8.31.2010

atlanta, ghosts

stepped into the hot air outside hartsfield and it was like stepping into a box of old photographs, molecularly-altering, the treetops and air somehow coded memory-wise, returning and transporting me. S. picked me up and we went to a bar and had some drinks and caught up. went to bed late. woke up late hungover. had lunch w/ R, a great conversation about life and station and purpose and the immediate and unfortunate comparison that arises when you stand next to a friend w/ similar history but divergent life-goals.

next am, sleep till noon. long talk w/ S. i drop her at appt and i drive off on my own. atlanta sprawl, change, glass buildings sprung up like wild grass along busy corridors and the sensation of spirits flying underneath. to my old house on brawley cir, then thru murphy candler park, memories long forgotten rising like smoke from the earth, a mist somehow activated by my presence, then past chs to old house on ensign dr, past huntley hills pool, past the house where i split my lip, up to the elementary school, past the crosswalk where i was a guard in 6th grade, back down longview, past the plaza where athens pizza and razzle dazzle used to be but where now there are only vacant empty husks and shells, like abandoned ships in low tide. up peachtree industrial to johnson ferry, down past blackburn park, the ymca, marist, back to 285, back to sandy springs. a lifetime's worth of reflection in 55 minutes. places and structures with no meaning or utility for me in present tense but unquestionably formative in the past. and the distance between both is somehow eerie and depressing all at once.


later at home base. C comes over. have not seen her in 18 yrs. we have a drink, catch up, trade stories. soon a cab takes us - me, S. & C. - downtown. and then we're at the reunion. a hall of mirrors except what's reflected back is the present and past all at once. i say northern california, los angeles, my background is screenwriting and film multiple times, but then everyone is doing the same, like tipsy robots repeating their data cards. a couple disappointing interactions, a couple unexpected ones. overall, it is strange and odd and i feel the slightest sense of letdown upon leaving, in the cab ride home. hard to pinpoint exactly why. what did i expect really? i'm not certain but perhaps it merely has something to do w/ crossing that line, 20 yrs.

next day, to the circle of hell known as budget rent-a-car (more to come on that front), then i am driving to north carolina, to see my friend in asheville, who i have not seen in 18 yrs. a few hours and then i am there. and then he and i are having dinner, trading stories of the worlds we've been to in nearly two decades. and he is shaped by life as am i but we are the same. underneath the shells and the stories, we are the same young boys we once were.

next day, early am. coffee at the drip-o-lator cafe and then we separate and i'm on the freeway, back to atlanta. along the way, i come to realize some form of this thought: that ghosts to whom i ceded power are/were at bottom so powerless, a construct of my design.

5 comments:

Landon said...

This is your best post, so far.

Stephilius said...

Beautifully done, bp. Ties in nicely for me with what I believe: about when we communicate in the most specifically personal way, it somehow becomes universal. You tell your intentionally transluscent story, and I get it. No names, few distiguishable locations yet, somehow, I'm there with you.

Elizabeth Munroz said...

If we had only known back then how little some things would mean to us now, and how what we sought was right here inside all along! I agree with Landon. Great Write!

Gigi Little said...

beautiful post. translucent, yes.

CarrieP said...

I love this post. Beautiful and true.