part 3 – up, up, and…uh……away, way west. and back.

first, i’ll reach back and consult the glossary of brain and memory, something that by now has been going on for almost a year – it’s something i found online and has become a mixture of oracle, influence and grasper of straws for me that steadies my mind (or what’s left of it).
officially –
from the glossary of brain and memory;
24.- Procedural knowledge – Knowledge concerning how to do something.

just as i’ve had to scroll back through old notes here in order to access Procedural knowledge on how to add to my ongoing glossary, i will use this to get through these things that are life’s task as they happen, or try to anyway.
there, i used it in a sentence.

this afternoon, i dug my car out of the snowdrift it was buried in last night. after that, i went upstairs and read an e-mail from drew who sent me this;

we made it onto google maps. that’s great news.
seeing our name there made me feel like that google map was america and we were las vegas or woodstock, maybe.
care to try on my rose-colored glasses?

…but for all the snow and googlemap fame, i’m still checking my gmail account.
it’s because the trip west i’m supposed to be telling you about instead of this procrastination-muscle flexing is wearing thin.

wednesday’s way west;
the morning after the book-reading and birthday show, i was air-training my way to us-air flight 90 to portland. i was supposed to have arrived there at four in the afternoon in a non-change flight that would stop briefly in pheonix, arizona.
unfortunately, because of blizzards hitting all over the west, there were flight shufflings that bumped me from my flight and was told that i had to wait some hours the next flight to portland.
i texted my friend, saying that i probably wouldn’t get the chance to visit wednesday, but would be around all day thursday.
she texts back “they’re taking me somewhere. i don’t know what’s happening…”
i had my christmas/birthday bag of goodies and had begun to write (with a pad and pen!) a journal of my trip that i would present to her when i visited the hospital.
i would not hear from her for the rest of my time there.
i found out from her cousin what was up later that night and was told that i wouldn’t be permitted to visit her any time thursday. i was sad and nervous for her but the doctors made a decision and that was that.
i became a reluctant tourist and spent wednesday night and thursday writing and learning a bit about the city.
i had a little rental car and a roof over my head and made the best of my time.
i found that waffles are very popular in portland.
i would find a library and become a momentary citizen of the state so i could go online and find out if there were any further communications from her cousin as to her condition. i would think “no news is good news” when i would find no further info about her in my gmail account.
i would think to myself that goodbye blue monday would fit out here like a hand in a glove.
i would book another ten acts for future dates in the store.
i would walk in the record-cold temperatures and find an old, restored drugstore where i would buy a greeting card art-card of this same drugstore, a tooth brush and a chocolate malted at their “fountain” (a real choocolate malted made with an old hamilton beach blender that looks like this;

and then walked the four or five blocks back to my car quietly in a nostalgic sugar rush and brainfreeze, blissful unaware of the 22 degree temperature.)

i considered staying another day or two but with no idea how long she would be kept on the quiet and a snowstorm forecast for friday night and saturday, i decided to keep to my planned flight home to new york on friday morning.
i would eat waffles and write in this notebook, i would find a coffeehouse and write in this notebook, i would find a shiny diner, eat pot roast and potato pancakes and write more in this notebook.
i would sit at the desk in my room in the travelodge close to the airport and write some more.
boy, i felt just like a writer.
i felt like the writer i remember i wanted to be when i was twenty and it was all aimed at this writer who told me that i am a writer and told me that a writer writes.
this is our bond. this is why i came here.
i just checked my phone for text messages and went to my gmail account for a note. i will go to facebook and my scrapbar myspace – these are our haunts. i know she hasn’t written, but it’s an attempt to veil things i’d rather not feel. a walk with the familiar. check the mail. just in case.
wckr is playing django reinhardt’s “la mer” –

note to self – ask her what she thinks of django and this song.
when i find this youtube video i laugh way inside the heart of me because it’s got the pic of two hands not quite touching.
our friendship has had many moments just like that photo, the monster-child aspects notwithstanding.

i would catch my flight back to new york, stopping again for a moment in pheonix, arizona.
i would change planes and have three open seats to luxuriate in the five- hour flight.
i would write and write and write, filling almost half of the one-hundred and twenty pages in this spiral-bound notebook.
landing in new york that evening, i walk through the terminal, looking for my way home. my phone alerts me of a text message.
it’s her.
“where are you?”
“i just landed in new york”
“what are you doing in new york? you’re supposed to be here?”
“i was, but had to go. wasn’t sure if i was going to get to see you”
“but it’s thursday – you’re supposed to be here”
my eyes were leaking when i texted this-
“it’s friday – you’ve been knocked out for a day. i didn’t know how long you were going to be sedated. i’ll call you when i get home.”
i would air-train back to the J-train and return to kosciuszko street and when i got home, we spoke and it was very emotional and she felt badly and cried and i told her that there was no reason for that and it’s a matter of galactic foreplay or something and i didn’t want to upset her and it’s just a little more of a reason for this ballet to play on and that i would come back out as soon as she says so.

i offer the definitive version of the above song in hope she finds this;

i also offer a snowcard to my friend, with love, from goodbye blue monday

she understands the language.

About stephen trimboli

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