The precipitous heights
Do not fall to ruins.
Bob:
I live.
I die.
I sing.
I fly.
Nancy: Day 9. When you first arrive at a place, the mosquitoes need just a little time to find you, make you uncomfortable, and then leave you alone when the novelty of your blood wears off. The bigger demons seem to need a little more time to find you and to try and distract you from your blissful state. I thought that I had successfully purged myself of most of my own demons (the ones I brought with me) at the beginning of this piece. It was a horrible struggle. But, now some external forces seem to have come from nowhere.
Last night, a storm arose from the West rocking our van more than we could have rocked it ourselves during our wildest sex. I felt so vulnerable in only a VW bus perched up on a mound by a lake. We watched television and saw that there was a tornado watch in our area with warnings in the neighboring counties east of us. So, the worst was past us but I was still very worried. We managed to sleep. When we woke up we saw that huge branches had fallen down all around us and very close to the van. It was still windy and threatening rain, so we thought that it might be a good idea just to stick close to the van. Almost all of the other campers have gone, so we had a nice opportunity to interact with the wildlife right here where we have been sleeping. Bob set up his electronics for a sound improvisation with the birds and the two of us. I got so excited, when the birds (that were usually too shy to get very near us) started coming very close, that it was difficult staying focused on the sounds I was making. The sounds seemed to attract them. I felt like Bob and I were some mythological characters charming the beasts around us.
Suddenly, a grisly looking guy in a beat-up old car with a pretty young boy drove into the next campsite. He honked and the honk was echoed and altered by Bob's electronics. The birds around us weren't nearly so loud as to get on the electronics that well. By the second or third "honk!" we realized that they were trying to get our attention. He asked, "Do y'all have any rollin' papers?"
Bob yelled back "No!"
"Do y'all get high?"
"Sometimes, but we haven't in a long time."
They came over and shared a pipe with us. The older man had teeth missing. His shirt was off and his gut was hanging out over his pants. We talked together for a long time. He told too many scary stories about himself in prison and his life in general. The story that bothered me the most was about when a guy had beaten him up, so he and his brothers went after him to get revenge. They were afraid that he would have some other fellas with him so they were prepared for quite a fight. Instead, the man was only with his wife and little boy. The door was open so they went on in. They beat the man close to death in front of the man's family. When the little boy screamed and cried, the guy telling the story told one of his brothers to shut him up. The brother threatened the little boy "that he would slit his throat if he didn't shut up."
He was telling this while we were smoking and after my not having smoked in such a long time. Fortunately, they left in a short while, but I stayed afraid that they would come back and kill us or want to hang out with us and be friends. We continued jamming with the bird trying to take advantage of our high. The high of the Novena had stayed right there within reach. I became absorbed once again. I got so excited about the birds that I took the video camera (it had been trained on us) and tried to video some of the birds that were coming to us. They seem to be a little camera shy.