Restless to Peaceful
Re: How is Taylor Sirard?
For two months I had been staying in Bay Saint Louis. Two months in the same bedroom with a rug that smelled like urine. Two months with the neighbor who threw yelling fits at midnight. Two months peeling up a moldy bathmat to take a shower. Two months hearing the same rambling complaints from my housemate as the day I arrived.
The picture sounds grave, I know, but I only saw it that way because I was ready for the road again. Two months of any type of sameness is enough to make me start smoking again (which I did the week prior.) My living quarters had been enjoyable and I was grateful for my time there, but none of those thoughts were present the day I left.
My employers at the restaurant, Paula and Sonny, offered me a parking spot at their place for my last couple of nights in town. I eagerly asked to leave early that day so I could pack up my things. I walked back to the house, shaving a few minutes off of my usual commute time, and started throwing all of my belongings in the back of Bernie(my RV.) She had been all but emptied due to a mold breakout a few days prior. I piled blankets and bags on the bed and slid my tools and cleaning supplies in the only walking space neglecting the empty cabinets and drawers.
I climbed into the driver's seat and steered out of the residential district, past the strip malls, and over the freeway. It had been too long since Bernadette's tires had rolled more than five miles in one direction. We had become strangers to long stretches of roads lined with more trees than houses. I felt a simmering excitement in my chest. At the same time, a deep relaxation. I absorbed the open country I saw into my psyche, allowing space between my thoughts. They had become compressed in Bay Saint Louis.
When I arrived at Sonny's property a fire was lit supplying a soothing smell of pine smoke. There were no neighbors, either seen or heard. Sonny, Paula and I spent the evening in nonchalant conversation sipping red wine. At some point, Sonny pointed out a hole in the firepit shaped like a heart. I took a photo of it for Paula because her phone was dead.
They offered me a sleeping spot on the couch, but I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again. I snuggled into Bernadette that night in gleeful peace. It was a feeling too overwhelming for sleep, so I opened up the note app on my phone and typed:
For two months I had been staying in Bay Saint Louis. Two months in the same bedroom with a rug that smelled like urine. Two months with the neighbor who threw yelling fits at midnight. Two months peeling up a moldy bathmat to take a shower. Two months hearing the same rambling complaints from my housemate as the day I arrived.
The picture sounds grave, I know, but I only saw it that way because I was ready for the road again. Two months of any type of sameness is enough to make me start smoking again (which I did the week prior.) My living quarters had been enjoyable and I was grateful for my time there, but none of those thoughts were present the day I left.
My employers at the restaurant, Paula and Sonny, offered me a parking spot at their place for my last couple of nights in town. I eagerly asked to leave early that day so I could pack up my things. I walked back to the house, shaving a few minutes off of my usual commute time, and started throwing all of my belongings in the back of Bernie(my RV.) She had been all but emptied due to a mold breakout a few days prior. I piled blankets and bags on the bed and slid my tools and cleaning supplies in the only walking space neglecting the empty cabinets and drawers.
I climbed into the driver's seat and steered out of the residential district, past the strip malls, and over the freeway. It had been too long since Bernadette's tires had rolled more than five miles in one direction. We had become strangers to long stretches of roads lined with more trees than houses. I felt a simmering excitement in my chest. At the same time, a deep relaxation. I absorbed the open country I saw into my psyche, allowing space between my thoughts. They had become compressed in Bay Saint Louis.
When I arrived at Sonny's property a fire was lit supplying a soothing smell of pine smoke. There were no neighbors, either seen or heard. Sonny, Paula and I spent the evening in nonchalant conversation sipping red wine. At some point, Sonny pointed out a hole in the firepit shaped like a heart. I took a photo of it for Paula because her phone was dead.
They offered me a sleeping spot on the couch, but I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again. I snuggled into Bernadette that night in gleeful peace. It was a feeling too overwhelming for sleep, so I opened up the note app on my phone and typed:
On Fire and Freedom
Chiseling away.
The surface is broken,
Light bursts through.
An audible gasping.
This is the heart-shaped hole
In the stump that the fire had carved.
This is the empty field
Beyond the interstate.
Drive away from the neighborhood.
Drive until you feel a chipping inside your ribcage.
Follow the road until you see the light
Shine through onto your steering wheel.
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