i am going to memphis in a little over a month and already i am plotting ways to get away.
is this angst, i wonder, only because i live on an island now and it feels like there is no getting away? like my life- which was once measured in trips of 200+ miles has somehow been hemmed in.
paris is 234 miles from my flat. three miles less than the distance from memphis to nashville.
can't we go to vicksburg, i asked garebear when we skyped yesterday and all he wanted to talk about was gravity's rainbow and the nose job scene in V.
or new orleans? i persisted. or jackson? can't we go elsewhere? can't we go anywhere?
and garebear looks at me like, daughter, wtf? then he looks at me like he remembers that this is who i am.
because much as i love that ridiculous city i come from it seems i cannot bear to be in it. it is, i tell anyone who asks me, a good two day trip.
you know you won't be able to take the cat with you, garebear reminds me and for a brief moment my heart contracts, because i really really really love that cat. but the rhythm of the muddy water against the muddy bluffs, the screams of the trains in the night as i lie awake waiting for that cat to come leap onto the bed, the heat, the cars, the guns, the sprawl, the church, all those abandoned best buys.
in the abstract, it is unbearable. in reality, it is bearable, but only slightly.
about 50% of the time i call it home, but it always feels like a lie.