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I have the fondest little memory of sitting in the backseat of my mother's bright red 1988 Nissan Sentra, listening to Fine Young Cannibals and laughing with her as we became airborne speeding over railroad tracks in that middle-of-nowhere world we lived in when I was a kid. It felt so endlessly exciting, as if the Earth was a still, soundless place that we had molded ourselves into a happy ball of neverending country roads.
We moved away, and I sort of lost my identity when we left behind the tiny apartment and the four big, beautiful horses and the labyrinth of a stable and the scaredy-cat barn cats and the pond and the acres and acres of gorgeous, empty forest that never really belonged to us. It is a funny thing; it felt like everything just fit together so perfectly then, just dovetailed completely, a masterpiece of a puzzle.
A few of the pieces have gone missing since. I hold the weathered handful that remains in an unsteady palm, worrying that eventually every last one will be misplaced. Eventually, everyone will be misplaced, and I fear that day the most of all. I wonder where we will all end up, and in my wonderings, I come to an excerpt of an A Silver Mt. Zion song that Kevin has had in his profile forever.
"Lost a friend to oceans
Lost a friend to hills
Lost a friend to suicide
Lost a friend to pills
Lost a friend to monsters
Lost a friend to shame
Lost a friend to marriage
Lost a friend to blame
Lost a friend to worry
And lost a friend to wealth
Lost a friend to stubborn pride
And then I lost myself."
Where will we go? How will it end? Are we doomed to die alone? I feel so helpless, asking these questions. And I want to tell everyone how much I want them to feel happy, to be happy remembering what was and what is, and that I would do anything that they asked of me that would make them feel that way, because I love them. I really hope that everything works out for the best. I hope that they are happy. |
