeling around a field and fell into a hole. Another time while mowing figure 8's into the lawn I lost control and drove into the ditch. Yes, long distance driving is exactly what I need to work on.
And so I did. With a two hour drive in silence. Not even a grunt. It was like a standoff except there was no draw and Clint Eastwood himself wouldn’t have incited a discussion between us.
I remember crossing the bridge to Duluth. AMAZING! Lake Superior— beautiful. Lift bridge— awesome. Boats— a dream of mine. Even if it’s a big, smelly oil rig, I don’t care, I want it…!
My father yanks the wheel suddenly. "Eyes on the road!" he barks. I tend to drive where I look. Hence so many ditches.
I attended the conference. I listened. I nodded politely. I have no idea what it was about.
Afterwards my father dragged me to get food. A Burger King set next to Lake Superior on Canal Street. He sat on a bench to eat while I hopped from rock to rock. Finally I stopped. Sat. Stared.
Gentle waves crashed into my rock. The lake and sky meeting so effortlessly that they melted into one. And for 20 minutes I didn't think. I didn't worry. Obsess. Pick. Scowl. Growl. Feel some sort of anger. Or even rage. I just ate my fries and breathed.
It felt good. I felt good.
I drove us back. Calmly I might add. Dad pretended to fall asleep. I know it was pretend because I was totally looking at the fall leaves on the trees and drove into the ditch. He quickly yanked the wheel again and growled.
We made it back alive. And my father, with all his concern for my long distance driving skills, actually instilled a lifetime desire of road trips and a deep appreciation for the crashing waves of Lake Superior.
So, thanks.
I still drive where I look though. But I’m working on it. Swear.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Hit the Road (Trip) Jack!
Large coffee.
Quick stretch outside.
I'm off.
Blurry-eyed.
It's early.
14 hours to go.
I know this stretch.
Wisconsin to Minnesota.
I live this stretch.
Sip coffee. Eat a banana.
And 494! Smelly bridge.
Morning show on the radio.
Pee Break!
Coffee refill.
Gas up.
Stretch.
People stare.
I don't care.
Am I in Iowa yet?
Was there a Welcome sign?
Why won't you welcome me?!
Oh. There it is.
Zoom.
No cruise control.
No worries.
No air conditioning.
It is 82 degrees.
No worries.
That's what the windows are for...
Windmills!
Des Moines
No map.
No worries.
I have directions.
I have no idea how far away I am.
Where is Nebraska?
Am I close?
No worries.
It smells like toast and jam outside.
Why does it smell like toast and jam?!
Ouch! My eye!
My hair whipped it
Cause my windows are down
It is 86 degrees.
Nebraska!
Almost.
Council Bluffs. So close!
It still smells like toast and jam.
Ugh. I'm so sweaty.
Eat a sandwich.
Peanut Butter and Jelly.
I packed it last night.
THE CHOCOLATE BAR MELTED!
All over my hand.
88 degrees.
97.7 Spanish Radio Station
Coffee Break!
Quick run.
My shirt is covered in sweat.
Oooooooooomaha!
Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiincoln!
Pee break.
Rolling hills.
Still toast and jam!
Oops, it's my shampoo.
I showered.
6 hours in.
Flat.
Cows.
Windmills.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Beef jerky.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Cows. Cows. Fields.
"Wait, wait, Don't Tell Me"
SUNBURN!
Freaking sunburn.
Half my face.
Left arm.
Left thigh.
90 degrees.
I have melded to my seat.
Talking to my car.
Talking to myself.
Talking to the trees.
Yelling at Nebraska.
Am I close?
Close to the border?
Is there a border?
Why didn't I bring a map?
9 hours in.
Phone Call!
Roll up window to hear.
Suffocate.
End call.
Alone again.
With my thoughts.
Blank.
Colorado!
I must be close.
Denver!
What? Over 3 hours?!
But.
Desert tundra.
Empty highway.
Gas up.
Pee break.
82 degrees.
Sunset.
Twinkling lights.
From afar.
Eat a sandwich.
Windows rolled up.
Windows rolled down.
Final Stretch.
Finaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal countdown!
Am I there?
Am I there yet?
How about now?
Now?
Ah! Stop it.
13 hours.
I see it! An ending.
I’m a tad sad.
It’s hard to let go.
I’m here! This is it!
Outta the car.
Run. Run little girl!
Stretch. Breathe.
Look up. Look down.
All around.
Cool.
Okay. I’m ready.
Where now?
Quick stretch outside.
I'm off.
Blurry-eyed.
It's early.
14 hours to go.
I know this stretch.
Wisconsin to Minnesota.
I live this stretch.
Sip coffee. Eat a banana.
And 494! Smelly bridge.
Morning show on the radio.
Pee Break!
Coffee refill.
Gas up.
Stretch.
People stare.
I don't care.
Am I in Iowa yet?
Was there a Welcome sign?
Why won't you welcome me?!
Oh. There it is.
Zoom.
No cruise control.
No worries.
No air conditioning.
It is 82 degrees.
No worries.
That's what the windows are for...
Windmills!
Des Moines
No map.
No worries.
I have directions.
I have no idea how far away I am.
Where is Nebraska?
Am I close?
No worries.
It smells like toast and jam outside.
Why does it smell like toast and jam?!
Ouch! My eye!
My hair whipped it
Cause my windows are down
It is 86 degrees.
Nebraska!
Almost.
Council Bluffs. So close!
It still smells like toast and jam.
Ugh. I'm so sweaty.
Eat a sandwich.
Peanut Butter and Jelly.
I packed it last night.
THE CHOCOLATE BAR MELTED!
All over my hand.
88 degrees.
97.7 Spanish Radio Station
Coffee Break!
Quick run.
My shirt is covered in sweat.
Oooooooooomaha!
Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiincoln!
Pee break.
Rolling hills.
Still toast and jam!
Oops, it's my shampoo.
I showered.
6 hours in.
Flat.
Cows.
Windmills.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Beef jerky.
Gas up.
Pee break.
Cows. Cows. Fields.
"Wait, wait, Don't Tell Me"
SUNBURN!
Freaking sunburn.
Half my face.
Left arm.
Left thigh.
90 degrees.
I have melded to my seat.
Talking to my car.
Talking to myself.
Talking to the trees.
Yelling at Nebraska.
Am I close?
Close to the border?
Is there a border?
Why didn't I bring a map?
9 hours in.
Phone Call!
Roll up window to hear.
Suffocate.
End call.
Alone again.
With my thoughts.
Blank.
Colorado!
I must be close.
Denver!
What? Over 3 hours?!
But.
Desert tundra.
Empty highway.
Gas up.
Pee break.
82 degrees.
Sunset.
Twinkling lights.
From afar.
Eat a sandwich.
Windows rolled up.
Windows rolled down.
Final Stretch.
Finaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal countdown!
Am I there?
Am I there yet?
How about now?
Now?
Ah! Stop it.
13 hours.
I see it! An ending.
I’m a tad sad.
It’s hard to let go.
I’m here! This is it!
Outta the car.
Run. Run little girl!
Stretch. Breathe.
Look up. Look down.
All around.
Cool.
Okay. I’m ready.
Where now?
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Landing Gear
An ending happens
A new start begins
Change…
And a word
Introduced
First time
Freedom!
Washes over my
Young
Grieving soul
I grab it.
A sudden yank
I’m high into air
Overwhelmed
Exhilarated
By this new life
That could be mine
But which life?
Choose one.
I don’t know.
What if
I choose
Wrong?
The wrong space
Wrong place
Wrong house
Wrong mate
Wrong state
So I stay.
Suspended.
Waiting I guess
For the right answer
Finding all that freedom
More stifling
More confusing
Then
19 years
Of being
Stuck
With a
Thumb
Over
My
Head.
I dreamed
I wished
With my child heart
A future
Beaming
Plum full
Possibilities
So ready to get away
No focus on where
Or why
How
What?
Just away.
I hop
Skip
Jump
No roots can find me.
I never plant
Yet I hover
Float
Over
The place
I always
Wanted
To leave
Fed up
With my
Indecision
I make
A choice
A split second
Over
An Amaretto Sour
To Land
To try
My feet come down
Skidding to the ground
And there it is
The future.
In Spanish
Southern Hemisphere
But corresponding
Latitude Lines
New friends
New life
New HOME.
Period.
Then semi-colon
Comma
Run on sentence
And I’m flying back
Where?
No specific place
Swear.
Cause I’ve got freedom Baby!
Eleven years of freedom
My adult life
Stuck in hover mode
Never committing
Lost in a void
Dreamless
Goalless
Dullness
Spilling out
Crying for home
A home base
I believe
Is the answer
I
Search loudly
Make
Decisions boldly
But silently
My eyes twitched
Fingers tapped
Nails chewed
Sleep lost to
Frustation
Which
Quietly set in
But
I'm stubborn.
I'm going to land
Fully
No run on sentence
It is set
It is Real
Now
The car packed
Apartment found
Life planned
Future
Far away
Future
In a state
Future
14 hours away
And I sobbed
My legs came down
My feet skidded
To the ground
And I landed
Not Realizing
It happened
I looked around
Familiar sounds
Angry
ANGRY!
No
Not it!
Cause I landed
Where I began
I heard music
Bright lights
Dancing
Laughter
A feeling
Of warmth
Spreading
Through
My void
My heart
My twitching
Eye
It flooded
My anger
Quickly diluting
Shock-Confusion-Disgust
Painful
Memories
Of a
Childhood
Washed
Clean
Years away
Understanding
A comprehensin
To the pain
As a smile
Fills my face
Because I finally
Found
My place
A new start begins
Change…
And a word
Introduced
First time
Freedom!
Washes over my
Young
Grieving soul
I grab it.
A sudden yank
I’m high into air
Overwhelmed
Exhilarated
By this new life
That could be mine
But which life?
Choose one.
I don’t know.
What if
I choose
Wrong?
The wrong space
Wrong place
Wrong house
Wrong mate
Wrong state
So I stay.
Suspended.
Waiting I guess
For the right answer
Finding all that freedom
More stifling
More confusing
Then
19 years
Of being
Stuck
With a
Thumb
Over
My
Head.
I dreamed
I wished
With my child heart
A future
Beaming
Plum full
Possibilities
So ready to get away
No focus on where
Or why
How
What?
Just away.
I hop
Skip
Jump
No roots can find me.
I never plant
Yet I hover
Float
Over
The place
I always
Wanted
To leave
Fed up
With my
Indecision
I make
A choice
A split second
Over
An Amaretto Sour
To Land
To try
My feet come down
Skidding to the ground
And there it is
The future.
In Spanish
Southern Hemisphere
But corresponding
Latitude Lines
New friends
New life
New HOME.
Period.
Then semi-colon
Comma
Run on sentence
And I’m flying back
Where?
No specific place
Swear.
Cause I’ve got freedom Baby!
Eleven years of freedom
My adult life
Stuck in hover mode
Never committing
Lost in a void
Dreamless
Goalless
Dullness
Spilling out
Crying for home
A home base
I believe
Is the answer
I
Search loudly
Make
Decisions boldly
But silently
My eyes twitched
Fingers tapped
Nails chewed
Sleep lost to
Frustation
Which
Quietly set in
But
I'm stubborn.
I'm going to land
Fully
No run on sentence
It is set
It is Real
Now
The car packed
Apartment found
Life planned
Future
Far away
Future
In a state
Future
14 hours away
And I sobbed
My legs came down
My feet skidded
To the ground
And I landed
Not Realizing
It happened
I looked around
Familiar sounds
Angry
ANGRY!
No
Not it!
Cause I landed
Where I began
I heard music
Bright lights
Dancing
Laughter
A feeling
Of warmth
Spreading
Through
My void
My heart
My twitching
Eye
It flooded
My anger
Quickly diluting
Shock-Confusion-Disgust
Painful
Memories
Of a
Childhood
Washed
Clean
Years away
Understanding
A comprehensin
To the pain
As a smile
Fills my face
Because I finally
Found
My place
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I'm Back!
Hello All!
It has been a long hiatus. My apologies. But a traveler needs time to travel and to figure out life and how it should be lived per them...not others.
New trips will be planned! A homebase is being established. And I'm finding my way. Slowly. But. Surely.
It's great to be back!
It has been a long hiatus. My apologies. But a traveler needs time to travel and to figure out life and how it should be lived per them...not others.
New trips will be planned! A homebase is being established. And I'm finding my way. Slowly. But. Surely.
It's great to be back!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Quick Hiatus
Hello Hello!
I am still here and still writing! My focus has been on finishing my Sundance script which is due on May 1st! But don't you worry or fret my friends, I will be back on board (blogging) in just a few days.
AND New Impromptu Trip! I leave for Grand Marais and Canada on May 3rd! Take off eh! Man, I need to back off the exclamation marks. Blame the coffee.
I'll be back (like the Terminator but with less accent.)
Nerissa
I am still here and still writing! My focus has been on finishing my Sundance script which is due on May 1st! But don't you worry or fret my friends, I will be back on board (blogging) in just a few days.
AND New Impromptu Trip! I leave for Grand Marais and Canada on May 3rd! Take off eh! Man, I need to back off the exclamation marks. Blame the coffee.
I'll be back (like the Terminator but with less accent.)
Nerissa
Monday, April 19, 2010
Don't Fence Me In
It is a sweltering day in Northern Minnesota.
I’m sprawled on a lawn chair, my head curled on the arm, resting away the day.
Cheryl, stretched out on the ground, utters one word, “Bar.”
My eyes ping open.
Cheryl saddles up her horses. I grab my wallet. And we hit the dusty, gravel roads.
Being my 2nd time on a horse and the 1st time ending with me being dragged down a rocky trail, I was a bit hesitant.
But I was on PEPPER. Sweet, desperately old Pepper.
And so we began our adventure…
Cheryl’s horse is KICKING AND BUCKING something fierce. I think, “Wow, I’m so lucky to have Pepper. Sweet Pepper…”
20 minutes later I’m bored. So I nudge Pepper. He is quick to trot but then right back to walk.
I’m annoyed. So I nudge harder. NOTHING!
I shake the reins. AND He shakes his mane of hair at me.
Finally I threaten—“If you don’t put a little Pep in your step Pepper you may find yourself quickly made into Pepperoni!”
I don’t even know what that threat means. But he picked up the pace, flicking me with his tail the whole way to the bar.
And that’s where we parked them. Literally, they have a spot to tie up your horses.
Cheryl and I filled the next hour with laughter and shots as the night fell and stars illuminated the black sky.
And as we left the bar and I hopped back on Pepperoni, I felt that illusive emotion—sheer joy.
There were no flashlights. Just the stars to lead us home. Now, I may have been a little sauced as I weaved Pepperoni from ditch to ditch but it was the open sky that truly caused the lack of directional control.
I was too busy looking up to look straight ahead.
And then it floated out of my mouth like a gust of air—
“Ohhhhh….give me land, lots of land over starry skies above… Don’t fence me in.”
And there I am, on a horse named Pepper, swerving from side to side, holding a beer, grinning from ear to ear, crooning Gene Autry to the sky.
“Just turn me loose. Let me straddle my own saddle underneath the Western sky. On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder, until I see the mountains rise.”
What’s a Cayuse?
Anyway, driving home the next day I stopped for gas. I went to pay and realized I didn’t have my wallet. Shocked I looked at the attendant and I said, “I left my wallet on the back of a horse.”
I found some cash, paid my debt, climbed in my car and headed back to city life. A life I appreciated usually—but there, at that moment I was conflicted… maybe my heart was still with Pepper, on a path, to the sky.
Maybe, just maybe I wasn’t such the city girl I vehemently proclaimed to be. Oh boy.
And the most troubling question of all, how in the heck did I know all the words to that song?
**No animals were hurt in this story. Promise.
I’m sprawled on a lawn chair, my head curled on the arm, resting away the day.
Cheryl, stretched out on the ground, utters one word, “Bar.”
My eyes ping open.
Cheryl saddles up her horses. I grab my wallet. And we hit the dusty, gravel roads.
Being my 2nd time on a horse and the 1st time ending with me being dragged down a rocky trail, I was a bit hesitant.
But I was on PEPPER. Sweet, desperately old Pepper.
And so we began our adventure…
Cheryl’s horse is KICKING AND BUCKING something fierce. I think, “Wow, I’m so lucky to have Pepper. Sweet Pepper…”
20 minutes later I’m bored. So I nudge Pepper. He is quick to trot but then right back to walk.
I’m annoyed. So I nudge harder. NOTHING!
I shake the reins. AND He shakes his mane of hair at me.
Finally I threaten—“If you don’t put a little Pep in your step Pepper you may find yourself quickly made into Pepperoni!”
I don’t even know what that threat means. But he picked up the pace, flicking me with his tail the whole way to the bar.
And that’s where we parked them. Literally, they have a spot to tie up your horses.
Cheryl and I filled the next hour with laughter and shots as the night fell and stars illuminated the black sky.
And as we left the bar and I hopped back on Pepperoni, I felt that illusive emotion—sheer joy.
There were no flashlights. Just the stars to lead us home. Now, I may have been a little sauced as I weaved Pepperoni from ditch to ditch but it was the open sky that truly caused the lack of directional control.
I was too busy looking up to look straight ahead.
And then it floated out of my mouth like a gust of air—
“Ohhhhh….give me land, lots of land over starry skies above… Don’t fence me in.”
And there I am, on a horse named Pepper, swerving from side to side, holding a beer, grinning from ear to ear, crooning Gene Autry to the sky.
“Just turn me loose. Let me straddle my own saddle underneath the Western sky. On my Cayuse, let me wander over yonder, until I see the mountains rise.”
What’s a Cayuse?
Anyway, driving home the next day I stopped for gas. I went to pay and realized I didn’t have my wallet. Shocked I looked at the attendant and I said, “I left my wallet on the back of a horse.”
I found some cash, paid my debt, climbed in my car and headed back to city life. A life I appreciated usually—but there, at that moment I was conflicted… maybe my heart was still with Pepper, on a path, to the sky.
Maybe, just maybe I wasn’t such the city girl I vehemently proclaimed to be. Oh boy.
And the most troubling question of all, how in the heck did I know all the words to that song?
**No animals were hurt in this story. Promise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)