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7 & 1/2 Acres |
2003-08-10 - 12:48 p.m. So I think I am here. I mean here. Here. I'm still a little doubtful of my commitment--of my here-ness, of my being here, Here. Here, now. And so, What I want to write first is I helped an older woman in a car flipped upside down. She was trapped. I climbed inside and turned off the ignition. Beyond that, I didn't do much but talk some and touch her leg. Another woman was able to reach in from the other side, the crushed gap of a window, and hold her hand--the two of them prayed. The one woman prayed. The other woman repeatedly called God's name. I wished that after my job was done, I had walked away. I stayed though and am glad that I talked some with the mechanic who had just a moment before filled up a gas can and placed it in her car. He said she was tired, had said, "Oh Lord, I'm tired." Had asked for kerosene when she meant a gallon of gasoline. She hit the accelerator and not the brake, swerved in time to miss the bank but hit the sign and a crepe mrytle which caused the car to flip. A light blue Chevy Caprice. The day was restless after this. Things happened in quick succession without my full presence in the events. They might of already been headed that way with the wreck serving as a wax seal. Farmers market. Peaches from two gentlemen parked at Westons. Siler City and beer. Bush hogging with Marvin's tractor (and not being completely happy about my decisions here--for to bush hog without being completely present is to flirt dangerously near commiting wanton destruction--I could rant here, but will stop with a praise for the fine mister Wendell Barry). A brief nap. Captain Tom's. Pirates of the Caribbean. Yogourt. Fidgits and jerks. Kindness and wordless restoration. More fidgits and jerks and the itch of skin. Trip in the wee hours to Quik Chek for benadryl. The check out woman who I've seen and noticed before--her hair huge and frizzy, engulfing her small and angular face and cheeks and body. Her eyes big, surrounded by glasses--her speech, nice and welcoming. We passed one other truck on the road. This morning at the mentioning of this, Molly said, going and coming--on Brooklyn going and on Pleasant Ridge Church coming, wonder what that truck was up to. I wasn't fully present yesterday but took note of the details. Like the color of the car. Her large pocketbook which I moved out of my way to get inside--some scraps of paper and pens spilling from it as I did so. Her socks, the beige support kind with the stiching up the back of the calf. Her green and coarse polyester pants with a slight unraveling of thread at the seat. The crunchiness of the glass (under the floor mat which I used for my protection) and it's prevalence everywhere. Then, the officers and paramedics and, in particular, the chief in a different color blue coverall, the other woman, the mechanic. Before she was completely out, he went and got his tow truck and hopped curbs, to use the car lift gear off the truck to raise the car (I think was his thinking). I think I know how he was feeling, the want to do something. And this is the part where I could of done something slightly different. I'm not beating myself up here. I just think the day would of been different for just one thing. Simply, my job was over and it was time for me to go. But, I stuck around. And, for this, my day turned out as it did. I'm not sad for it, I did finally leave, and I did not bring out the children to spectate. I did not park the car to horde. At night, especially with all of this rain, I hate it when I run over a frog. I'll gently swerve if I can but I know I claim some nonetheless. It's the same with the butterflies. Past two years of special note. First the swallowtails, then about now, the monarchs. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. In your name I pray, amen. Mister William bush hogged his fields and I am sorry for the rose pink and the sunflower daisys and the infinite more that I do not know. I say this with the understanding of his needs too. I also say this with a slight edge of a fuck you to anybody who might read this and find it sentimental nature loving tripe. Say that to my face and I'd box you.
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