BeltwayA Story by PerditionIt is a strange and eerie feeling when these moments find
you: I was driving into a child’s hypnosis… early morning “beltway”.
It was two hours and a lifetime more through traffic to get back home. My mind wanders when and where it will, through the
outlines and when the fade begins to work. I cast my daffodil-ick seeds somewhere
out along the acidic tars and beneath the garden of lonely gods, rushing my way slowly
toward the heaven of home. Too often it hurts more than planned when people I love I am forced to leave with a breath beneath my throat. I find my course tendered;
my way obstructed towards a youth of home… but then “it” happens…eminent subjectivity: Exit 9… I look up. The morning clear casts the rumbling of F-15’s;
Their precocious precision diving me through the gaited skies of Andrew. Instantly… I am shot. My hands clasp and the wheel slips towards a simpler time. A place when
my father stood in uniform and I stood inches from the sky. I remember the
view. I felt as if I could crawl inside a Kodak cinema. I was holding his hand tightly.
Rushing young age into an airshow. He was moving slow because it was HIS weekend.
These simple things we never understand until we discover them later. We never realize what is cleverly obvious. My
room then was a temple to the Air Force. My father was conglomerate; Captain
Kirk and Elvis Presley. I suppose he still is; only now I’ve traveled too many roads to see him as anything other than "Dad", I now look upon his years and see him as the “Father” I have always loved and known. This is something far deeper I feel. What those jets did to me that morning I can’t explain
but I know tears rattled into my heart and my smile surpassed the boom. My father is now 79 with a sore of peace and pace-maker and I
find myself checking the clock more often then not… just quietly wondering. I don’t want to ever take these days for granted anymore. I race my way home to the cold distance of our phones. My mother laughs and tells me he is out on his tractor. I relayed the message looking back into Mr. Mesmer where somewhere along that circle of beltway, my memory still remains and my father’s hands grow in strength. It was then that I realized how strange a moment can be when these dust of memories return. © 2024 PerditionReviews
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Added on February 26, 2014Last Updated on February 22, 2024 |
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