His cheeks were rotting with laughter, expelling worries like they were ready to hit the road. In the coming days he did just that, and I admired softly in the presence but envied his freedom. A thousand times over I told friends “I’m going, I’m gone without a sure trace of where to and how” but realistically it was just a dream. Yet, howling wanderlust ran through my mind. The howls ran through his fingers on the wheel.
In his mind, the road was his only friend, and his friend eagered for another thousand miles, conjoining together for the end of days and I couldn’t blame him for it. Tonight was no different as any other, and by that I mean his laughter and symbolic grunts drove through the atmosphere, even if we were just lounging with beers and smokes under a still roof that I saw as my cage – to him the cage was a rest stop of luxury and comfort.
Admittedly, youth was not an excuse for me to judge him. I didn’t want to judge him, and I couldn’t either. He was truly inspiring, powerful, robust with energy, and my peers otherwise wouldn’t see it as raw passion like I could. There was no need for such drivel, anyway, for he knew that judgment was not the sort of crime I could commit and I didn’t want it to be either.
Anyway, the humidity in the garage was becoming a staple in the moment. First overwhelming but quickly sorting itself out as a necessary cloud in the room. One with the smoke and one with the mood, I thought, but this was also just a judgment (albeit much more innocent). If there was a way you could stare death in the eyes it would be outside this room, and that kept me close to comfort. My instinct told me that he would not be the bringer of doom. Why that was important to me was odd, but it kept repeating in my ears “he is light, he is light, he is light.”
He didn’t necessarily despise his name by any means, but if he could do without one I’m sure he would. Unfortunate distaste for his own identity, I thought, but I thought too much and understood too little. Rather, a name for him was in the making and preferred to be seen to others as just another man with the same name as any other. Maybe it was Aaron, maybe it was Paul, maybe it was Dennis, maybe it was of French origins, or maybe it was just ‘dude’. In truth, it was Sirius, and in his eyes it was a fools name. He was dead serious about that, too.
If you’re wondering why I mention so much about who he is and what he thinks, it’s because I wonder for myself and writing is my assistant of clarity. For now, it wasn’t so important as much on exactly who he is or where he’s going, but why he is this man of visionary traveling. Originally, the road was something of a mistake for him, but later on in his teens the definition of a mistake meant not letting go, but now he just wants to go go go go go go go.
Again, I couldn’t blame him. Why would I? I want to go, too, but I hold back due to fear and lack of confidence in being independent. Well, that and to help keep everybody else afloat around here more so than I do for myself. This is why he is important. And also why everything can be so serious even as we’re smashing back cheap beers and less cheap cigarettes one after another.
Yesterday was a monumental day for me. I could explain why, but it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that it was the day I met this wild young madman and the day that the sky opened up and poured little specks of truth all around us wherever we went, because that’s what he stood for and that’s what I searched for and that’s what we crossed paths for.
And I’ve always said that truth forever exists if you seek it.