A
salad and a large cup of coffee in hand, I made my way to the state park. It
was a beautiful day out, 69 degrees with clear azure skies. I was taking myself
out on a date.
I
pulled into the gravel lot and gathered my things before heading to the pay
meter. When I got there, I discovered four men and women dressed in 15th
century garb making LARPing jokes.
I’d
seen the flyer. It was a local theater group performing The Canterbury Tales
by Chaucer.
“There’s
nothing wrong with LARPing.” One of them proclaimed.
“You’re
right.” I said, smiling at their acceptance of nerd culture. “There is nothing
wrong with LARPing.”
“Thank
you.”
I
moved on. After passing the set for the play and four horse heads on sticks
(for galloping purposes, of course), I began to take in the scenery and fall
into a pensive state.
I
miss everyone who went to college. A lot.
Feeling
a little too sorry for myself for comfort, I rambled on until I found what I
was looking for: the water.
I
clambered down a steep clay and root infested slope to the ideal place to relax
and read; the vast expanse of an outlet to the sea was before me and several
large smooth rocks lined the pebble beach, providing me a place on which to
sit.
Breathe
in, breathe out. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation of the brackish
air. When I looked at my surroundings again, I was struck with the desire to
roll up my pants and walk into the water. I left my stuff one the shore and
stepped slowly towards the grey-blue glass.
I
anticipated the chill of the water, the embrace of the weight around my ankles
pulling me in closer to the Earth’s heartbeat.
Schwoop. Thud.
My jaw struck rock and my tweaked wrist held my torso slightly aloft. I lay
face down, soaked from hips to toes. Waves of pain pulsed through my head. I
didn’t move. I searched for some significance to my crash. There was none. It
was just a combination of slippery rock and bad footing.
Having
recovered from my slight trauma, I hoisted myself up with my good side and
trudged back to safety. I was battered with clay and served up on a platter of
embarrassment. I won’t be trying that again.
My
goal was to relax until the sun fell behind the trees, and so I did, reading
the lit mag of my community college until I reached a short story so
overwhelming that I couldn’t read another piece after.
The
sun had set and the cold was beginning to hit my core. I packed up my things
and headed back the way I came, overpowered to tears by the parting of my
friends, the shock of my fall, and the influence of the short story. As I
reached the entrance to the park, I spotted two friends from high school
approaching in the distance.
I
looked down at my clothes, composed my expression, and smiled. When we met on
the path, I immediately began explaining my haggard appearance.
“I
fell into the river. That’s why I’m covered in dirt and soaked.”
I
should also mention that I pick up litter sometimes when I see it, so I had a
dirty Styrofoam plate, a mud filled Gatorade bottle, and a full bag of dog poop
in the hand not holding my bag.
“And
these aren't mine either. They’re litter. I’m sure I look like a crazy homeless
person right now.”
“It
looks like you just buried a body.”
We
discussed books for Nepal, and the Canterbury players. I asked if they saw the
horse heads on sticks. They said there was just a human head now. I didn't understand.
After
deciding we should hang out sometime, we parted, and I walked past the pick-up
truck that once had the four play horses leaned up against it. Sitting on the
bed of truck was a single, Styrofoam, human head. I burst into laughter.
“No
kidding.”
So
the moral of this story is that you’ll never know where you’ll find adventure
and comfort from solitude, and that I probably shouldn't go walking alone in a
park again.
Bean’
schooled by life.
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