being happy about walking away. Maybe the unknown-ness, of letting it all go, is exactly like shooting off in a rocket headed for the stars. Maybe my heart is already in orbit.
So much of this isn’t going the way I expected.
Hooper seems to really like Darwyn and Posey. They’re all getting to know one another in an easy way. Hooper tells them both how I got him a place to live. Posey tells Hooper how much her mother respects my care for abandoned animals. Darwyn says how I always have a nice word for him at school. I know that they’re talking about me, but it doesn’t feel as though I’m the person that they’re talking about.
“Actions,” Hooper says. “Actions are the true words of humans. Words can be said or written and they can seem so beautiful. Seem so true. But I have noticed that a human speaks much louder with his or her actions and not with their words at all.”
“What is it like where you’re from, Hooper?” Posey asks.
She asks it like she thinks he’s from another country. Like he’ll say Albania. Or Zimbabwe.
Darwyn stares at Hooper while Hooper thinks about his answer.
“Where I am from, words match actions. All of the environment works together. We think of the long goals and not the short ones. We never lie. But sometimes that can cause great pain. But where I am from, the truth is much better served. Consequences are weighed very carefully.”
“How so?”
“You have a game here. I have played it at the shelter. Chess.”
“I love chess,” Darwyn says. “I’m very bad at it.”
“In chess, you have to consider a few moves ahead. What the action and the reaction will be. You observe before you act. Here it seems as though you act before you observe.”
58.
Everything is taking longer than we think. Darwyn wants snacks. Hooper is interested in a mound of dirt. Posey needs to use the restroom. It’s late afternoon and we’re still in Victorville and the winter sun is setting and I couldn’t be more glad to have the day leaving me behind.
The sky is orange and pink and purple. There are some incoming clouds that make every color reflect every other color. It looks like that migration map. I am filled with a longing for the sky and its promises. The swirl of color mirrors my confusion about what I want and where I am.
I wish a storm were coming.
59.
We see it before we hear it. It’s right on the edge of town. The house is pulsating with color in the desert. Then the bass of the music hits us. It’s a house party. People are lingering outside of the crap-looking prefab house. They hold red plastic cups. There are blue Christmas lights in the window. There’s a keg stuck in the dust.
Cars are parking in the front yard. And I don’t know why, maybe because I’m tired and I want to stop, but I pull over.
“What are you doing?” Hooper asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“It’s a party,” Darwyn says, stating the obvious.
“I don’t want to miss the launch,” Posey says.
I look at Hooper. Hooper shakes his head. Posey looks at me.
“We still have some time,” I say. “We’re not that far away.”
We get out, and no one looks at us like we’re weird or like we don’t belong. No one here belongs. They are all hip and punk and crazy. The music is blasting from inside, and it’s more than just an iPod mix. It’s a live band.
Once inside the house, Hooper’s face lights up, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I would say that he looks happy.
Here we are at a party where we don’t know anyone. And we join the crowd standing in front of a band that consists of two keyboards, a saxophone, a stand-up bass, a drum kit, and a guitar.
A girl is singing into the microphone. She’s wailing. She’s got on heart-shaped sunglasses and a glittery miniskirt.
The bodies are moving all around us. Jerking this way and that. The bass player in a yellow shirt jumps so enthusiastically from side to side that it’s a miracle he doesn’t
So much of this isn’t going the way I expected.
Hooper seems to really like Darwyn and Posey. They’re all getting to know one another in an easy way. Hooper tells them both how I got him a place to live. Posey tells Hooper how much her mother respects my care for abandoned animals. Darwyn says how I always have a nice word for him at school. I know that they’re talking about me, but it doesn’t feel as though I’m the person that they’re talking about.
“Actions,” Hooper says. “Actions are the true words of humans. Words can be said or written and they can seem so beautiful. Seem so true. But I have noticed that a human speaks much louder with his or her actions and not with their words at all.”
“What is it like where you’re from, Hooper?” Posey asks.
She asks it like she thinks he’s from another country. Like he’ll say Albania. Or Zimbabwe.
Darwyn stares at Hooper while Hooper thinks about his answer.
“Where I am from, words match actions. All of the environment works together. We think of the long goals and not the short ones. We never lie. But sometimes that can cause great pain. But where I am from, the truth is much better served. Consequences are weighed very carefully.”
“How so?”
“You have a game here. I have played it at the shelter. Chess.”
“I love chess,” Darwyn says. “I’m very bad at it.”
“In chess, you have to consider a few moves ahead. What the action and the reaction will be. You observe before you act. Here it seems as though you act before you observe.”
58.
Everything is taking longer than we think. Darwyn wants snacks. Hooper is interested in a mound of dirt. Posey needs to use the restroom. It’s late afternoon and we’re still in Victorville and the winter sun is setting and I couldn’t be more glad to have the day leaving me behind.
The sky is orange and pink and purple. There are some incoming clouds that make every color reflect every other color. It looks like that migration map. I am filled with a longing for the sky and its promises. The swirl of color mirrors my confusion about what I want and where I am.
I wish a storm were coming.
59.
We see it before we hear it. It’s right on the edge of town. The house is pulsating with color in the desert. Then the bass of the music hits us. It’s a house party. People are lingering outside of the crap-looking prefab house. They hold red plastic cups. There are blue Christmas lights in the window. There’s a keg stuck in the dust.
Cars are parking in the front yard. And I don’t know why, maybe because I’m tired and I want to stop, but I pull over.
“What are you doing?” Hooper asks.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“It’s a party,” Darwyn says, stating the obvious.
“I don’t want to miss the launch,” Posey says.
I look at Hooper. Hooper shakes his head. Posey looks at me.
“We still have some time,” I say. “We’re not that far away.”
We get out, and no one looks at us like we’re weird or like we don’t belong. No one here belongs. They are all hip and punk and crazy. The music is blasting from inside, and it’s more than just an iPod mix. It’s a live band.
Once inside the house, Hooper’s face lights up, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I would say that he looks happy.
Here we are at a party where we don’t know anyone. And we join the crowd standing in front of a band that consists of two keyboards, a saxophone, a stand-up bass, a drum kit, and a guitar.
A girl is singing into the microphone. She’s wailing. She’s got on heart-shaped sunglasses and a glittery miniskirt.
The bodies are moving all around us. Jerking this way and that. The bass player in a yellow shirt jumps so enthusiastically from side to side that it’s a miracle he doesn’t
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