Reconciliation is the mending of bone and flesh and soul.
It is peace and understanding; Lord knows I am in great need of both.
I took a drive South over the weekend. Made dinner for some dear friends, and missed a wedding I was supposed to attend. That was a night where I felt I kept making the wrong turns. Both physically and with a heavy dose of life comparison. Luckily, I still have an Oregon tag on my car, in defense of my directionless brain.
I do, however, know how to go South.
That was my life, and it certainly is again.
God, there’s some beauty here. Even on those messy, warm nights I am filled up with the sounds of cicadas and frogs and perhaps the sounds of Kenny Chesney from a big truck.
I walked past a couple kissing in the parking lot of a Thai restaurant. This was after I listened to them singing “Afternoon Delight”, barely able to keep pitch, or their balance. I smiled big.
In my head, I am constantly mending my lives. In big chunks I smoosh them together. I lived here once, went away, and now I live here again. I am a bit different, and that’s okay.
I drive across the state line into Louisiana. The other place I spent a lot of life in, chasing cousins around furniture and finding easter eggs under the great Magnolia.
I pull over for supplies at Rouses. Mostly hot sauce. A shrink wrapped muffuletta and a bag of Zapps potato chips. That dill kind that rip up my tongue so good. I think about how my taste buds have changed over the years. Not enough apparently, that I buy some really dry eclairs for my mom. They looked good in the case, I thought.
I drive to a place where me and my dad used to pull blue crabs from Lake Pontchartrain. All the spots are taken, so I pull over and walk to a wall and get to breathe in a bit more of my history. I think about the places I’ve lived, and what it took for me to get there. I kick around an old beer can someone had left and filled full of cigarette butts.
I make my way back North, before the storm. The same roads that brought me places when I was a kid. I go in and out of thoughts like I’m reading a book, distracted.
Next thing ya know, I’ve been driving an hour, then two.
I spot the gas station where I filled up before I left Mississippi five years ago.
I think about my life during those years, and I smoosh it all together. The roads to home are all over, I have figured out.
Intersecting, opposing, parallel.
and I cruise through them mile signs,
one memory at a time.