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16
May
If
we stood still . . .
I
dreamt last night . . .
Is
there such thing as "better than" . . .
In
three-dimensional space, up or down, backward or forward is relative
to the position of the observer . . .
Thoughts,
words, sound bites and ideas shooting through my mind like quarks
across a charged disc . . .
What
if . . . ?
Last
night I was talking with a friend.
We were talking about dolphins, and swimming with them -- in
captivity, and in the wild. And
I began to describe a place in the Florida Keys I used to take my
boat and how dolphins would sometimes run beside it, playing, as I
skimmed the surface; I would swim there with them, too.
I had the picture of the place deep in my memory, but its
name eluded me -- it took me a moment to remember it was White
Banks.
This
is not the first time this has happened — it is happening more
frequently now -- details I used to know in my sleep, now faded so
much that I find myself with only a glimmer of them.
I used to know these things so well: aspects of projects long
finished; interesting historic details about the Florida Keys and
the Spanish Main, or the British and Dutch East Indies Companies;
facts about treasure hunting; the names, depths and locations of
countless reefs and shoals and mud flats — compass headings and
land marks leading to sunken Spanish galleons.
I was, as another friend used to say about himself, "a
storehouse of useless information."
Now, on the rare occasions I find myself talking about them,
I walk up to the memory, to glean more from it, and instead, find a
cliff with an empty void beyond representing the finer details of
the memory. It is as if
the shell of the memory is still there, but there is nothing inside
but a black, airy void.
But
it is only with certain memories.
I can still recite motion picture dialog, old goofy songs
from Walt Disney movies, facts from books I have read, or minute
phrases and details from conversations I have had.
What
is happening here?
My
life has changed so much in the last 12 months.
And even more so in the last six.
I
thought about some of those changes as I lay in the dark in a
strange motel, my mind a blur of nausea by way of food poisoning.
I thought about how I had gotten there.
On
November 2nd, from a crossroads C-store in the Middle of Nowhere Pan
Handle, Florida, on a whim I called Debbie, a friend of mine in
Gulfshores, MS. I
wanted to let her know that it looked like I would be able to take
her up on her offer to spend Thanksgiving together.
I would be in her neck of the woods by then, and would be
ready to take a few days off.
As
usual, there was no answer, so I left my cell phone number where she
could leave a message. Despite
what Southern Bell said on their green coverage map, I rarely could
get any service if I was more than 10 miles out from any large town,
so I would check my messages from a regular pay phone.
On
a second "whim," just after I left my message for Deb, I
turned on my phone, more out of curiosity, to see if I could even
get the faintest blip of service where I was.
Nope.
Then
the phone rang.
I
answered and through infamous digital hic-ups I wa-s a-ble t- -ear
it -as D-eb. "H-i!"
she s-aid, "I -as ou-t -ide.
-an -ou hea-r me?"
In a few moments, we were chatting on the payphone next to
which I was still standing. She
was excited to hear we might be able to spend T-Day together and
told me, before we hung up, "If there is ANYTHING you need, if
you need to take a break, or if you get hurt, give me a call and I
will come and get you!" I
assured her I wasn't planning on having any major catastrophes I
couldn't handle, but thanks anyway, and "Hey, soon we'll be
eating turkey dinner together!"
Of
course, I didn't know the ground was about to drop completely out
from under me.
NEXT
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