Jun. 01, 2005 - 21:24 MDT

MYSTERIES OF THE DARK

I was cyber-conversing with another person today about Circadian rhythm. My thought is that because I was born at 8:20 in the evening that set my rhythm to "Night Owl." Heh, I might even have something there.

Rewind to a childhood paper route, when on Sunday morning I would be out in the dark delivering papers while the world slept. I enjoyed that much more than delivering that same paper in the afternoons the rest of the week.

In me is something of an adventurer, milling around in the city of the dead (asleep) folk, the soft dark around my shoulders the moon my sole companion.

Of course in my high school years company of one sort or another lent liveliness to things and the dark was pushed off in the background.

When I started work at the railroad at the freight house my shift was second, in the winter dark came early of course and most of my shift entailed checking seals on boxcar doors in the rail yards in the dark, that and making trips to the freight houses of other railroads delivering waybills and such. Night became my boon companion again.

By then I was married and had a daytime life too. But riding the street car home from town at night always had an eerie effect on me, trying to x-ray vision into the front rooms of the houses with lights on, wondering was someone sick, or was a card game going on ?

Then I got a car, an old Model A Ford, a Victoria, with the hump on the back. My first car, a ramshackle sort of vehicle. What parts weren't haywired together were brazed. Working on that thing was a mess. But the night was mine, riding the empty streets on the way home.

Then being a bit older Heather and the kids went to Tampa on the train, I stayed behind to finish up paying the bills and putting things in order. Then I packed up and headed out in an old Chevvy that was about as creaky and wheezy as I am now. Not over forty miles an hour could be dared. I nursed it along, at that speed, Denver to Tampa was an astronomical distance.

I was younger then and was driving straight through, or attempting to. Periodic stops for gas and coffee was about it. My purse was light so the food was seldom.

After I got out of Colorado and into a bit different territory than the eastern plains it was all interesting.

But driving territory unfamiliar at night was a thrill. The moon would change from window to window as the car's direction changed with the road. Much of my driving was in the country with an occasional town lightening the sky ahead. Much of my driving was through country that seemed to have trees and bushes along the road, making a sort of tunnel like aspect to me. The growth seeming to be the moving things going slowly to the rear. Occasional bits of wild life being startled into fleeing the lights of the car added interest too.

Here I was in territory strange to me, alone in the dark, me and Edgar Allen Poe. Not frightening, but eerie in a way. But the dark was a comforter, a sweater with a comfortable collar.

It was in the towns in the daytime I got nervous trying to figure out the traffic and such. Usually in the daylight I would find a road that I would be on through the night with no confusing forks or turn offs. Much of the daylight scenery was drab to say the least, but when the moon shone it would wear a different costume one lending mystery and a bit of glamor.

I had company along the way, the sun in the day and the lovely moon at night, they both followed me all the way and welcomed me at Tampa too. Big Bill (my childhood imaginary friend) showed up on the seat beside me in a mood to converse and conjecture about things along the way. Talking and guessing what shape the clouds were taking - we never saw alike on that, what I expected at the end of the trip. After all those years Big Bill showed up, my imaginary friend who never failed me, the brother I never had.

In a way it was quite eerie, Big Bill was still the elder and his conversation was a cut above mine. He turned once in the dark and said, "You know when you get to Tampa, to your wife and your kids I will once again be gone from you." I nodded in acknowledgement and a tear rolled down my cheek. But he was lots of company along the way.

I was pushing myself, running short on sleep and all of a sudden I saw a boy on a bicycle riding down the center of the road, throwing newspapers right and left into the dark, he turned off before it bugged me too much and I went on, remarking to Big Bill that the paper boy was a strange apparition to be seen out in the country in the middle of the night.

A bit further down the road I erred and went off on a road I thought was the right one, way far down the road I saw the lights shining on the clouds of the city I was near and realized I had goofed.

I slowed, pulled over, stopped, turned around and suddenly my clutch hit the floorboard. I knew we were in trouble and ghostly Big Bill had nothing helpful to say, so I grabbed a pillow from the back and settled as comfortably as I could and dropped off to sleep right then.

I woke up with the sun in my face and the silhouette of a man outside of the car looking in on me. He made some remark or another about wasn't I uncomfortable there ? I answered as best I could and said I think there is trouble under the car and with that I got out and crawled under, finding that a clevis pin had dropped out of linkage. Searched for it with no luck. The man who was a farmer found out what was lacking and said he thought he had something that would work, headed for his barn and pretty soon came back with something that fit and I could bend it to secure it. I was invited to breakfast and declined, but with thanks for his help.

As I was pulling into the next town I told Big Bill, "Let's stop and have coffee and a roll." That invisible man got a strange look on his face with trepidation said something to the order of, "Man, I can't come in for coffee with you, if people heard us talking to each other you would end up in the nearest booby hatch. You go and I'll wait in the car."

So I slowly made my way across country, nursing a sick Chevvy and talking to a friend who had disappeared long ago. Getting more fatigued by the mile.

In Florida, in the dark with Spanish Moss hanging from the trees, the moon reflected in the drainage ditches on each side of the road Big Bill and I had our last conversation. He said, "When daylight comes you will be in Tampa with your family and I shall go once again." Once more a teardrop slid down my cheek, I knew it was so, knew there was no place in my life for him, and felt sad that it had to be. We talked of many things until dawn began to streak the sky. I asked him something, and the seat was vacant again.

Funny, I remember my trip as if it were made in the dark the whole way.

Disjointed as it is, those are some of my memories of living in the MYSTERIES OF THE DARK . . . . . . . . .

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