THE NEW RESIDENCIA

Did you ever see one of those perpetual motion doodads; you know – the pendulum that once started - by a simple flip of someone’s finger, will swing till infinity ends. Well it's opposite is - the motor home that after moving for hours comes to a stop, thus waking up all who might be asleep in said vehicle.

 

“Ice, I think I’ll pass on the coffee – I’m going to try and get some sleep.”  Pup says this as she is getting up from her seat, while looking behind her at something moving that I barely catch in the corner of my eye.

 

“Go ahead and get the coffee, I’ll drink it,” Leo says, as he comes into full view, eternal cigarette in his mouth, and a sleepy look on his face.

 

As Pup vacates her seat and heads toward the back, Leo slides into the empty seat and cracks the window a little, allowing a sliver of the cold, early morning air to escape the outside – for the inside; then says – “a little foggy this morning, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s not bad, we’ve got good visibility.” I said, while thinking to myself - that if it got any worse we’d need to find a place to park for a while.

 

“Where are we, and what time is it?”  This from Colo, who is headed for the door - with Belle, and Pup, who has apparently changed her mind, at least for the moment about getting some sleep, right behind.

 

“About sixty miles from Alamosa, and just a little after four.” I tell her this as I get in line behind Pup to exit the motor home, while glancing at Leo and wondering if he’s going to remain where he’s at, or get out with the rest of us.  I didn’t have to wonder long, as he says - “I’ll stay here Iceman, don’t forget the coffee.”

 

Handing Leo’s coffee to him, I slide into the driver’s seat; telling him that the girls are all going back to sleep. Intently studying the Colorado map, he merely nods his head in an absent-minded response to my statement.

 

We are twenty miles further down the road without either of us saying anything, when I break the silence – “what’s so interesting with the map?”

 

Folding it up, Leo tosses it on the dash, and removing his hat, he runs a big hand through his hair and grunts – further embellishing his reputation as a man of many words.

 

When a minute or two goes by without either of us saying anything, he says; “Joe used to say that he’d lived in Colorado once, seems like the town he talked about was Blanca, or Blanco, I can’t remember now.”

 

Knowing that Blanca Colorado was less than forty miles ahead, I couldn’t help but feel a strange ‘anticipation,’ as I thought of Joe, the old black man that Leo had talked about many times before. The last time he’d mentioned Joe, he’s ended that short conversation by telling Pup and I of the note Joe had left him, which had said ‘Another time, another place.’

 

“Joe used to tell me, Leo is saying, as he lights his cigarette, that we each have our own wilderness to wander in, and can only make determinations based on that.”

 

Continuing, as he expels smoke toward the open window, Leo speaks more to it than to me – “He always said that what was important - was that each person have such a wilderness – and see – truly see – what wonders exist here on this earth, and while life is fluid and transient, it will someday have a permanence, and a meaning that is unimaginable.”

 

“Really,” I say, “that’s strange cause I’m always thinking there’s no permanence in anything, and no meaning except for the story itself.  Sort of like what that woman says in that story by Annie Dillard, seems like we just set down here, and don’t anyone know why?”

 

Leo laughs as he says, “Joe will disagree with you there Ice, but you have to understand, he’s a storyteller, a wanderer who has lived an easy and peaceful existence; one that few know anything about, but - all - are in a frantic search to find.”

 

“Like me.” I said.

 

“You and the rest of the world.” Leo said with a laugh.

 

But not you - I thought to myself - you being one of the few.

 

Leo continued, “he had a quote that he loved, I don’t know where it came from, but, I’ve never forgotten it, and it’s become one of my favorites too. It went sort of like this; we are all potential fossils still carrying in our bodies the crude remnants of former existences, the marks of a world in which living creatures flow with little more consistency than clouds from age to age.” 

 

“What does it mean to you?” – I asked, as I noticed the fog – outside – getting denser.

 

“Well, he said, a fossil is nothing more than the remnant of a living organism of a past age, so, in my mind, it’s possible that we came from another time, or another place, which, in fact, he was always trying to tell me.”

 

“You mean, with all those ‘another time, another place’ sayings of his?

 

“Yeah,” Leo replies, rolling his window back up as he continued; “who knows, maybe when I see him he’ll explain a little better than that.”

 

“Do you really expect to find him?” I asked.

 

“I won’t find him Ice, he’ll find me.”

 

“Pretty melodramatic,” I say while taking a quick look at him.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he says, “but true I’m afraid.”

 

Slightly exasperated, I said - “You only knew him for one summer when you were what, 18 or 19?  Why are you so sure he’ll find you?”

 

“Cause he’s found me a couple of times since.” Leo said.

 

Just then a sign appeared out of the fog.

 

Blanco 25

 

THE NEW

RESIDENCIA

 

 

The lights of Walsenburg were fast disappearing in my rear view mirror, as Pup shifted in her seat and said – “so, how far are we from Durango?”

 

“Bout two-fifty” - I said, as I switched on the radio and heard the beginning of Lynard’s – ‘Breeze.’

 

Call me the breeze
I keep blowin down the road
Well now they call me the breeze
I keep blowin down the road
I aint got me nobody
I dont carry me no load

 

“So, is that where we’re picking up Daze?”

 

“Sur-right,” I said, without hesitation.

 

“You know that’s not a word, don’t you?”

 

“Well that depends on whose definition you’re employing.”

 

“According to Daze,” Pup is saying - without acknowledging my comment, we have two choices – either life has meaning or purpose or it doesn’t, and we can live our lives based on which of the two we believe.”

 

“Which could explain the reason for ‘good and bad’ actions by people,” I said.

 

“Those people who believe life has meaning and purpose being the good people - and those who believe life has no meaning and no purpose - being the bad people.”

 

“Exactly,” I said, as I turn the music up a notch, adding, “most of the time anyway.”

 

Aint no change in the weather
Aint no changes in me
Well there aint no change in the weather
Aint no changes in me
And I aint hidin from nobody
Nobodys hidin from me

Oh, that’s the way its supposed to be

 

“That is the way it’s supposed to be isn’t it – Ice?”

 

“You could argue it that way I suppose; you know the theory – to have bad you have to have good.”

 

“Yeah, she said, yin-yang, can’t have an up without a down.”

 

When I didn’t reply she said – “you told Belle her nick-name in school must have been ‘breeze,’ what was that all about?”

 

“Just messing with her,” I said, smiling.

 

“It was yours wasn’t it?” She said, turning the music down, and saying –“I remember Danny calling you ‘breeze’ when you first took me to Corpus.”

 

“I was called a lot of things in high-school darling” – I said with a laugh.

 

“Almost mid-night” - Pup is saying more to herself than me, as she fiddles with the radio knob, looking for a station.

 

“If" - I say – "Daze can get a flight out in the morning – we should be able to pick her up in Durango - sometime tomorrow.”

 

“You figure we’ll be there when?” Pup says.

 

“Oh I don’t know, sometime around noon I’d guess?”

 

Back to the radio – Pup finds a station with music - I raise my hands, bow my head - I'm finding more and more truth in the words written in red. They tell me that there's more to life than just what I can see.

“Ah – Brooks and Dunn” I say, as I sing along – lightly - with them.

I can't quote the book
The chapter or the verse
You can't tell me it all ends
In a slow ride in a hearse
You know I'm more and more convinced
The longer that I live
Yeah, this can't be
No, this can't be
No, this can't be all there is

 

“Great song.” Pup says.

 

Turning the radio off, she sighs heavily.

 

“Tired of music Pup?” I ask.

 

“Kinda sort of”- she says - looking behind us, making me think someone was up and around.

 

“Somebody up?” I ask.

 

“Nope, I was just thinking about those ‘Oreos,’ and where I put them.”

 

“Right here,” I say, as I reach in between the seats to hand the package of cookies to her, as she pulls her computer out of its case, and unfolds it in her lap.

 

“What about” – Pup says as she takes the cookies from me – while balancing the computer in her lap, and reading from the screen - “this quote” – what has been overlooked is the irrational, the inconsistent, the droll, even the insane, which nature, inexhaustibly operative, implants in an individual, seemingly for her own amusement.

 

“Einstein at his best,” I say, and after a pause - “look up that other quote by him, the one I was showing you yesterday.”

 

“The one about the library thing?” She says - while moving her finger-mouse around, the monitor screen flickering like lightning in the dark.

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

“Here it is she says – and begins to read it to me – The human mind is not capable… --- “Hold it” - I tell her as I hit the brakes - slowing the big RV quickly, as up ahead we see ‘red and blue lights’ flashing like a Christmas tree gone mad.  Thankfully, I realize that it’s only a Colorado Trooper – in the process of issuing a citation to some poor fool in an old red pickup – instead of an accident as I’d initially suspected.

 

As we ease past the two vehicles, and I apply the gas again, the Pupster continues with the quote.

 

“The human mind – and as her words echo in the air – I remember those old news reels of Einstein – his hair a mess – his ill-fitting clothes – and I picture him saying the words that Pup’s reading – The human mind is not capable of grasping the Universe. We are like a little child entering a huge library. The walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written these books.  It does not know who or how.  It does not understand the languages in which they are written.  But the child notes a definite plan in the arrangement of the books: a mysterious order it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects.

 

“Shit – that’s heavy” – I say – laughing at my use of the old hippie slang from years ago.  “But, I continue, it pretty much sums up the way I see things.”

 

“Really – Pup says – the eternal agnostic embracing god, eh?”

 

“Not necessarily ‘god,’ but perhaps a god, I tell her as we come to a little rise in the road, and see - at the same time – the moon – huge, and full, and so bright - that it looks white – seemingly sitting in the middle of the road at the apex - like a magic trick or something.

 

“My God,” Pup says – marveling at the sight.

 

“Remember me telling you about seeing stuff like this in the mountains?” I said, as I stared at the moon, appearing so large and close. I’d seen this particular sight before, but it never ceased to amaze me, and the urge to pull the RV over and wake the others, was almost overpowering, but, the road was narrow, and in the end - I chose to keep going; effectively driving through the wondrous moon - and it’s eerie light.

 

“That was fantastic.” Pup says, the awe apparent in her voice.

 

“Yeah, I reply, you don’t see it often but when you do, it’s unforgettable; too bad the others couldn’t of seen it too.” A couple of minutes later, after riding along in silence with our thoughts – Pup breaks the moment with - “You going to tell Daze who wrote that poem?”

 

“I don’t know myself,” I said to her – as I stared straight ahead – trying to remember exactly where I’d come across it at.

 

“I think I picked it up in a English class one day in college, but to be completely honest - I can’t remember exactly where it came from, only that I didn’t write it, and I don’t know who did.”

 

“She is wearing the ‘German helmet’ again isn’t she?” I said.

 

“You talking about her icon?” Pup asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ice, you know that’s not a German Helmet – why do you insist on calling it one for?”

 

“Cause it looks like one, I answered her – with a little laugh – while sitting up  straighter in my seat.

 

“Getting sleepy?”

 

“No, but I need to stretch my legs, use the bathroom - and get some coffee.”

 

“Five miles to the Pilot Truck Stop” – Pup said – as she began to close up the laptop, and get ready for a pit stop.

 

Leaving me to silently muse about – “where Daze was going to sleep, and that she may need to bring a sleeping bag.”

 

 

The New Residencia

 

 

 

Belle is driving, while Colo occupies the passenger seat, sipping on coffee, and munching on a raisin-covered roll.  Having just turned the “front seats” over to Belle and Colo after 6 hours behind the wheel, Pup and I are sitting at the ‘nook,’ both looking forward to some relaxing time away from the responsibility of herding the motor home down the interstate. While Pup busies herself looking at a Colorado map, I’m on the laptop - beginning the newest edition of The New Residencia, my initial thought of getting some sleep – dropping by the wayside along with the scenery outside.

 

“Speaking of sleep time,” – it’s Colo - breaking in on my thoughts – “is Leo sleeping?”

 

Thinking to myself  - that I hadn’t said anything – I said, “are you reading my mind or something?”

 

“Nah, I was reading the monitor - in the reflection from the windshield,” she told me, motioning toward the glass in front of her.

 

“No shit,” I said, squinting my eyes and turning my head sideways looking at the glass.

 

Pup laughed and said, “yeah sure, upside down with the letters all backwards and everything.”

 

Still squinting at the windshield, full of doubt, I continued with my typing as the newest edition of The New Residencia began to take shape.

 

“So…. Colo says, are you going to answer the question?”

 

“Oh, I say, Leo, yeah, he’s asleep.  He’s playing Goldelocks - on my bed.”

 

“Is that the way you spell Goldelocks, I ask Pup, who shrugs and says, good enough for me, but why don’t you use the spell checker?”

 

I did (use the spell checker) and surprisingly it had a listing for the little blond girl lost in the woods, which was “Goldilocks,” but substituting an – I – for an – E – seemed artificial, so I left it like it was.

 

“I was beginning to wonder if he ever slept,” Colo said, looking pointedly at Belle, who continued to be ‘non-committal,’ as she stared straight ahead – driving.

 

“I hear you” – I said to Colo - as I typed on the keyboard.

 

“How long have you known him?”

 

“Forty-three years, give or take a few months,” I said – pausing with the typing and looking at Colo.  When she didn’t say anything in response - I went on, “I know you all wonder about Leo, but he’s my balance, he’s what keeps me at an even keel.”

 

Colo looked out her window, tugging on an earlobe as she said,

“how old was he when you met him?”

 

“Oh I don’t know, probably in his forties I’d say, I never did ask him.”

 

“Which would make him in his 80’s now,” Colo said.

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

 

Belle finally broke her silence with - “Yet, he appears to be in his 50’s or 60’s.” 

 

“Holds his age well doesn’t he,” I said with a little laugh.

 

Nobody said anything for a minute – as we rode in an awkward silence, until Colo said -  “how does he balance you out – Ice?”

 

“Well, I said, glancing out my window, I know that Leo’s theory about - why we don’t know what’s going on - didn’t impress some of you.  For example - I realize that Daze was very unimpressed, but what he is saying - seems so obvious to me.  You know – I get really pissed at life sometimes, in the fact that we don’t have a clue as to what is going on.  I know, I know, from the religious angle we do – my parents for example, are devout believers, and don’t share my anger or concern, and I’m glad they don’t, but for an agnostic like me, it can get screwball sometimes.  For, although I believe anything is possible – including a god in heaven and an afterlife, it’s the possibility that there isn’t – that wears me out.   I mean, think about it - this world has seen mankind’s greatness in un-imaginable proportions; yet, it could mean absolutely nothing after we’re gone. What is the reason for this?  It seems so pointless - unless it’s like Leo says – that if life has no reason then it follows that life means nothing for a reason.” 

 

“But what’s the reason?” Belle asked.

 

“That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” I said, as Pup stood up and stretched, tossing the map she’d been looking at on the table.

 

“Speaking of a million dollars, Pup said, have you checked the lottery results?”

 

Looking back at my laptop I said, “I’ll check right now.”

 

Colo – who had turned sideways in her seat – so she could see me better, shook her head slowly – and said – “his theory seems empty and meaningless to me, Ice.  I wish it didn’t – but that’s the way I see it.”

 

“What about that part of his theory where we all have our gods?”  Belle said.  “You know, she continued, where we have gods that created us, and they have gods that created them, and so on.”

 

“It has to be that way according to Leo, I said, because when you limit our existence to just one god, then the unanswerable question of who created god comes up.”

 

“But, Colo replied, his theory has the same unanswerable question –

 

“No it doesn’t” – Leo’s voice was gruff, but not unfriendly, as he stood at the breakfast table, cigarette in one hand and coffee cup in the other, and as we all looked at him, he continued, my theory answers the question of who created the gods that created us.”

 

“Their gods” – I say.

 

“Right.” Leo said, “and the difference is that my theory allows for that – in fact – it embraces it as the only answer to an unanswerable question.”

 

“But, Colo says, surely you don’t mean to say that gods created gods - ad finitum?”

 

“Exactly what I mean to say,” Leo says, as he lights his cigarette and sits down at the breakfast table.

 

“But, Pup says, at some point the same question will have to be answered as to who created god?”

 

“Why?” Leo said.

 

“Everything has an ending,” Pup said, as she sat down at the table with Leo.

 

“That’s not true Pup, Leo said with a smile.  Don’t you think that tomorrow morning - the sun will come up - and on and on - ad finitum?” 

 

“Same thing Pup, same thing.”  Leo said.

 

“What is that Ice?” Colo says, as she looks straight ahead at the windshield.

 

“Are you reading my words again from the reflection?” I ask her.

 

“Yeah, and I want to know if you wrote the poem?”

 

“Nope.” I said, as I read the poem again, slowly scrolling down as I read.

 

rain falls gently outside

as she lays in the bed

studying the ceiling

watching the spider

 

weaving a solitary web

so devious and complex

how patient he is

and tenuous it must be

 

to weave so silently

while all around

danger lurks

and time is so short

 

she hears the sighs

and her mind wanders

to kitchen matches

in the drawer

 

laying amongst

silverware from the past

and a single speck

of bread

 

a time to leave

behind

matches and silverware

tis time to go

 

THE NEW

RESIDENCIA

**  685744^TH edition

EST 1233

EDITOR – ICE

ASST. EDITOR – PUP

VICE PRES = DAZE

EXEC VP – SIX

SCOOP REP – SCRATCH

ACE REP – JOHNNIE

 

 

Turning left on US-87, off of US 287, Pup had driven us to less than a hundred miles from the Colorado line, when she turned to me and asked if I would drive.  She’d had the wheel ever since taking over from Leo around mid-night the previous night, and now with the sun only a couple of hours away, was more than ready to give it up.

 

We’d decided to go to Colorado two nights ago – while leaving Pecos Texas, and the dropping of the outside temperature was something we’d been keeping our collective eye on - as we’d watched it go from 77 degrees the night before - to 55 tonight.  Now, as we made our way north – Northwest - towards Colorado, I was wondering if perhaps we should have gone south – Southeast - toward Florida - or somewhere.

 

Pup wheeled the big motor home into a Shell Convenience Store/Gas Station and parked near the road, leaned back in the seat, and took a drink of coffee from her cup. 

 

“Where are we?” This from Colo – balancing herself at the breakfast nook with a cup of coffee she’d kept from spilling during Pup’s pull-over; her red velvet housecoat pulled up at the neck as if to keep the cold out or something.

 

“Clayton, New Mexico,” I told her as I readied myself to get out, fruitlessly looking for a missing tennis shoe.

 

Inside the store – the light - a dull yellow – seemed artificially bright – as I limped along in one tennis shoe, and one of Pup’s flip-flop sandals.  Leo with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth walked slowly beside me.  Glancing down at my shoe attire he said - “You really don’t give a fuck do you?”

 

Drawing myself up a little, I said, “about what are you referring?”  To which Leo just smiled as he slipped into the bathroom ahead of me.

 

I turned toward the food racks, and saw Belle surveying the candy, cookies, and other assorted junk food.  Walking up beside her I ignored her pointed look at my feet and said, “are both bathrooms tied up in the motor home?”

 

“Of course,” was her response, followed by, “what do you think I’m doing in here?”

 

“Oh I don’t know – I thought maybe you needed some air or something,” I said with a smile.

 

Smiling back at me - she waltzed past me, and traded places with Leo, who was coming out of the bathroom, as I, open-jawed and all, just shook my head in wonder - as I was forced to wait again for the bathroom.

 

Back in the motor home – the bathroom ‘a goings on’ – all over now – I was trying to get comfortable behind the wheel as Belle took over the ‘shot-gun’ passenger seat.  Behind us – Leo was sitting at the breakfast nook – blowing smoke from his cigarette out the little window next to it, while Colo and Pup were asleep in the two beds - in the little bedroom - right behind me.

 

“What a hick place,” I muttered – more to myself than Belle or Leo, as I continued to bitch about the ‘little one-horse store’ with only one bathroom - for both women and men.

 

“You’re just pissed off because that truck driver snuck in behind Belle” – Leo said with a laugh – as he slapped at his leg with a big hand.

 

“What are you doing, I said, killing bugs?”

 

“Alabama Roaches,” he said – while looking at Belle, who paid him no mind as she surveyed the dark landscape outside her window.

 

After Belle refused to ‘bite’ at Leo’s remark – the conversation lagged – and directly – we heard ‘snoring’ from behind us.  Leo was fast asleep at the table.

 

“So – what did they call you in High School – Ice?”

 

“Lots of things, lots of things, I said, somewhat rhetorically as I navigated the big motor home down the highway, our headlights, seemingly the only ones on the road tonight.

 

“How bout you – no – let me guess,” I said, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.

 

“Got it – I said – ‘the breeze,’ am I right?”

 

Laughing, she looked at me while saying – “Lynard Skynard – man, what a group!  All I need now - is for you to pull out a harmonica and give me your rendition of the song.”

 

“Let me see, I say - while patting my pockets – what did I do with that thing?”

 

“God help us.”  Leo said from behind us - and immediately went back to snoring, while Belle and I just looked at each other.

 

“He’s got a funny sense of humor,” I said.

 

“From hanging around you,” she said – propping a foot up on the dash.

 

“Nah – it’s the other way around – trust me.”  I said, as I looked back at Leo, apparently sleeping like a baby.

 

“So – you liked Leo’s explanation as to why we don’t know what’s going on?” I said, glancing in her direction.

 

“No, I don’t like it, nor do I necessarily ‘buy it,’ but I do understand what he’s trying to say.”

 

“Which is?” I say – and leaving the two words all alone in the air between us – I look at her for a response.

 

“Basically that one person’s god - has a god of their own, and on and on - to who knows where.”

 

“Possible”- I say with a smile - as she quickly says – “easy for an agnostic to say.”

 

“Agnosticism,” I say, “the only true religion.”

 

“Sure, sure, Ice, but how do you like - sitting on the fence all the time – in the middle of the road?”

 

“I don’t know….  I say - it’s kind of comfy in many ways.”

 

“Yeah, but remember what they say you find in the middle of the road” - she says – looking out her window.

 

“What’s that,” I ask?

 

“RoadKill” - she says with a laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

T

  H

      E 

New Residencia

 

 

When he didn’t say anything, I turned the music down a little and said, “you going to tell Colo and Belle your theory of - why we don’t know what we’re here for?”

 

“I imagine I’ll get around to it,” he said.

 

“Blew me away,” I said, more to myself than Leo, remembering that rainy night in Memphis, when we’d been hitch-hiking to California, and Leo, his old hat dripping water, and pulled low on his head - had told me – ‘the reason for not knowing.’

 

Hearing a noise behind me I turned a little in my seat, enough to see Colo sitting at the little breakfast nook – just a little ways behind Leo and me.  As her eyes met mine she said, “how bout right now?”

 

Leo never turned in his seat - but said – “the reason for not knowing?”

 

“Yeah,” was her singular response?

 

“You know,” he said, “there are questions that can never be answered, no matter the evidence, because the very idea is not applicable.  The question you speak of - exists on a different plane, or in a different dimension, beyond the zones where evidence can reach.  For example - “do you see ‘red’ as I do?  Maybe your ‘red’ is my ‘blue’ or something completely different than any color I could see or imagine.  It’s a question that can never be answered.”

 

The words to the ancient song begin to come through the speakers, and I’m forced to turn the volume up in order to hear them clearly.

 

Good-bye Joe, me gotta go, me oh my oh

Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou

“Hank Williams,” Leo said, as the song continues…

 

My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh my oh

Son of a gun, we’ll have big fun on the bayou

“Jambalaya,” I said, as I turned the stereo up a little louder, and said, “When’s the last time you listened – really listened to Hank’s music?”

 

“You know the saying, Leo said, so much music – so little time. Man never saw 30, he continued, a short fuse for sure.”

 

“I love his music,” Colo says. as she takes a sip of coke.

 

“He was one of the greatest” - Leo is saying, while turning in his seat to better see Colo and me.

 

Continuing – he said - “They had his funeral in Montgomery Alabama, and it was far larger than any ever held for a citizen of Alabama.”

 

“You mean up to that time, wasn’t that around 1952-53?” I said, while taking a coke from Colo, who was also passing one to Leo.

 

“Largest funeral up to that time and since that time,” Leo said while tapping his foot in rhythm on the floor.

 

“Wonder why the great ones die young?” Colo said from the back.

 

“They’re driven – driven to get it done – before it’s too late. “ Leo said, with a shrug.

 

“Wasn’t there some controversy about Jambalaya – like the girl he sang about - Yvonne or something,” I said, looking sideways at Leo.

 

Cutting his eyes to me in a manner that Colo could not notice, he said, “there was this little town in Louisiana, down south, that Hank spent a lot of his off time, Carlyss, about 10 miles south of Sulphur on Hiway 27.  Anyway, there was this bar that belonged to Yvonne Little, where Hank amid the smoke, cold beer, brawls and dominoe tables – would spend a hot evening or two - whenever he was able to get away from his rigorous schedule.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve been there,” Colo said.

 

“You’re right about the great ones dieing young,” Leo said.

 

“Elvis, I said, and Janis, and Hendrix.”

 

“But, it’s more than the great ones dieing young, he said, it’s the whole picture that matters, and to see the whole picture you have to back up a ways, and take a long, serious look at things.”

 

“What do you mean?”  This from Colo.

 

“Look at the strides made by the human race in all areas, the arts, sports, government, science and technology, and music.  Mankind is in search of something, but as to what, he doesn’t know.”

“We’re all pushing the envelope - aren’t we?”  I say while attaching a postscript – “just at different speeds.”

 

“Well it’s definitely a ‘pace yourself’ world,’ Leo says, and then adds, although contrary to popular belief, we need everyone pulling his/her weight.”

 

“So, Colo says -  “all of our heroes are carrying us somewhere, we just don’t know where?”

 

“Nope, it’s us all,” Leo says, and then continues, “it’s the man on the corner who helps the old lady with her car, it’s the man who plays in a country-western band on Saturday night at the American Legion Building, it’s the girl who walks the old man across the street, the lady who runs for Mayor, it’s all of us, everyone of us.  We’re all in this race to nowhere, of that you can count on.”

 

As Leo finishes, his words are the last to be heard for at least a minute, maybe two; I’m concentrating on driving, while Colo remains silent in her chair – and Leo smokes silently – alone with his thoughts.

 

“Leo!” Colo says – causing Leo to turn quickly to look at her.