The Tides of Change

Nothing is ever the same as I remember it being when I go back to it. It's like the time has worn smooth the glittered edges and I wonder then if it was only ever that bright, that potent, in my own mind. How strange to fight so hard for something so beautiful, something that called you so hard, pulled you like a promise of salvation only to find it so changed and foreign. 

From the moment the whisper of this trip had been on my lips I had been determined that I would see the ocean. I had to grasp that fleeting feeling I'd known briefly all those years ago in my hands and hold onto it. It was freedom. It was power. It was intoxication. It was something I would sacrifice everything to get.
And I had. And I was here now. I could feel the freedom and the power. 

But there was something else too. Something that smudged the perfectness that was in my memory. In lieu of everything I had sacrificed, suddenly the water didn't seem so ethereal. It wasn't a religious experience. It seemed almost dark, foreboding, mocking. Like the very waves were taunting me, raging war with me, daring me to find peace within its angry churning surface. 

I studied the horizon, watching the sun set and wondering why the path of fading sunlight cast across the surface resembled more a finger pointing at me in accusation, than it did a walkway to the possibility of dreams. I had remembered the sunset over the sea as being this beckoning representation of everything peaceful. There was nothing of the old enchanting trance that had held me captive. 

Now, the sea seemed carnivorous. Thirsty for the blood of those who sought to reclaim a kind of innocence. There was nothing gentle or pure in the shocking wetness of sea foam that curled and licked at my ankles. The waves that had kissed my legs as a child now felt cold and fierce and I stepped back, confused. 

I had imagined myself rushing toward the waves with arms wide open, to meet the beauty of the ocean with everything I have, and bathe and be somehow renewed in its glory. But now as I stood at the edge of the tide, I wondered instead where the magic had gone. Wondered if the sea had also grown up somewhere along my journey.

The sun had almost gone. Soon the sky would be black and I would have trouble finding my way back to the car. Perhaps by morning, things would look different again. Maybe I was just too stressed out tonight to enjoy it, to see it the way I once had, the way it should be seen. I would try again at dawn. Sunrise always made everything look brand new.

Serial Killer Farmboy and an Unimpressed Cat

Serial killers aren't usually young, shirtless farmboys with freckles and red hair. I don't think they are. I'm sure they're not... 

But as I followed him through a cornfield down a little dirt road, the stalks so high I couldn't see anything but his car in front of me, I started to panic. I had my trusty road-cat LB with me, sitting like His-Highness on the passenger seat, paws crossed, like it was completely ordinary to be following a stranger through a corn field on a spare tire that was in worse shape than the actual tire had been. I gripped the wheel harder as we drove further into the dense stalks. 

"When I stop the car kitty, run!" I tell LB. He glances up at me. I can hear him thinking moron as he lays his head back down, unconcerned about our fate. 

I'm convinced I'm going to die. When I rolled into the parking lot of the broken down cafe off the highway, the people inside sized me up like they were already measuring my straps. How convenient that the telephone doesn't work. How convenient that there's no auto shop in town either. 

The woman behind the counter tells me her son can help. He comes out from the back wearing an apron, no shirt, dirty khakis. I'm pretty sure they've stopped him in the middle of disposing with the last body and he's annoyed. Then he spots me and his eyes light up. How convenient that his father has a shop with a tire mount. It's at their house. Right across the highway. 

"I thought this town didn't have a mechanic." This isn't suspicious at all. 

"It's just a hobby", he replies. Sure, I think. Okay. I'm being silly. It's probably totally normal to have a shop like that. Maybe they repair farm equipment. I have weird hobbies. I used to try to repair broken neighborhood birds in handbuilt cages, in my childhood walk-in closet. I'm just being silly. He jumps in an old pickup and I debate not following him briefly. But surely, farmboys aren't serial killers. 

I follow him for what seems like an eternity and have changed my mind again, imagining the blood soaked cornstalks as I lay there watching my cat, hiding in the tall stalks with his glittering eyes as the last of the daylight fades away. I am considering throwing the car into reverse and mowing down the stalks and spinning dirt to get away (because in the movies a donut tire can totally handle four wheel drive shit) when suddenly a little farmhouse and a giant shop appear in a tiny clearing. 

I'm stiff and weary from my adrenaline when I pull up behind the farmboy. He bounces out of the truck and throws open the doors of the massive outbuilding to reveal an actual auto shop!, complete with car lift. I can't quite believe this is just a hobby, and scan the equipment for anything resembling the gadgets of a torture chamber. 

"What size you got?" Farmboy startles me out of my thoughts and I flinch again when I turn to find him standing uncomfortably close. 

I step away. "How much is this going to cost me?" I venture carefully. I don't want him to get the wrong impression, or worse, go psychopath on me. I figure I should get this part out of the way now though, so no one can say they were taken advantage of. So I know what Im dealing with. 

Farmboy shrugs and squints into the sun. "Figure $20 bucks oughta cover it". 

Great! I have $20 bucks! I also have no gas left and about 70 more miles to the city. This is my own damn fault, I know. I never should have taken off in a fit like that. One trash bag full of crap and the cat. It backfired. Of course it did. I really didn't even think that it would end up turning out any other way and I still left. And so what? Now that I'm coming back I should have the welcome mat shaken out? A banner hung? Of course he wasn't going to wire me money to come home and stand there waiting for my headlights with open arms. 

Well, he could have.... 

At least I'm coming home! And I bring peace offerings! Two gorgeous knives I purchased just for him at the Iowa 80 Truck Stop. They say it's the biggest truck stop in the United States. I have to believe them. I've never seen bigger. It was like a mall, but without all the crying babies and frantic unhappy housewives. Better merchandise too. I've never seen a mall shop with a marble handled butterfly blade for sale. 

Knives! That's it I think! "Well I have cash if that's all you'll consider, but I have a couple of brand new knives that are worth more than $20 if you would possibly consider a trade." I try to appear like the kind of girl who can afford high quality knives and also use them, and not like kill bait. 

"Let's see em," farmboy says. I walk around my car and open the passenger door to get to the bag so that my back won't be too him. It does occur to me how silly and futile this is when I am about to voluntarily hand over two very sturdy weapons. I grab LB too. His claws are unforgivingly sharp. I will throw him at this kid's face if I have to.

But I don't have to. In the end the kid fixes the tire in record time, the cat falls back asleep on the passenger seat on our way out of the cornfield. The kid chooses the marble handled knife, but I still have the switchblade. The sun is still hanging on for me...I might make it back to fix the mess I left behind in the city before the sky goes dark.