“I have so much respect for my friends.. I see what they go through. Sometimes in profile, I see my friends’ faces in sharp relief, as we drive, or are parked, late night, after a show. So much pain, so much laughter, all driven & filtered by our enthusiasms, as well as by our limitations, be they marital status, thunderstorm or societal boundary. Ah, but the passion. This, perhaps, is the true measure, of how I choose my friends, or they choose me. And not just any passion. Imagine an army of tall, lanky songstresses, who sing only to the clouds. Or an individual beholden to just one flower. Or a feral cast of stone movers. But the one thing truly unusual about the week, was the tornado. I had a bit of any internal struggle, trying to decide whether or not to climb over a particular tree. Would it move, or shift, with my weight, and kill me? In the end, trusting my gut allowed me entry, into a singular, disaster zone. I’d been here before. It was a place found on maps, leading into my targets. The larger peak, South Mountain, seemingly innocent in the whole affair, if you discount anecdotal stories of previous tornadoes, dropping off the same peak, to create a similar forest mayhem. I won’t linger too long, on speculation. We all know, weather likes to swarm. Just like people, it thrives on repetition. Dumping repeatedly on areas for no apparent reason to create the most damage, or sliding off to the side, in a move calculated, to garner praise. Oh! you’ve randomly decided not to destroy us! Thank you! Well. I must admit, that’s not a “thank you” I have much of a stomach for. I’m all too familiar with how natural selection has weeded me out of many a conversation. Which is why I turn to the company of field and forest, and, quite frankly, those who’ve lost everything at least once, and who are now more than willing, to be honest. What a beautiful night it was. We parked a few blocks away, and walked down into town, glimpsing the lake, as we strode. “I lived here over 40 years ago,” I must have said, and felt her pause, to consider. But then, simultaneously, we both stopped to gaze through the hedge, at a basketball net, & tiny asphalt court, in a green space bordered by elegant flower beds in bloom & historic brick buildings: a complex, of sorts. Unaware we were gawking, a voice floated up to the top. “Would you like a house tour?” it said. And before we knew it, we were being led inside, by the couple who owned it, and we immediately found common ground, even friends, in common. It was an ingenious place, of spiral staircases, alcove nooks, cozy corners and espresso machines. They were clearly proud, and we were proud, as if we had designed it, because, frankly, had they asked, I might have. Yet I tactfully pointed at my wrist, an old school move. “We’re on our way to a CD release party. We can’t be late!” Here we were, like fish out of water, just a couple of hicks who’d driven into the big city, on back roads, acting like we had places to go. It was fun to be slickers for a night. I had on my “Everest Mystery” trucker’s hat, and she was stylin’ her Texan look. We got into the venue, with a ten dollar. The bartender told us she was a school lunch lady, by day. She made a wicked friendly drink. The music was, fantastic.”
