“It’s like a tapestry” she said.
It clicked.
“RIGHT.”
We’d all spent an hour weaving. I had dredged up a collection of photos, put ‘em into a slideshow, stuffed a few books with markers, and walked into the room with an armload of kindling.
We gathered to talk about Appalachian life, and start some fires of recollection. None of us knew exactly what we were up to, only that we were “for sure up to something” (as Dudley Do-Right would say).
There was a truck, 2 am Friday…the moonshine express.
(More coming soon.)
Later, at another retirement home, another gathering, another conversation, remembering Elvis on his upcoming birthday, plus a few more things.
My first 45 had Hound Dog and Jailhouse Rock, I think.
Used to play the French horn in high school.
You’ll get to our age, look back, and see it all looks like a plan.
Stumbling into the gas station to order a sandwich after a long, exhilarating day, the young fella behind the counter waved.
“Hey buddy!”
“Me?”
“Yeah, haven’t seen you in a minute.”
My glazed eyes snapped to focus. He had made the cheese sandwich a few months ago. “Oh, hey man. Got plans for the new year?”
“Nothing much, just making that paper so I can support my kid.”
We talked. He’s moved out of his parent’s house, is on his own, and is proudly raising his four month old daughter. I congratulated him, he told me it was a mixed blessing at first, but now he’s stoked.
He put lettuce, tomato, olives, everything on the bread. I leaned in over the glass.
“Mannn, they say ‘Oh, travel around and do all the things’, but look, I did, and I do, and I’m so blessed, but here I am, eating at Sheetz without a kid to go home to. Remember that when you get frustrated.”
The sub was delicious. Hunched over the table, I stared at my half reflection in the window, the cars on Orange ave floating lights through my pondering eyes, and glanced down at my phone. The article said it would be a hard year. The road signs warned of a winter storm in pixelated yellow lights. Please believe us this time.
What am I supposed to do with this, the responsibility, the opportunities, the ability, the thing that’s right in front of me?
“See ya next time, man.” I waved to the young dad on the way out.
Back into the night, back on the road, on to the next thing, the Unknown springing up in my headlights. On the overpass, a shadow of a locomotive shoved a train up the grade, working hard in the January darkness.
I kept thinking.
Unformed ideas and salvation lurked invisibly in the hills.
I guess we’re all sitting at the loom.
Are we ready to weave?
-Josh