Welly, welly, welly, me little droogies, I'm sitting here at 03:30, writing a post that's sure to set a new record for sheer, meandering pointlessness, instead of doing the sensible thing and sleeping.
An old friend arrived in town today, so after escaping the workplace at the designated hour, I got a quick shower, finally got around to putting the new license plate on my car (yes, I am,in fact given to procrastination at times -- just ask Selective Service) and headed downtown.
These days, one can catch the MARTA train at a station called North Springs, which a very short drive from where I live. From there, the north rail line runs to a stop near Sandy Springs, Perimeter Mall, Northside Hospital and Buckhead, before merging with the Northwest line at Lindbergh. Pretty convenient, actually. The fact that it now costs $1.75 each way isn't so convenient, though, for all that parking is free, unlike in the old days.
This being a holiday, the traffic was fairly light, so no potentially road-rage-inducing incidents occurred, and my blood pressure remained normal for the entire drive. There's just something about hauling ass down the freeway on a summer afternoon with Steve Earle's Copperhead Road blaring over the car stereo that gives rise to warm, fuzzy feelings, faintly tinged with mildly homicidal nostalgia.
I'd brought along a book I'll probably review in the future for the ride, and spent most of my time filling my head with nineteenth century methods of distilling spirits. Unfortunately, I'm both a sentimental and nostalgic old bastard underneath my crusty exterior (and crusty Fruit of the Looms), so my mind began wandering in all sorts of odd directions. One of those directions was that of the mini-skirted, tank-topped lass a few seats away (How old must one be to qualify officially as a "dirty old man", anyway?), a direction that had nothing to do with nostalgia, and stemmed purely from my baser sentiments. She smiled and brushed at her hair, which served to tweak my middle-aged ego a bit, but led to an odd sense of disappoinment, as well. Where were you twenty years ago, cutie? Hell, I'm old enough to be your father.
Prodding it off that particular track, I allowed it to wander in other directions, and quickly regretted my decision, just as the train reached Midtown station. You see, gentle reader, I've been in rather an odd "space" for the past few weeks, one in which I often find myself looking back at certain events and regretting them. The worst aspect of being in this space is running up against the most painful and tragic pairs of words in the English language: "What if?" and "if only..." on a regular basis.
Midtown station brought back a flood of memories, as in the old days, we had to take the bus to said station and then catch the train to get to the places we wanted to go. This is fine if one wanted to go to Atlanta's "bohemian" Little Five Points section, but when one simply wanted to go to Lenox, it really was a case of "going around one's elbow to get to one's ass". As the service improved, buses ran directly to Lenox, which made things much easier. Never mind that by that time, I had a driver's license...
My friend was refereeing a fencing tournament at the World Congress Center, but I was so caught up in my reverie that in true dipshit fashion, I disembarked at the Civic Center station. D'oh! What are ya, some kinda "mo-tard"? Wrong station, numbnuts! Hey, wait a minute! Chris and I saw Black Sabbath over at the Civic Center back in '86! Not a bad show, if memory serves me correctly. The station was completely deserted, so I shut off the mental chatter and concentrated on the area around me, as deserted subway platforms ain't exactly my mostest favoritest places in the whole, wide world. Especially as they might merely look deserted.
I finally caught the next train to Five Points, where I had to switch to the East-West line. The few times a year I do go downtown, I seldom travel that far south, or else simply pass through that particular station on the way to the airport. Most of my business requires that I travel only as far as Peachtree Center station, except for the odd bit of jury duty and a demonstration or two.
"Memory hell" kicked in as I went up the escalator to the East-West platform. Used to ride this line to GSU, and to get to Little Five Points. I remember the time a bunch of us got crocked right in the Inman Park station. It's a miracle we didn't get busted. Did we do anything but guzzle beer and smoke weed that summer? How long was that chain of pull-tabs hanging from the rear-view mirror by the end of August, anyway? Ten or twelve feet? Must have been. Oh, that's right! Heh heh heh...we had it hanging between that pair of rubber tits that ol' so-and-so had instead of the usual fuzzy dice.
By the time I stepped through the gate at the Omni station, I was damn-near depressed. The Omni. Good Lord! When was the last time I was here? Must have been over twenty years ago. I went with -- Shut up! Don't even think it! Too late. The "what ifs" and "if onlys" then made me the guest of honor at an internal "boot party". Lessee...There's Philips Arena, so the World Congress Center must be 'round the corner. Damn, but that's a big building! Hope I don't have any trouble finding her.
At length, I found the correct exhibit hall, and located her without undue difficulty. The tournament ran until 22:00 or so, which left me little to do but wander around, head outside for the occasional smoke, or read my book. Make that try to read my book... One group of kids in particular was extremely vocal, so my teeth were on edge for a good bit of the time. Grrrr. Daddy would have put a size-ten boot to my ass for acting like that in public, especially at that age! Grrr. All right, kid. We know you're happy. We get it. Feel free to shut up at any time. My kingdom for a Cap-Chur gun and a few tranquilizer darts! Grrr. That must be their mother. Do the world a favor and get a hysterectomy, lady! Grrrr. Now the ol' ear's ringing. What's this little shit trying to do, set some kind of world record? Meseemeth I'm becoming a mite grouchy in my dotage.
This was, of course, the first fencing tournament I'd seen live, but truth be told, it was a tad boring. Aww, in real life they'd both be dead. Who cares who scored a point one millisecond ahead of the other guy? What we need is a group of archers over thataway to liven things up a bit. Now lessee, this here "doubler" contraption shouldn't be difficult to rig up. I think I got me yet another li'l project looming on the horizon.
Eventually, it ended, and we were able to grab some chow and talk a bit. I wish I could have been better company, but I'd been up since early morning, and as my energy abated, I found myself in yet another pensive frame of mind. It's an odd thing meeting a person one has known for over twenty years, but whom he hasn't seen in a very long time. So many "gaps" to fill, so little time, and three hours simply isn't very much time.
I gave vent to a few of my "what ifs" and "if onlys", and found that she had a few of her own. Only natural, I suppose. It was comforting, in a way -- not the "misery loves company" way, but rather in that of actually being understood. I thought of her life, mine, and the lives of many other people who'd moved in our circles, and how different they were from what we'd envisioned or expected when we were a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.
Atlanta was winding down and going to sleep by 01:00, so I headed back to the train station and managed to catch the very last eastbound train, and then the very last northbound. By the time I made the parking deck at North Springs at 01:45, the station was empty and dark. As I pulled onto the access ramp for GA 400, I had the road to myself. In its own way, the solitude was comforting. It provided me with time to think a bit more clearly; to step away from who I had been, and to focus upon who I am.
Tomorrow would be another day. I had things to do. I had a new project in mind. And I had Steve Earle and the Dukes.
"Now the revenue man wanted granddaddy bad/Headed up the 'holler' with everything he had/Before my time but I've been told/He never come back from Copperhead Road..."
If ,if,if....
If my aunt had wheels
she'd be a tea cart
Welcome to the hour of the wolf
I try and regret only the things I passed up
Posted by: ThatDamnYankeeJoiseyDebil | July 06, 2006 at 02:48 AM
Oh, there'll be plenty of that in the future...:-D
Posted by: Dave | July 06, 2006 at 05:41 PM