he hadnt held a pen in his hand for more than a week(it might have been his reason  or possibly his excuse) 

Aah  Thats better   he found a red ink pen in his bag

                                            nor had he penned a word outside the state of California(a state of mind) in more than seven years

seven   long   years

an internment 

           a determined self-exile

he felt alienfelt a creeping blue realisation  the longer he remained in California the things he thought he knew -- he believed immutable –shifted morphed stood up on their hind legs jabbed their thumbs at the air willfully walked away

hopeful theyd catch a ride

it didnt matter where

they would contend with what came

as he was selfassured he would contend with this trip

                                                                   T R I P

he tripped  tripped and fell

fallen  you get up brush off your hands and knees get going again

he hadnt planned anythingplanned on anything

     

                                               nothing

nothing

he was improvising

his sister had a quasi-plot

to her  struggling  a third bout of cancer  

everything was quasi

she joined him in the realisation of living day to day to day to day  then every day when retiring was a conquest

her days were existential

his were existential only in surviving his wifes death somewhat intact   wounds  deep  unseen

her quasi-plot was to visit the city

a city he was born in and wandered in his youth but over the last forty years he entered only twice during the daylight

he remembered things more than recognised them

they took a train into the city

six of them

        his sister her husband their daughter a nephew and his daughter(she made the trip possible  cajoled him)

six small ants in a very tall city playing off pheromones that twisted and helixed and folded on the wind that compelled them together and singularly

the lake effect affected them

they walked and talkedthey wound around and around meddled and broke clustered in threes four abreast paired reformed formed each had time alone with everyone

they took a fine lunch in the Tribune Building Howells and Hood(John Howells and Raymond Hood architects – “to design the most beautiful office building in the world” – accomplished)

afterwards they forged through the bracing cold wind to the lakefront and Navy Pier

he was a boy when he was last there

the pylons were rickety and tarred its planks scarred bolted in place and between them yawned just far enough to terrify him

he imagined he could fall between them into the cold water below and drown

drowned and become fishfood bothered him

being enclosed bothered him

ash was in his future

even then

he laughed at his remembered terrorhe hadnt been terrorised since his first few weeks in-country his first tour before his first firefight  terrorised he might run

it was oddly nice to recall that once he could be terrorised

he put the pen down

after 1800 in Illinois,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  8  3. 17

1026,  Monday,  13  3. 17

1409 days remaining or less