It started with a force similar to the Wicked Witch of the West showing up early this morning after a very sleepless night. I could hear her even though I couldn’t hear her and slowly woke up to the realization that the moment the men of the house had hoped maybe wouldn’t ever have to happen, was happening. My Baby and I, we’re holding out in the truck like a bunker against The Barbara with beautiful words and music flowing from the radio and playing around us as she swirls around us too. A little Tampa Tasmanian Devil, spinning crazy and getting just as cartoonish. “No Limit” comes on and Usher sings me into having faith in the man I’m sitting next to and walking through this with….”just know when u roll with a nigger like me, there’s no limit, baby. Baby we shine, you and me, we shine.” I’ve always said that when the shit hits, I hope for and am grateful for good timing and good company and to that I would now add a good soundtrack. The refrain of another song comes on as we discuss our options and strategize a game plan. I’m still in pajamas and trying to wake up to what my baby is saying…”you don’t want no problem, want no problem with me” refrains through our plans and lifts me into a better position yet. I’ve decided, I’m not doing anything that’s a reaction to what’s occurring. I feel myself resisting the urge to become unreasonable in the face of something unreasonable. I will carry on with my day as planned and get my truck tire replaced and no I will not take the camper with me and yes I will look for another spot to put her as soon as is possible and no I don’t want to just stick her in storage, and no, you cannot just open the truck door and make crazy demands. Go ahead and call whomever you are threatening to call; I haven’t done anything wrong. Vic held me in when I wanted to react at the ranch when we got there that Sunday night and my trailer was gone (we found it in the woods) and I’m holding him in now. It’s nice to know someone’s got your back and it’s a good feeling when you’ve got theirs. “This is good practice,” he says. “For what?” I ask. “For my mental.”

I’m folding the blanket and making the bed; recognizing the peace in the mundane and the centering effect that folding something down the center has. The blanket got smaller along with my problems as I sing along to the song in my head “you don’t want no problem, want no problem with me.” I’m still in my pajamas but now they’re starting to feel like my armor. I feel like I’m finally on a team and it is so much easier. We hug each other at the foot of the bed. “Are we good?” I ask. And when he says, “Oh yeah, we’re real good” I realize that, if him and I are good, I’m good. “As long as I’ve got my Starfish, I’m okay” he likes to say. So we make a break for it. He goes to work and I go to the garage with plans to be in touch and be in love. As I come out of the gas station I see my truck pissing what must be antifreeze onto the ground. “Jesus,” is all I can say. And as the mechanic puts pressure through the system, it’s like three little squirt guns shooting out in the illumination of the flashlight I’m holding…”Jesus.” Add to that the two front lower ball joints and controller arms and a $50 tire has just rolled into an $1100 estimate clipped to a clipboard and being presented for my consideration – and signature. Luckily, I’m sitting across from the pop machine that has this taped to it:

It is just money I remind myself, paper, it’s not my soul. I float it and it keeps flowing back to me, from me. My bank account or that of Abraham the mechanic, from the vantage point of us all being One, is there even a difference? And how can you not trust someone called Abraham, one of the Bible’s oldest names?

And now, I’m off looking at places to store my camper. We’ve decided, this comes as a bit of a surprise to myself even, that we will stay at Vic’s and just take my camper out on little trips on his days off. I’m sure I must’ve agreed under the pretense that this would be temporary. And I have, after driving and calling and asking for a few hours, found a place with the first month free and $70 after that. Just as I leave the place Vic calls to say that it’s been offered to work out a deal for staying in the driveway long-term. Super. It’s settled and we end up driving around talking and smoking and kissing and processing and enjoying and wandering into the future with with each other in mind. It’s a far, far way from Wisconsin….in oh so many, many ways. We laid in bed at the ranch and woke to the rhythmic gallop of horses after falling asleep under clearly seen stars and the utter silence within a dark, rustic, tree-lined landscape. We stayed in the eye of that storm and we’ll stay in the eye of this one too.

The next morning I walk out of the bathroom to the back of The Barbara in the bedroom doorway shrieking at my boy whose doing a good job of being defenseless under the covers. I say, “Excuse me.” “Excuse me!?! Excuse YOU!!!” she yells in return, to which I say, “Yeah, that’s what I said.” I think she would inspire a good Saturday Night Live character. Someone who tries to act all tough and insulting but can’t get the grammar right. Then she apologizes with, “I’ve got a chemical imbalance, sorry I yelled.” Then we’re all outside and she wants us to move a car so she can park, even though she doesn’t live there, and when we don’t she drives onto the lawn, jumps out and with the wild wind blowing her frizzy blonde hair and swirling leaves around her polyester red pants she yells, “fuck ya all, ya cunts!!!” and slams the car door shut. She then apologizes again and asks my name. It’s like being around someone with verbal turrets syndrome. I ask her if she doesn’t have something better to do than going out of her way to come and try to push us around. Doesn’t she have any friends I ask her, to which she softly replies, “yeah, I’ve got a few friends,” and then proceeds to insult Vic by calling him a nigger. Yesterday she called him a white boy; pick a flavor lady.