Written on 8-20-17.
Why is it so important for me to describe my setting when I write? It’s historical. Time is always in motion, so doing so puts an indelible stamp on a place, a feeling, a memory.
I’m sitting in our firetruck red ’01 GMC truck, and I am facing Jackson Reservoir and the dam; I’m looking straight out over our steering wheel. My laptop’s screen is resting on that steering wheel, and the rest is settled against my belly. A breeze blows through the passenger window and goes right out my open door on the other side. My little speaker cube is hanging from the rear view mirror, and the song Rise Above This is pulsing through the Bluetooth from my iPad Mini. That song reminds me of when we were getting my Masters, but that was a decade ago. We rose above it.
I’m drinking my iced coffee out of the 32 oz. Giant cup I used yesterday for my green tea when we drove here. Two more mini Mounds bars (I started with three) are nestled next to the keys and my sunglasses on the center console. They are dressed in red, and they remind me of little demons; constantly tempting me to eat their chocolaty, coconutty goodness inside. Damn Mounds bars! The message center on the dash is blinking the word SECURITY over and over again, because the door is open. Now, only one Mounds bar remains.
Belinda, the love of my life, is...