For the Wild-Hearted Souls

I was upset today. I’m always upset when he contacts me, even if he’s trying to be nice. He saved my life, and it’s hard to ignore him, but I know that I should. 

On the street corner, a lovely old black lady was standing beside the fence with her black-and-white sheep dog by her side. She looked at me, walking toward her, and said, “My, my, my. You sure are lovely,” in a sweet, musical voice. She saw my looking the kitty cat under the old truck parked in her drive, and said, “That there is Hank. He’s an old one.” 

“What’s the dog’s name? He looks like an old one, too.” 

“Oh, this here is Buddy. He’s been with me a looong, long time.” 

I leaned over the fence as Buddy stood up with his front paws on the chain link so he was nearly level with my chest. I petted the sides of his shaggy face and told him he was a beautiful boy. The lovely black lady smiled and commented on my coyote fur bomber hat. Asked if I’d gotten it at the vintage resale shop down the street. I told her I’d made it, but my phone rang in my pocket before the conversation could continue. I wished her a pleasant day and she smiled. “You too, sugar! Take care!”

Dragon Boy was on the phone, asking about the bonfire party. I told him we had the all-clear from my property owners to dig a pit in their yard and host the event, so long as we didn’t stay up too late. We discussed drummers, trying to figure out the ideal number we should have so as not to piss off the neighbors. 

That’s when my phone made the funny beeping sound to let me know that I’d just recieved a text. Annoyed, I expected it to be Grizzly Bear, but when I looked at the name on the screen, my heart skipped a beat and my legs suddenly felt weak. 

It was from my boyfriend. I quickly told Dragon Boy I’d call him back. 

The text simply said, “Calling”. 

“When? Why? HOW?!” 

“Soon,” was the only reply I got. I paced up the street, passed the bike shop, feeling my arm hairs standing on end, fearing the worst and the best as the same time. 

Finally, the phone rang. Brown Bear’s voice put his personality colors in my brain with such ferocity that I misstepped off the curb and nearly tripped. I practically burst into tears; I was so happy. He said that they’d just passed White Phase of training and the guys were being rewarded with a 20-minute phone call home. But instead of calling his family, he called me. We talked about the letters, and about his plans for finding a way out sooner rather than later without negative repercussions, and without his being dishonorably discharged. He’s working on a way to come home two months early. 

20 minutes didn’t seem like much time. I finally heard his superior shouting at him to get off the phone. Bear said, “I love you!” two more times before the shouting downed out his voice and he was forced to hang up. 

My heart felt lighter than air. I’d reached Cathedral Park by this time, and stood under the shadow of the St. Johns Bridge. In that moment, I felt taller even than the highest spires of the imposing structure overhead. Nothing could break me down.

Feeling emboldened, I struck off in a different direction toward the waterfront, and found myself on the rocky banks of the Willamette. I hiked over the boulders and driftwood, looking for bones and feathers and interesting pebbles for my collections. There were several great sites to build forts and bonfires, and it was apparent that street kids and hobos had spent some time here. Their camps were badly-maintained and poorly-built. If my wilderness survival instructors had seen their excuses for shelters, he’d have made them clean the camp dishes for a week. 

I scrambled over the rocks toward a bend in the shore, but as I jumped to a seemingly-stable boulder, it tilted and pitched me forward. I put my hand down to catch myself, and all my weight went right onto a creeper vine with hefty thorns on it. One of them broke off inside my hand, but I pulled it out with my teeth and kept on moving forward. 

Then, as I reached out with my thorn-pricked hand to grab a rock, I felt something slick beneath my palm and turned my hand over to see a mess of bright red blood coating the entire underside of my middle finger. It dripped off the nail and feel into the dark crack between two rocks. 

I found the blood strange, considering it was only a minor puncture wound. This was a LOT of blood for such a small injury. I covered the hole in my hand with my thumb, but instantly drew it away; there was a deep ache in my palm where the thorn had gone in. I realized then that it was swollen pretty badly. 

So I turned around, nursing my bad hand as I made my way back over the rocks until I came to a trail leading back into town. By the time I got to the Starbucks on Lombard St. the blood had stopped flowing, but my hand was a mess. The swollen area was turning blue. I knew then that the thorn wasn’t a normal thorn, or that I’d perhaps gotten an infection from the rock I grabbed as I was climbing. Either way, I let myself into the Starbucks, ordered my drink, and cleaned up the bloody mess in the bathroom. 

It’s still a freaky blue color and is mildly swollen. If it’s not better by tomorrow, I’ll have it looked at. 

I sat at the Starbucks in the window overlooking Pioneer Square, sipping on my chai tea as I listening to the Cat Empire through my headphones. This was the music I danced to, shamelessly, in the morning as I got prepared for the day ahead, and I couldn’t help but tap my foot along while watching all the people passing by outside. People-watching is one of my favorite pastimes.

Even so, it felt like a long time. I wondered if the boys were going to show up at all. 

But as the thought crossed my mind, and my eyes made a quick scan of the cafe’s interior, I saw Wolverine shoulder his way past someone standing in line, followed shortly thereafter by Green Dog, Hart, and Halo. I hadn’t seen any of them in over two years or so. They looked so grown up. I wondered for a moment if I looked much different to them in return. 

Instead of worrying about it, I killed the music, pulled the headphones out of my ears, and stood to greet them. We were all smiling - even Halo, who had been nerdy and shy in high school, and who’d regarded me as though I were somewhat terrifying with my studs and patches and dyed hair. They’d all known me at a point in time when I believed in Anarchy, and rumors about me starting fights with cops at riots were shared by those who also assumed that I was a tattoo artist and did copious amounts of drugs on the weekends with my punk friends. Of course, none of this was true, but I did little to dispel the myths nevertheless. 

We talked there in the Starbucks for a short while before it became apparent that our loud laughter and shouts of exclamation would be better suited for the night air outside. 

We walked toward the waterfront. Conversation came easy as we all caught up with one-another. I didn’t feel at all out of place - in fact, I felt just like one of the guys again, and it pleased me when I realized that they were not regarding me as some pretentious preppy girl who needs to be pampered or given any form of special attention. 

We had no idea what to do with ourselves. We walked toward Voodoo Doughnuts in hopes of getting something to eat, but changed our plan when I mentioned that I had a friend in town who was also an awesome hook-up for the green stuff. We trekked over to Monkey’s place and hung out in his apartment for a while, smoking and chatting, and enjoying the company. Monkey seemed happy to see me, since we hadn’t spoken since I’d returned to Portland. I finally saw his personality colors, and told him what they were. He grinned. 

But it was getting late, and Monkey had school in the morning, so the rest of us packed up and drove back to Halo’s place, where the boys showed me the ‘cave’ under their house. It was technically a crawlspace excavated beneath the building that had unfinished earth walls, boulders protruding from the dirt to make seats and counter-tops for lamps, numerous bongs, and snack foods of all sorts scattered about. They’d even managed to wrestle a couch into the space and hung sheets from the ceiling to close in the room for added ambiance. It was perfect. I felt like a runaway.

We smoked more, until I started to get squiggly fingers (squingers, we call them), which is a pretty decent indication that I’m stoned. At this point, someone suggested that we watch Planet Earth on Halo’s in-home blue-ray HD theater with surround sound. 

I nearly cried like a little girl while watching it; it was beautiful. I’d never had so many chills before from watching a simple TV program, but I think I may have discovered that watching Planet Earth while high is the best thing you can possibly do in that state of mind. 

When we’d watched about three episodes, the guys decided it was time for bed. But we ended up back at my Attic, playing with Paco on the floor as we all talked nonstop for another full hour. I worried about waking up the others in the house, but all was fine. They left early in the morning hours and I hurried off to sleep. 

I was with the most awesome group of people for this one. Brown Bear was there, but we weren’t dating in the dream - we acted more like exceptionally good friends, and said, “I love you”, but there was no intense cuddling or physical contact, or even that feeling of mental connected-ness. It wasn’t a bad thing. I actually feel worse in dreams when we’re closer, because it hurts more when I wake up. 

There was a lot of food in this dream. Amid the zombie invasion, in a world that was toxic and falling apart, there were still ice cream stands and Voodoo doughnuts, and we stumbled upon a man and his daughter who were stockpiling all the food they could find in a warehouse while growing their own fresh food on the roof. 

We settled with them after traveling the state in a big rusted up bus, which crashed on the side of the road outside the man’s house. Brown Bear held my hand. Those friends who were traveling with us laughed at the situation as if it were all just part of the adventure - we knew we were going to die, so why stress about when and how? 

I woke up feeling refreshed and optimistic. The colors in the dream were beautiful, and I was in love with everyone one of the people I encountered in it. What a beautiful thing the apocalypse would be if it played out like the dreams in my head.