Each shelf contained oil wrapped in oil polymers. Every gas station they stopped at along the way was essentially the same; rows of shelves, creating isles, containing the most absolute worst consumer available snacks often labeled “goodies”. Somewhere there was a schism in the mind of the applied ethics director of Mars to distribute and be consumed or continue to get fat off crinkly plastic enticing the gullible few to participate in a sweepstakes. CS strolled around and observed everything that made a roadside traveler’s stop, again, noticing the slight change in prices of certain items but the most obvious difference was in the sales pitch for fountain sodas. Each had their own refillable promotion cups.
The muzak piped in from a satellite radio station was always oldies. CS couldn’t help singing along from “Golden Slumbers” to “Escape”. Each finger tap touch to the polyethylene film became a beat like a snare in the rhythm section. CS selected, with the exception of a little fruit juice for natural flavor, the most worthless kaolinite coated package of confection to be slugged down with Chicago’s Klapman & Bern’s sweet sassafras pseudo beer and on the way out the dingle-belled door snatched up a brochure for the gateway arch.
M,
The weather is warm and all I could think about was how to taste a rainbow. I decide if I could fill my stomach with carbonation, I would float upwards like Charlie and his father from “The Great Glass Elevator” to at least the stratosphere, but I am too mixed with “whethers” and wouldn’t make it past the white lacerations of an airplanes exhausted frozen condensation droplets, I think you called them “contrail formations”. I believe my trail has been conned, or mixed. Either way senseless consumerism is my one form of self expression right now and aside from making a kite from these Skittles wrappers I have nothing that is getting my hopes off the ground, except your book which keeps me at least entertained and thoughtful.
It was Kepler who inspired my motion to emote this morning. I am making an effort to be more rational and reasonable but learning the orbit of every planet is in the shape of an ellipse left me thinking of far away dots and the ellipses of thoughts I could not finish on my own. Instead of a completed cycle I get only half-way to make an arch. I imagined it a rainbow. I kept thinking in my head “focus” but it came out “foci” with the accent of the south and was followed by the grammatically equivalent sentence: “Tha only thang I foci is me ‘n’ you ona plane”. It seemed so simplistically sweet I thought I had channeled the retarded spirit of Winston Groom’s fictional brain child or had created my own idioglossia from being isolated in a car without direct experience to civilization. I liked the thought of the motion of two bodies around each other though…
After passing the sign of Ill-annoy it was a blue indication sign that we were “Now Entering Missouri”. I read “misery”, as a marker of miles further from our zero mass and big bang. I’ll say St. Louis was awesome. I understand, subjective... but I am positive 836 tons of stainless steel would impress those people of Darwin boasting the largest ball of clothes line; therefore it is “awe” some. Yeah not much of a syllogism. I suppose that would be all confusion by excluding a premises or a silly-gism argument. Spooge in the funny face. But that is the best I can do for inductive reasoning for now. Other than I have decided there could be a tangible mimesis of string theory connecting you and me. This brochure declares 7,049,191 feet of twine. Unraveled it would link 1,335 of the miles that will be distancing us. Once again I am tormented by empty tin can telephone thoughts, heartless and cold but increasingly logical, however unpractical.
The bridge into East St. Louis was really… neat. We could see the gateway arch from the Mississippi river front, about 8 miles away. If the arch is 650 feet tall and we were 8 miles away what would the formula be to calculate how tall the building appears? Is there a solution for illusionary distance?
I really wanted to go to Planet Hollywood to eat but when we tried to turn around we were lost on the one way streets of Laclede Landing and Morgan Street. If I don't have a complete plan or business proposal prepared while dad is in overdrive, diversion can be difficult. I was so down town but really, what would we have done with Tigger and Cody while we were inside stuffing ourselves with proper velvet Elvis cake or whatever they serve there. Of course there were excuses why we couldn’t stop. I sat impatiently with my feet on the dashboard lifting the zipper of my hoodie to examine the tiny “ykk” letters then lowering it again slowly so the metal chinked every tooth in its decent. It’s an annoying sound, I know. I can be a brat sometimes when I don't get my way. If it is his way or the highway it didn't matter, I had had enough of the highway, just drop me off on the corner and I’ll find my own way back. The governor of the gravity gavel can put it in his pooper for all I cared. I looked in the back seat. The cats were panting and appeared drenched in sweat. Our friendly gay neighbors had given us a couple of dried stems of fresh cat nip. I reached behind the seat and into the plastic bag where the withered herbs were, crumpled the leaves a bit and left the bag open, thinking the plastic might not be permeable enough for the plants hallucinogenic toxin to circulate. Then I considered I might be wrong and the raspy breaths and sweat was an adverse reaction and their body was naturally trying to rid itself of the toxins. I was torn between the goodies feeling of helping and guilt. I gave up. I didn't know.
I wanted to continue on 70 North to Hyde Park but Dad found his way back to 64 deeper into Missouri, deeper into Forrest Park. He rolled up the windows, reached over and turned on the air. "Did you know that driving with the windows down while going over forty miles per hour is counterproductive to your gas mileage? You see, the wind causes a greater resistance with the windows down." I thought I couldn’t see the wind at all and it was just a matter of faith in existence. But then I remembered nothing mattered and wind was a greater part of that nothing according to the vast beyond.
The cats seem to be taking the improved aerodynamics of the car fairly well, or maybe it was the A/C. We stopped about every two hours to let them get out and walk around a bit. I’ve decided to live on skittles and root beer. I don't really have much of an appetite for anything else. It’s kinda nice. By the end of this trip I should have obtained enough wrappers to sew together a hot air balloon to escape back home.
The countryside is beautiful and the cities are huge. I just wish we were there already. I turned my head to see the cats in euphoria and my father yawning. Then feeling sedated myself stared out the window at the flat countryside. Father’s music was keeping the time in three minute and thirty second pop intervals. He liked The Eagles. I shuddered to the beguiling seduction lyrics of “Hotel California”. I used to think “Tiffany twisted” was a reference to the 80’s teen dance singer. Later learning that she would have only been six when the song was released and the allusion was probably more in reference to the twisting design of tiffany lamps that would make for 70’s hotel decorum, I wished for my childhood naivety to return to me. I did learn that Tiffany herself did eventually escape California into Tennessee with the aid of her mother.
8:47PM
Now we’re traveling to Tulsa Oklahoma. We’re going to drive straight through till we reach Oklahoma City, then stop there for the night. After that we’ll only have fourteen more hours in the car. That doesn’t seem that bad. For father however, it must be hellishly strenuous. For the native flying arthropods; their aerodynamics are halting speeds at an alarming rate. Traveling greater than 40 miles per hour is counterproductive to their phylum. I’ve only cleaned the windshield once in Illinois but I should probably clean it more since we’ve killed about twenty bugs since I’ve started writing this paragraph.
I have been listening to another tape of ours. There is a dark irony in the mood of Pearl Jam’s “Alive” as insects pummel the windshield. Moths, beetles and lightening bugs, they strike and stay illuminated for several seconds before sputtering out like a candle. I am trying not to see the dark constellations they create as oncoming headlights from across the meridian flash the shadows of their carcasses around the interior of the vehicle. The morbidity bade me to turn off the cassette. The dark irony continued as “Alive” was also the song selection from the disk-jockey on the alternative station the radio happened to be tuned into.
I am doing butt exercises with cheek alternation.
I’m sorry I haven’t said much about the trip in really good detail. There’s not much to see. We’re on highway all the time and it’s a lot like well… highway.
Midnight
Right now we’re in Oklahoma City. We’re staying in a Days Inn. Well at least that’s what it was when we arrived. We were tired and stopped at the first available place. We checked in and then left again to get gas, when we returned there was a vinyl sign strapped over the plastic fluorescence declaring it had now become a Palace Station. This of course excited my father into hysteria of conspiracy theory and set him off to the internet kiosk for research. I don’t know. At least at this hotel we didn’t have to sneak in the cats. I went outside and took each carrier to our room. On the way back I didn’t see father at the kiosk but could hear his voice in the lounge around the corner. I went back to the room. I played with the door key card a bit. Sticking in the slot and watching the light go from red to green, opening the door and watching it slowly shut again. Finally I put down water for the cats and fell into bed. On my back with my hands tucked under my head I traced the cloud wall paper border with my eyes and imagined my father’s seven star hotel skylights as they became the stucco ceilings of a mid-western palace.
Out here, the sky doesn’t change much. I’ve seen two different sun sets while being on the road and it still seems like home. Even in an “American Tale” sort of way it makes me feel like I’m closer to you. Besides your book there are other things which remind me of you. Road names and car plates, architecture and plant shapes. I know I’ve only been gone a day and a half but it’s hard when I know I won’t be back for a little while. It’s hard when we’re driving down the road and I realize that I won’t be back to my house for dinner. I won’t be waking up and meeting you before the sunrise. I will miss the feeling of anticipating entrance. I’m going to miss and miss out on a lot of things but I suppose it is not fair for you to think of them while you’re reading this. Just remember that I love you a lot and I haven’t stopped thinking about you, goodnight,
-CS
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