2003-12-05 - 10:55 p.m.

This is a story I’ve been thinking about writing for a couple of months and just finally managed to get on paper last night. I hope you like it.

Brian,

You’ll never guess where I am right now. I am sitting at a table in a motor inn in Bar Harbor, Maine. We’ve been here for 3 nights now and we’re heading out again tomorrow. We’re not sure where too, yet, but most likely we’ll be moving west. We’re almost out of North.

I’m sorry to have left so suddenly, and I hope you were able to smooth things over with the ‘rents and everyone else who expected us to be around the other day. It mayhave been irresponsible of us, but we had to go. Have you ever felt like you just had to run? Like everything you want to do and everything you are supposed to do is completely at odds andin the end it’s just easier to leave and do neither than have to choose? Maybe you haven’t. Maybe Leslie and I are a rare breed. We couldn’t stay still. Maybe it’s because we are over-acheivers and couldn’t move up any more so we had to move out. Maybe we’re just self-destructive but afraid of blood. Either way we needed something and what we had there wasn’t it.

Since we left, we’ve spent days doing everything you could think of and others doing almost nothing. The day we passed through Delaware we did little more than sit in a park and eat and it was still wonderful. We first stopped because all the trees looked so beautiful right there. Then, after a short while we noticed that there were only three different kinds of trees and while they looked like natural, pretty forest trees, it didn’t take long to notice there were never two of the same kind of tree next to each other. It was the kind of obssesive extreme community planning that looks very nice until you see through it and it becomes creepy.

But in the end it was fine because it was still a clear sunny day to sit and talk and lay back and close your eyes and watch the sunlight and shadows dance around on your eyelids. For over an hour while we sat there we didn’t speak to each other at all. I took out my notebook and pen and she took out her guitar and we sat and filled the time, alone in our thoughts, but together in smiles floated across four feet of grass.

One morning, a couple of days later, we were sitting in a cafe, I think in New Hampshire. It was the kind of place where you sit at your table and expect that when you look at the counter you’re going to see a round platform with an apple pie under a glass cover wtih a sign that says, “Homemade pie.” Then, when you do look, what do you know? “Homemade pie,” only it’s blueberry instead, because it’s just that time of year.

As we sat there, talking about whatever filled our heads still bleary with sleep, the waitress came to check on us and Leslie decided to ask her where we could find the American Dream. She laughed and shook her head, then looked at us and thought for a second. She filled up our coffees and said, “I think you’ve already found it.” Then she just smiled and walked off.

The thing is, Brian, there is something in all this that I can’t figure out enough to put into words that Mom will understand. You know, she’s a major part of why we left. We couldn’t take the pressure from her any more. I really do help you can help keep her from getting too upset. We just have to figure this out on our own and that’s really what this is all about. Right now we are just searching. We don’t know what we’re searching for yet, and most likely we aren’t going to find it in a waitress named Thurza. We know that. But something out here is going to help us find it, whatever it is and wherever it’s hidden.

Oh! I have to tell you about what we did today before I end this. It was amazing. It was the reason we are still in Bar Harbor today instead of just leaving yesterday. We had to get up very early. 4 AM early. I know, your brother awake at 4 AM, it’s crazy, but whatever. We got into the car and drove up to the top of Cadillac Mountain. It’s this beautiful mountain that overlooks the town to the east and the ocean past it. One of the locals told us that because of its elevation and such, it’s the first spot in the country to get sunlight every day. Which would explain why every other business here is called “Sunrise” Something. So we drove up there, got out of the car and wrapped up in a couple of blankets and watched the blue melt away to orange as the first rays of sun in the whole country decided our faces would be a good place to set up shop. But that isn’t the best part.

The best part is, just as we felt we had savored the sunrise just enough, we scrambled to the car, jumped in, and drove back down the road to a nearby beach where, again due to its elevation and such, the sun rises much later. And againwe took out our blankets, wrapped up in them in the sand, and watched the sun rise for the second time in one morning. It was amazing.

Actually, Brian, I think I can explain things to Mom. She won’t get it, but that won’t mean I’m wrong. As I’m sitting here right now, I can see Leslie sleeping nearby. I feel like I could stare at her forever or for five minutes and it wouldn’t make any difference because tomorrow, I’m going to remember it perfectly. The way the hair is falling across her face, the purt way her mouth is open in a contracted oval, and the way her hand is peaking up from the blankets, resting on my pillow, where it was lightly stroking the back of my head until she fell asleep and where my head is going to be again in just a few minutes. It looks so perfect and beautiful right now, and yet if I took a picture you couldn’t see it. All you would see is a person sleeping. In fact, that’s all I would see. The picture would be little more than another stupid thing for us to laugh about when we develop all of our film later. But right now, as it really is or as it will later live in my head, contains her. And, because I am here to see or remember it, it contains me. The moment, and every other moment of all of this contains us.

I feel that there is this force pulling me along wherever I go, and it is connecting me to her. Even when she’s not around I can feel it. I guess that’s what I need to explain to Mom. If I can feel her always, then why do I need a reminder? Why do we need rings like bows around our fingers to remind is, “Oh yeah, I have someone?” All that does is make it too easy to forget. Let the ring become the manifestation of that force. Suddenly that connection isn’t a part of us but rather a hunk of metal that we take off when we’re in the shower. Right now, it’s what makes us who we are. If we lose that, we’ll lose ourselves, so really, we don’t need someone else and a piece of metal to tell us we’re together when really, we can’t be any other way. I hope Mom understands and will forgive us when we get back. For now, I’m going to lay down. I need my rest. Leslie is driving first, but that means I’ll have to pick the music, and trust me, that’s far more important.

Wish me luck,

Jason