Some Friday mornings you wake up and feel the cool floor underneath your bare feet.You think about how it keeps getting harder to straighten out your legs and back as you get olderYou think about the day as you are having your first cup of coffee.You wonder what she's doing, where she's going.Whether she's running late or perhaps waking up in someone else's bed. You dismiss the thought. There is a new day waiting out there for you. Cattle to tend to and calves to brand. Aircraft to separate and bills to pay.
Morning runs into lunchtime and as you warm up leftovers from last night you remember how you used to meet for tea at the little artisan shop on the corner. You remember how you went there just to watch her be seen. Then, driving home from work the highway becomes single lane and eventually the single lane becomes a dirt road. You cross the river and dust smells as familiar as the sun on your skin. You are almost home. But are you really? Can you still call it home? You spend the weekend navigating the changes in your father's personality and while trying to maintain moral high ground and some kind of relationship you realise why you couldn't wait to get out when you turned eighteen. If you have family, you become a dog. A dog that keeps coming back despite being slapped in the face time after time. It's blood. Goddamn Blood. You resent yourself for your anger but you're trying to maintain a good relationship because you know how heavy regret is next to an open grave. You need to get out of there. Three or four days are enough at this stage. You hope that it will get better.
The rest of the family is looking at you with caring eyes. They feed you, hold you and ask about your wellbeing. They are good people. They work hard and they love you. Like they love each other. Mom makes your favourite dish and brother in law keeps cold beers in the fridge. They are all in exile. Banished from the farm to the city and property on the outskirts by unexpected and uncharacteristic infidelity. Shameless and hurtful. Disrespectful. Baffling. It's strange how thin the veil between security and disruption can be. One false move. And the world changes forever. The little boys kick a ball with you in the garden while you're keeping your smile on and never dare to shed a tear. You have to be strong. You're the only man alive your mom and sisters now trust and respect. They look to you for advice, for guidance and perspective.
Mom is standing on her front porch as you pull into the street and wave goodbye one more time. She held you for a while and your shirt is damp from all her tears. You know she'll be okay but you can hear the pain in her voice and her eyes are soft with sorrow. She's alone, abandoned after giving her life to him for forty years. How do you explain that? How do you figure that out. But she's strong, resilient and open minded. She's still an inspiration. The single becomes a double and soon you're back in the city. A terrible beauty fills the night. Bright lights and rushing cars. People sitting around in coffee shops and restaurants. People with their own lives, fears and dreams. You feel at once uneasy and familiar with the beautiful sadness of a broken city.
Most of the time you are with friends, chosen family and they take care of you. They listen, they encourage and they care. You go for a run, you make music, you get drunk and you work. You talk , talk ,talk. You stay busy and you make plans. You try and be responsible and respectful. You try to live a life of gratitude because you are fortunate. You don't isolate. You say yes.
Then a random Tuesday comes and you find yourself staring at the record player and listening to Idiot Wind by Bob Dylan. You're finished cooking, training and practicing your art. The world is busy with its own unique rhythm and flow and the whiskey is numbing some of your senses. It is then that you realize that sometimes all you can do is go to bed with the memories in your head and that corkscrew in your heart bleeding you dry. You are not unique and there's another day waiting out there for you.
JB