of recreation

My head was spinning faster than the wheels of the truck as the country roads took me away from home. I forced myself to slow down on the curves and tried to remember if I was forgetting anything. The easiest item to forget is the cell phone charger, but even that was tucked away between a curling iron and a book I needed to return. My mind was parched for the purple scent of pine trees. They have this way of expanding the sky and putting parentheses around the stars and reminding me that I’ve forgotten the mountains.


Sometimes I wonder why I’m the only one who shivers with delight upon entering that ugly church. I’d like to have it on a key chain, address it in diminutives, and write a song about each of the horrendously-painted walls. Exhilaration is sitting in a corner in the depths of its environs and listening to all the memories jostling each other above my head. “Hi, remember when we danced the Scottish polka and lamented the loss of those pointless hanging branches?” “Oh, yes I do, and don’t you recall walking through the hallways in hose and nearly falling down the stairs every time?” Are memories more indigenous to any other place on earth? The place was rampant with them.


The clicking of a pink pen woke me up and I found that I was on the other side. Separated from my former self by a table and a judging philosophy, I told my face to be responsive and tried to look official. Several people felt the need to tell me that I looked closer to sixteen than nineteen, but I preferred to pretend I didn’t care. My name tag was blue, my Converse were yellow, and the world was at my feet for a weekend, even when I slipped on the stairs. Incidentally, there’s only one letter’s difference between “stairs” and “stars”.


Strange Scottish accents kept us up until four in the morning, along with debates about debate, Whataburger shakes and way-too-loud-for-a-small-truck music. We reveled in each others company, and oh, how I had missed you all.


And suddenly a new scene clicked into focus like a slide on one of those paper discs that pop into those hand-held magnifying picture things. I cannot remember what they’re called to save my life, but they’re made of plastic, and you squeeze a lever to flip to the next slide. I think you could get them at McDonald’s sometimes. At any rate, a new scene clicked into focus like picture on one of those enigmatic devices, and we were wandering around in the dust of a noisy carnival– petting baby alpacas, eating over-priced funnel cake, and watching people fail at impossible-to-win games. And we went to the auction and cheered and clapped and enjoyed the excitement for exactly twenty minutes… and then it was all just noise. What is it about a person whistling loudly enough to wake the dead that makes me want someone to hold my hand? A borrowed jacket and “camelot” written on my arm kept me sane.


I personally don’t think it’s fair that Best Buy carries “Torchwood” and not “Doctor Who”. But eating Chik-fil-A fries while sitting on the edge of a potentially pretty landscaping plot which was flooded with greenish plants that dipped their fronds in our ketchup honestly made up for it. We toured the Conroe shops (I bought books), and then it was back to the carnival for dizzying rides and hanging upside down in our seats while taking iphone videos and bending a few rules on the ferris wheel.


I think you’re all pretty sort of marvelous. You sweep away the dust of Being from my life and remind me where I’m going. You accost me on my journey and make it beautiful. It was a jolly holiday- worthy of British adjectives and accents. (Surely it’s not our fault if the Indian guy at the gas station was confused.) We’ll do it again sometime.

Or maybe we could go out sometime… for texting and scones.

(If you get that reference, I will hug you.)


5 responses

  1. You write amazing posts, Dear. 🙂

    April 19, 2012 at 8:53 pm

  2. Astamarina

    You write beautifully. “[P]urple scent of pine trees” reminded me of a part in The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: “An attractive smell came from it [the land]—what Lucy called ‘a dim, purple kind of smell,’ which Edmund said (and Rhince thought) was rot, but Caspian said, ‘I know what you mean.'” This idea also reminds me of a part I wrote in my November novel for National Novel Writing Month: “Her tears were like purple music.”

    I like how you include details but interpret and retell them with joy.

    April 19, 2012 at 11:26 pm

  3. :cough:

    “Chic-fil-a” is spelled with a “c”, not a “k”.

    Btw, your pink pen paragraph reads like an Owl City song. Keep it up. 😉

    April 28, 2012 at 12:07 am

    • Actually, we’re both right and we’re both wrong. It’s “Chick-fil-a.” Both a “c” and a “k”. Coincidentally, I noticed that myself when I was eating there last night.

      April 28, 2012 at 8:00 am

  4. :gasp:

    I stand corrected. Go team effort!

    May 3, 2012 at 1:09 am

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