sitting_beside_me cr0wl he sat down three feet away from me. i could feel the bench take his added weight and a settling everyday smell wafted around him that reminded me of flowers left on the dashboard of a car that had its windows up in the heat. he folded one foot over the other and i saw he wore cheap shoes made from fake leather, polyester pants and an extra large t-shirt. at first he didn't say anything. rubbing his puffy hands into his thinning hair and slightly sunburned face, he emitted a sigh of relief as if his day had been chasing him and the bench now offered a chance to catch his breath. when he turned to me i didn't expect him to speak. "will humans ever stop fighting wars?" he asked me. his voice seemed to be trapped like a balloon in a tree until a strong wind blew it free straight into my face. "i don't know," i said, closing my book. "will we ever be able to change who we are?" 100818 ... lostgirl i was already seated in the emergency exit row...seat 13 A, all alone in the three pack of seats, staring out the window and secretly hoping no one would sit down next to me. but soon enough, my seat mates arrived, one then the next. 13C was a man in his fifties, and easily as wide as he was tall. i let a silent sigh of relief escape my lips when he sat in the aisle seat and asked the flight attendant for a seat belt extender. (something told me that he would not be an armrest ‘sharer.’) 13 B sat in the middle seat next to me with a sulky huff. he was all busy looking, fiddling with his boarding pass and getting his i-pod situated for the trip, and he checked his messages on his cell phone ten times in one minute. he wore jeans and a c.s. kim karate tee shirt, and had these really cool black shoes with some kind of gold asian characters imprinted on them. he did not look at me, but it did not take a genius or a mind reader to tell that this twenty something dude was extremely stressed. with his curly dark hair and green eyes, and his muscular six foot frame, he was strikingly good looking, but appeared uncomfortably stuffed into the limited space. this was going to be a short trip, as our travel time to chicago with the blessing of a nice tail wind was only expected to be 45 minutes. the flight attendant closed the door, started her safety spiel and 13B immediately started to perspire. then he started breathing heavy, almost sounding like a mother about to give birth doing lamaze style inspirations. when he picked up his i-pod i watched his hand shake like a blowing leaf in a spring storm. (what was up with this guy?) fifteen minutes into the trip, he turned positively green, and conversation_intervention was now necessary. “so, do you practice karate?” i asked him... he stared at me long enough to make me shift in my seat uncomfortably. he must have been holding his breath, because when he finally spoke, he sounded like he was crossing the finish line after a 200 yard sprint. “yeah, why?” “i read your tee shirt, that’s all…i just started karate myself about six months ago.” “oh.” he said. then, silent stare. more perspiration. more shaking, all now infinitely more complicated because 13C was asleep and leaning onto his shoulder. “what belt level are you?” i asked him... “uh, i just tested for my master.” he sighed. “that’s awesome!” i said, (genuinely impressed.) “yeah, well being a black belt is not helping me much today, is it?” and with that he leaned his head into the headrest and squeezed his eyes shut. the salty sweat beads were dripping into his eyes now, and he mopped his brow with the back of his tanned hand to handle the burning. “are you afraid to fly?” i asked him out of sheer curiosity, as well as in an attempt to let him off the proverbial hook. i wanted to tell him how i love to fly; how i always visualize being on the nose or the wing, or perched high on the tail, feeling the freezing cold air whip past me… “no, i’m not afraid to fly. in fact, i travel over 50,000 miles a year by plane.” (my turn to stare silently) “oh...” and then he turned his face toward mine, and looked me straight in the eyes, and said, as if he was in a confessional, “i’m adopted.” (what the hell do you say to a complete stranger who tells you he is adopted?) “yeah?” i replied, knitting my brow and patiently waiting for whatever else he may be trying to let off his chest...but he said nothing more. “my best friend was adopted. her parents are really cool,” i said. (uncomfortable silence….) “my parents are cool too.” he said, affirming this statement as much to himself as to me. “but today...uh, today i’m going to meet my birth mother for the first time. she’s taking me to lunch at some fancy restaurant on madison avenue where she works.” “wow...really?” i said (genuinely at a loss for words.) “i hope she likes me.” he sighed and lowered his chin to his chest, resting his forehead on his ‘praying hands.’ “well, however it goes today, and for what my opinion is worth, i think she’s probably as nervous as you are. just try to enjoy the opportunity and let things unfold as they were meant to.” and i patted his forearm lightly and gave him a confident smile, hoping it was contagious. he didn’t smile. but he was at least breathing easier. 100818 ... c there i was sitting on the expansive front steps of an empty church in this quiet, coastal city. it was not long into lunchtime and i had rode my bike from the docks to get away from seagull squawks and fish guts even if just for a rapidly consumed half hour. i usually just sip yerba mate from my sigg container and read, today it was poetry from natasha tretheway. there were huge white clouds thumb-tacked to bright blue paper skies and the sun was high. the steps were warm on my butt. i could hear the swish of noon traffic. everyone going somewhere. there is a hospital across the street and a food cart. i was glad i was down wind. i don't really like the smell. that's when i saw the woman. i don't remember what caught my eye about her. she had come out of the sliding doors with a pink phone to her ear. i put the book down and watched her, wondering why she was there. her sleeveless black dress, black leather shoulder bag, and slight heels seemed to indicate she was a visitor. it was weird because she kept walking and talking and headed straight towards me. she waited for a few cars to whizz past and then crossed the street, stopping on the sidewalk about ten feet below me. i raised the book back up and pretended to read, but kept one eye bird-like, and spied on her. her limp hair seemed unwashed from a few sleepless nights and worry-filled days, misshapen from some former glory, and then i realized it was her lips that must have first caught my attention. they were the color of bright roses bleeding down the hill of my grandmother's house. i heard a few words filtering through the space between us, like stroke, and morphine. i couldn't help think of my dad's last days. how i watched his spirit freely yanked out of his body right before my eyes. "do you have a light?" i snapped out of the slight trance i had fallen into. i looked at her. she was riffling busily in her bag, a slim cigarette dangling from those ruby lips. her desperation was sad. i didn't. i heard a heavy wooden door slam behind me and discovered the church janitor, broom in hand. "hold on," i said to her, laying my book on the concrete step. i skipped up to the janitor. he had a lighter. i pointed to the woman. he smiled. the woman was sitting down next to my stuff, still searching in her purse, bracelets ringing off her wrists like the cries of a baby a million miles away. i handed her the lighter and sat beside her about three feet away. she didn't thank me. she struck it. once. twice. again, then again. fucker wouldn't light. 100820 ... lostgirl the wind whips through the open windows, blowing my hair this way and that, succeeding in its apparent mission of tangling it into a mass of chaotic curls, but i don’t mind. the hemi drones a steady background hum, trying to compete with three days grace’s lost_in_you but losing as i sing along. cruising westward on interstate 80 at eighty five miles per hour does not take much driving expertise....in fact, all one needs to do is hold the wheel, stay awake, and go straight. i pass the last soybean field at the tail end of indiana and smile when i cross the illinois state line….480 miles are behind me, and the rest of the cross country trip is waving me on with an encouraging smile.   it was a snap decision to do this trip. my friends think i am certifiable. my children are stunned, and my husband…well, it really doesn’t matter at this point what he thinks. this is for me. wendy, my favorite cousin, lives in dana point, california, and at the tender age of 48, she is getting married for the first time... and i am the matron of honor. “why not just fly out there?” is the collective comment from anyone who finds out what i have planned. “why drive across the country all alone, are you crazy?”   crazy…maybe. but this trip has been on my ‘bucket list’ for a long time. i have an agenda of all the things i want to see along the way, and the back of the truck is well equipped for my month-long journey. i have just enough clothes to last me until i can next do laundry, and the rest of the space is taken up with my art supplies and my camera equipment. i plan to take photos, paint and write, and not a blessed soul is going to tell me what, when or why i should do anything. for once in my life, i am free to just be, do and have, well….whatever it is that i want.   maybe the cop, apparently asleep in his cruiser and ignoring me as i blow past him going twenty miles per hour over the speed limit, jolts me to attention, but when i look down at the speedometer my eyes are drawn to gas gauge, and my face quickly registers the horror that no one else sees. the light is on indicating that i will probably run out of gas soon. great. and the nifty little distance calculator tells me that i have 13 miles until the hemi says 'sayonara baby, give me some gas flavored juice or i am done.'   frowning, i look up and i see the green sign….rest area 15 miles. oh shit. slowing down immediately in a conscious effort to use less gas, i wonder, 'will this work?'  all i can do is pray that the damn estimator is semi-close to correct, and hope like hell that i make it to the rest stop. no longer feeling so happy about my decision to travel alone, i grip the wheel of the truck tighter, and notice that i am now breathing all wrong. ‘relax!’ i command to myself as beads of worried sweat appear above my upper lip.   twenty long minutes later, as the low sun closes in on the horizon, the hemi struggles with its last bit of breath as we cross the finish line at the gas pump. after twisting off the gas cap and starting the fuel flow, i surprise myself when i spontaneously kiss the rear door of the truck bed and said ‘thank you’ as much to the hemi as to god. and then, seventy one dollars poorer, i jump back into the driver’s seat, and washed with relief, decide to drive over to the food court area. i have a hankering for a tall tazo refresh from starbuck's and a snack before i move on....maybe one of those giant rice crispy treats....    when i emerge back outside, i immediately notice that the sky is now the most striking shade of lavender i have ever seen. not wanting to give up enjoying it for even a second, i sit down on the sturdy wood and concrete bench in the grassy area meant for dog walking. as the crescent moon begins to change from dusty white to a more brilliant shine against the darkening sky, i close my eyes for a second and lean my head back over the wood plank on the back rest, hearing and feeling two vertebra move in the process, as i stretch my weary neck into extension. and right then, i fall asleep for just a minute....until a strange presence alerts me to wake up.   and seemingly from thin air there he is...an elderly man is now sitting beside me, and i mean this quite literally, as our thighs are touching. he is easily 80 plus years old, and frightfully thin, wearing ill fitting, too-big shiny polyester dress pants with no belt, a plaid patterned button down shirt stained with spaghetti sauce, and topping off his peculiar outfit, a perfectly knotted solid pink silk tie. he palms his cane in one hand, and his royal blue cubs hat rests in his lap.  i swallow past the lump in my throat when i notice that he is wearing one tennis shoe and one dress shoe. he looks confused and completely out of place in the busy rest area filled with weary traveling families and truckers, and i watch him wring his hands together as his eyes dart back and forth nervously. he seems harmless enough, but more than that, he looks afraid. "uh...." i utter uncertainly into the air in front of me as i struggle to pull myself together, "can i help you?" saying nothing, he turns to me, and surprisingly breaks into a wide smile. and then he wraps his left arm around my shoulders and squeezes me in a haphazard awkward embrace. whoa! startled now, my heart pounds in my chest as my shoulders stiffen and my brain shouts, 'stranger danger!'    “i saw you kiss your truck.” he says sternly, but he's still grinning at me with a twinkle in his eye, sounding now like a father scolding his daughter playfully. “why'd you kiss your truck, tina?” i stared at him, bewildered. my name is not tina; has never been tina, and i have never seen this man in my life...why is he calling me tina? “i’ve been waiting all day for you, and you’re late….and now you’re here, and you are acting all crazy...kissing your truck....who kisses their truck....i, ahhhh....tina? can you take me home now, i'm so tired....i have been waiting....tina?" i open my mouth to answer him, then close it again, momentarily unsure how to proceed. its clear that this poor man is lost and needs help. he seems to have dementia, or maybe alzheimer's? turns out i don't have time to say a word, because suddenly all hell breaks loose. two police cars pull up, then an ambulance, then a station wagon, then a mercedes convertible coupe, and soon a small river of people begins to converge upon us. i don't know exactly what is happening, but for some reason, all i want to do is protect this poor helpless man. a well dressed man emerges from the coupe and rushes toward us. in the fluorescent lit dusk i can see the mix of relief and concern in his face as he lets out his held breath and sighs, "oh, thank god.....dad, you had us so worried!" and the old man just stares at his son, confused and frowning, without a solitary trace of recognition. and then, just like that, my new 'friend' is reluctantly strapped to a gurney, still longingly looking at me. as he is rolled away, a lonely tear escapes his left eye, creating a shimmering streak as it runs into the creases of his temple spreading like a wet raindrop on a drawing of a crow's talon. he swipes at the tear, and buries his head into the headrest, making a strangled sound that does not resemble an english word. after the doors close and the ambulance silently pulls away, the well-dressed son sits down on the bench next to me. "i'm sorry if he bothered you." he says. "he's been missing for six hours. they don't know how he got out of the nursing home...it's awful....he doesn't even know who i am." "he called me tina," i tell him. the man looks at me quizzically at first, and then smiles sadly, shaking his head while removing an invisible piece of lint from his creased trouser leg. "tina was my twin sister. she died when we were 16....wrapped our brand new red truck around a telephone pole."           100821 ... ljr disconcerting how often you are. 100823 ... gja Disappointing how often I’m not. 100823 what's it to you? who go blather from