Last Sunday, I took my princess home. We had spent the day previous at my house, just her and I. I try to give her one on one time with me, but it seems that she is starting to no longer want or need that time on as an obvious level as she once did. My little girl is growing up, and it’s breaking my heart.
I decided to spend the night at my house instead of going back to my girlfriends. I needed to wallow in my own misery a bit. Little did I realize a storm was coming.
While in bed, trying to rest for the next day of pandemic style “working from home” my stomach started twisting in knots, painfully forcing me into a fetal position. Soon enough, I’d be spending long periods of time between that pose and on the toilet, where my bowels decided to act more like a kitchen faucet than a portal to excrete solid waste. But I digress.
Rinse and repeat. This is the story of the majority of my week. It is now Friday, my days and nights are mixed up and my body is in pain from the lack of physical activity. That’s been a theme of my life in the past 5 years, not enough physical activity.
I’ve missed my girlfriend. I’ve missed her heathens (as I affectionately call them). In the last couple of days, the same thing has overcome her. When I was prepared to come back, she told me to stay where I was, and so I have.
The last week has been interesting to say the least. I’ve been working on finding a new normal, a new routine, a new way to cope with these extraordinary times.
As one of those who still has a job but has been forced to work from home, I am thankful to still have my job. At the same time, I have much that needs to be accomplished at my actual home. A place I don’t spend much time at. The grass is growing, there are trees I need to cut down, and there is a car that needs to be finished.
So I began going “home” from my girlfriends house for work every day. Almost like a reverse commute. I have a desk there, I have dual monitors I have all of the “things” I need to do my job with much more efficiency than I do at my girlfriends home.
I used a lot of my “in between” time, which is time I’m not helping someone by scanning photos. I have an extremely large backlog of family photos and photos from my girlfriend. Ones she cares about deeply. Her album is quite literally falling apart, so I began with that, and have almost finished.
My trusty flatbed, one of 3 scanners I own
Between trying to get through this backlog of photos that has felt insurmountable for many years, the grass is certainly growing again. It’s something I actually hired out last year. The first time ever. After having a surgery that effectively removed my ability to sweat in one underarm I could not physically take the heat of the summer. I had no choice. I am not one to give up easily. I have to get back on that saddle and try again.
The Camaro has been sitting on jack stands for months now. I’ve finished replacing the rear brakes. I just did a modification to the proportioning valve that is supposed to increase the line pressure to the rear brakes, making them work better. I just need to bleed the rears, and change the sway bar bushings and end links. Then I have to begin on the front work I have planned.
I’ve had my youngest daughter with me for almost two weeks now. Her mother and I agreed on a temporary custody agreement to keep her from jumping back and forth between households. I will have her for one more week before she goes to her mothers house. Her school completely shut down at the start of this pandemic, but will re-open on the 14th of April to remote learning. For her, that means paper packets of learning activities she must do. No e-learning here. I’m happy to have had this time with her, but at the same time feel like I haven’t used it to benefit my relationship with my daughter. I’ve been away a lot, or working.
One thing I did do, was open up her ability to use e-mail. When her mother and I divorced, I created an email account for her for a multitude of reasons. I wanted her to be able to have one with her name instead of something with numbers on the end. I also wanted a way to send her messages from the heart that nobody would see. My intention was to give her the password when she graduated high school.
I successfully hid those emails I have sent her from view, but linked her email to her computer and her phone, giving her instructions on how to email her teacher that only produces a path where her teacher is emailed.
She has enjoyed this new ability, and has been writing her own pandemic journal, directly to her teacher. I think this has been helpful, as she was showing some major anxieties about her teacher. These kids miss the experience of school.
I must say, even though I was aware of this pandemic from it’s beginnings, I was ill prepared for it. Something I’m not all too happy about.
I was raised learning how to care for myself in any situation. Fishing, hunting and basic living skills were drilled into me at an early age. Tools such as knives, firearms and trap making are something I have deep seated knowledge of as well.
But here I sit, with no real emergency supplies of food. No water reserves on hand, or portable water filtration systems to use ground water with. No real firearms except my trusty 9mm handgun.
Taurus PT111 Millennium G2
A weapon that was confiscated from me under Indiana red flag laws due to a zealous sheriff’s deputy. It was then returned to me, along with my lifetime permit to carry a firearm after tensions were eased with my ex-wife and legal processes were able to finalize.
It’s true, these items are not something I require at this moment. They are not daily needs for survival. We are but a couple of steps away from them being as such however.
After my divorce, my 2nd Amendment Rights were stripped from me for a period of 2 years due to a couple of reasons I will not disclose here. Once all of that was over with, and the state returned my “License to Carry Handgun.” I thought I would test this approval. So I went to a gun shop and bought what is called a Stripped AR Lower Receiver. This is the only part of an AR that is truly considered a weapon, and requires a background check to purchase.
I passed the background check, I was so happy. That was really the only reason I purchased it. To see if I could. I had no major interest in building an AR-15. I had no need for one.
A year later, an opportunity presented itself where I could purchase a complete AR-15 at a steal of a price from a different gun shop just down the road from me. I sent the guy the funds and went to do the background check as soon as I could. I was denied. Wait, what? I don’t understand? The store owner provided me with paperwork on how to figure out what was causing this and how to resolve it. So I proceeded.
I was now speaking with the Department of Justice and the FBI. (Hi there). In essence, they were saying that I was put on a list. One you can never be removed from. This list (actually a database) is what denies persons from purchasing firearms in this country. I provided them with all of the legal paperwork I had including court orders from a judge to have me removed from said database. That did not matter to them. They ended with essentially stating they were done speaking with me, and any further communications should be done through my state firearms division, leaving a department name and address.
So I started speaking to them, over their own encrypted email systems. According to them, there was no problem at all. That according to my state I have my 2nd Amendment Rights without question. I kept pushing and asking but have still to this day, not received a response regarding the issue with the DOJ and FBI.
As of right now, I am simply waiting until 2022 when I can officially request that all of the records of these events be expunged. Then I will attempt another firearm purchase.
I want to be crystal clear on this fact. I am not writing this with a political perspective, and I do not want my words to be used for any political means. I am giving my personal story of how these laws and databases have affected me personally.
The panic buying, the people not listening to their governments the hoarding made me realize I was not equipped to defend myself or my family should it come to that sort of situation. So I have begun building an AR-15 from that stripped lower I purchased a couple of years ago from a licensed FFL that required a background check.
I purchased a complete lower parts kit from Palmetto State Armory, a well known supplier of firearms and firearm parts. I started building last night, I have found it as interesting as enjoyable. I haven’t worked on weapons since I was a teenager and civil war re-enacted.
So far, I have only installed the Magazine Catch, Bolt Catch and Trigger assemblies. This unit has a trigger guard built in, which many do not.
I have found that I will need an armorer’s tool in order to torque the buffer tube correctly. But I should be able to assemble this lower without any other special tools. They help, but are not required.
Once finished, I will find a pre-built upper assembly to purchase, and this weapon will be complete. All parts simply delivered to my home. No background checks. In many ways, it’s like shopping on Amazon.
I can then begin to stock things to feel comfortable in a “end of the world” situation, like MRE’s, ammunition, and a water supply.
To some, preparing for the end of the world or society is something only crazy persons do. To me being prepared is never a bad thing.
It’s been a while since I’ve written. I’m really trying to make a conscious effort to not keep up with writing my thoughts. It’s important, especially in times like the ones we are having now.
The entire world is now dealing with the effects of the COVID-19 virus. Infections and deaths are rising at a exponential level. It’s a situation I’ve never seen in my life. As a parent, it’s scary. As a person, it’s scary. As a survivor, I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this.
Last week, the governor of Indiana initiated a Stay-At-Home order. Indiana University has instituted it’s pandemic plans by extending spring break by a week and moving all learning to online. They have also asked that nobody come to campus unless it is absolutely necessary.
As of this writing, there are 22 confirmed positive cased of COVID-19 in Monroe county. I have been watching the numbers on a website the state setup. I expect that number to increase significantly over the next few weeks.
As a IT Professional supporting the School of Medicine in Bloomington, this situation has made work a very difficult task. In the weeks previous, I spent all of my time building new laptops and preparing my staff to work remotely, by giving them the information and tools they needed to keep working. Over the past few months, my remote support abilities have been all but taken from me, as I specialize in direct and personal support. I hope my leadership works on returning those soon.
IU has stated nobody will lose salary or PTO due to this situation, and I am greatly appreciative and grateful for this. Many right now are unemployed or have completely lost their jobs. However, since technology is everything now, I have been inundated. I take my job very seriously, and my faculty and staff need my help right now more than ever. I will not falter them in their time of need.
I am of a split mind when it comes down to how to look at this pandemic in the long term. In the short term, I am hunkering down with my girlfriend and her children. Sticking together and practicing this new term we have all come to learn called “social distancing.” My lifestyle is pretty much what social distancing is all about, so it does not bother me.
However, I feel carelessly unprepared for this. I keep no food at home. Also, if it becomes as crazy as the store shelves look out there, I don’t have the weapons to protect myself or my family. Yes, I am serious.
Regardless, I am a survivor. I was fortunate to have a childhood that gave me lots of gifts. I spent a lot of time on a family farm. Sure, my skills are rusty, but they are there. I can find a nice spot in the woods, build a shelter, hunt game and gather edible finds. That does not scare me.
I must say, we definitely have biblical signs of the last days upon us. First was the locust invasion in Africa. Now we have a worldwide pandemic that would have definitely been called a plague in times past.
I have ordered more parts for building a rifle. I am ordering cases of US Military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), and will ensure I have portable water filter systems.
No matter what happens, me and my family will survive this. I only wish the rest of humanity the best as we struggle with a pandemic that hasn’t been seen since the Spanish Flu.
Two weeks ago, I got sick. It was a sinus pressure buildup in my head. My head pulsated with migraine like pain.
After taking a week’s worth of Mucinex, the pain went away, or I thought it did. It simply moved to my chest. For the past week, I’ve been dealing with chest congestion. It hasn’t been fun.
Then, the only words I really have for this come from Star Trek The Next Generation, “shakka, the walls fell.”
News of Coronavirus and COVID-19 spread like wildfire. I wasn’t sure if this was just the next hot story in the news cycle or something to be legitimately concerned with. I’m still on the fence in all reality. But I am taking all of the actual news I get under advisement.
In my work at the IU School of Medicine, I’m fortunate to have personal and professional contact with doctors and experts in the medical community. Their calm, keeps me calm.
I’m one to live light, so that I do not have a central base and I can bug out easily. I know others are not as fortunate in that regard. I live knowing I can go to many places across this and other countries if I need to. Connections are everything I have.
My girlfriend recently needed to go grocery shopping and we were shocked to find limits of 4 cans of any item in place at Aldi. Kroger having similar limits as well. Toilet paper seems to be the thing people are hoarding in the USA for this pandemic, I really do not understand why.
I know my thoughts are rambling through this blog post, where I typically try to keep them on point, but I must get these things out.
I have a weakened immune system due to a skin disorder and medications I take for that disorder. Social distancing is something that comes natural to me, as I’m an introvert by heart.
My job has been very mixed on this front, as I answer to different people. My director wants us all to come in tomorrow, while the university’s stance at this moment is work from home if you can.
No matter who you are, or where you are from (I don’t know if anyone even reads this blog), stay safe. This is a time when social isolation is good for humanity, so do it. If not for you, do it for me. I am one of those who could literally die from the spread of this virus.
I’m going to leave you with a great song by a great man with a great band called Half Pagan.
I noticed something yesterday, something that I used to think was very strange. My father used to be very aware of the price of fuel. So much so that a 5 cent change would alert his “spidey sense” as it was.
When I was a teenager, we drove 50 miles 1 way to Paoli for fuel. It was the brief period of time in my life when the price of fuel dropped below $1 a gallon.
Shortly before he passed away, he actually called me once and used the phrase “end times” about the price of fuel. A local gas station had made a mistake, listing the price of fuel at $9.99 a gallon.
These words highlight one of the quirks about my father, always paying the utmost attention to the price of things small and large.
Throughout my father’s life, he had a lifelong connection to Bedford, and would often fill his gas tank there, as the price was always cheaper and he was always traveling there. Much like what I do now, with my youngest daughter living there. With the costs of living only going up and up, I have been trying to save costs where possible.
I have found myself purchasing fuel in Bedford, purposefully for the past few years. On average it is 20 cents a gallon cheaper, and sometimes more. I have had occasions where on a trip there and back, I have seen the price in Bloomington be close to what the price is there, only to return to find the price has spiked by 30 or more cents a gallon.
Yesterday Amelia had her first ever Robotics competition there. I filled up my gas tank for $2.999 a gallon, where it is $2.559 here.
Newspapers and TV stations have ran stories on the oddity of the price of fuel in Indiana, and locally we are told that it is “hard” to deliver fuel to Bloomington, causing the increase in costs. I have seen the same spread in prices locally, which takes that equation out of the mix.
Even though my old man seemed crazy about the price of fuel, and had oddities about his purchasing habits. He was right all along. I miss ya pops.
Last week, I took a trip to my familial homeland. It’s a place that much like Rodney Dangerfield, doesn’t get any respect. I respect it though, and it will always have a place in my heart. So much, that I have it tattooed on my body.
Keep it easy on the gas ’round these parts or Joe P Law will make you pay
I didn’t have many reasons to go, I just needed a break. I felt as if I was sinking deeper and deeper into a depression. Nothing that I tried would get me out of it. I knew this would.
The one reason I went however, was to give my uncle the driver’s seat out of dad’s IROC. It was ripped on the edge, and trust is more important than anything else to me on this car. I trust the man with my life, and I trust him with dad’s car. After looking it over, he believed the best route would be to completely replace the seat covers with new ones. Something I didn’t want to do, but his experience is trusted and valued. So I bought new seat covers for the front seats, a $600 expense I wasn’t expecting. They will be custom made and sent directly to him. Where I will then come back in a few weeks with my other seat to have brand new seat covers on the front seats.
I spent some wonderful 1:1 time with my 3 beautiful aunts, all of which I love and adore. They feel like the only family I have left sometimes.
I then went on a mission. Something I had thought about but never attempted. I went to Tahlequah, marched into the Cherokee Nation headquarters and asked what it would take for me to become a member. The staff was wonderful and very helpful. I knew my great-grandmother was on the Dawes Roll, which is the requirement for entry. They told me that I actually could enter via my grandfather. I just needed his death/birth certificate, the same for my father and my birth certificate.
One of my aunts provided me with my grandfather’s death certificate. Another gave me a copy of his birth certificate. When I returned home, I ordered a death certificate for my father and birth certificate for myself. Now I wait.
I felt refreshed and ready to take on the world, my trip was over. But why stop the adventure there? I decided to take a route home that I had never taken before. I decided to take a southern route via I-40 to Memphis, where I visited a place of eternal rest.
The most peaceful and calming cemetery I had ever been to.
It was a rash decision, based on my happenstance. An author who appeared in Ken Burns’ Civil War is buried there. His colorful and vivid oratory sparked interest in the subject for me from an early age. I felt it was a duty to pay my respects and thank him in the best way I knew how, for the gift he provided me as a young boy.
I’ve never been a big reader unfortunately, and had never read any of his works. I just purchased one of his novels and can’t wait to read it. If his writing skills were as good as his vocal ones, I know I will love it.
I’m back home now, where my amazing girlfriend missed me. I missed her as well. I’m finding my soul to be as complex as it is empty at times. I need quiet reflection. I need times completely alone and quiet, and I need ways to escape the mental anguish I continue to face. I accomplished that during this trip.
Now to begin a period of financial self restraint, which I’ve never been that good with.
That’s a quote from Will Rogers, celebrated son of the state of Oklahoma.
My youngest daughter last spring break, at the state line.
Right now, my mind is on nothing else. With all of the stresses life has thrown at me, it’s time I get out of dodge and escape for a while.
It’s a trip I’ve made since before I can remember. My first memories of Oklahoma involve my first time flying. We boarded a TWA flight out of the old Indianapolis International Airport, with a connecting flight where we then boarded an Eastern Airlines flight. I don’t know where the connector was, but to this day there is no direct flight to Tulsa from Indianapolis. So I drive.
Depending on factors of children or others along on the trip, it typically takes between 8 and 12 hours. I know the route by heart, the road frees my spirit. It’s a big reason why I often considered being a truck driver when I was younger.
Don’t let the contrast fool you, this woman is a bodybuilder! I know her as my aunt.
I miss my aunts and uncles. They have a southern twang in their voice and hospitality in their hearts. My oldest cousin is having a birthday, he always looked up to my dad. I try my best to keep the traditions alive.
This is my American Gothic, and I cherish it tremendously.
One of my uncles will be receiving a gift of sorts too, the driver’s seat out of the Camaro. It is in need of repair, and he’s the man for all things upholstery in the area, and the only person I trust with such items. I’ll drive back sometime later to pick it up. I’ve done the drive in 48 hours before, I can do it again.
I think a week with these folks will do my heart and my mind well. The trappings of life have really gotten to me lately. Maybe this is why dad and I made so many trips when I was younger and he was my age?
As twenty nineteen draws to a close, I welcome those roaring twenties with open arms. The teens have been primarily full of hardship and strife for me.
I lost both of my grandmothers. My father passed away unexpectedly. I had a horrible divorce with implications that still impact my life.
On the upside, I finally gained full time employment for the first time since 2006, and then within a year I advanced my career to a place I never thought I would be professionally.
I went on some wild and crazy adventures and found love again. But I constantly feel as if life is not worth living due to those losses I faced. My hunger and motivation just aren’t the same anymore.
I look forward to twenty twenty. May you bring some of the same things you brought the twentieth century. I’d love to see society step up it’s apparel, lets bring class back to our lives. I want to see the optimism of my youth make a return. I want to see my daughters grow, learn and continue to become the things they want to be.
My plans for twenty twenty include finally beginning to drive dad’s IROC-Z, revisiting New Orleans and continuing to try to get myself over the grief I face on a daily basis. I never imagined how heavy my heart would feel five years post my father’s passing.
My life motto since that event is tattooed on my left forearm, something I stitched together from a letter my dad wrote to me while I was at church camp.
For some reason, I’m feeling all nostalgic today. Reading a post on reddit reminded me of the second car I totaled. Today I will write about my first. You never forget your first.
I have to setup the scene of how we ended up with my first car however, as that is a story in itself.
It’s summer 1995. We (my mother, stepfather and I) had just moved to Main Street in Ellettsville, IN from our home on the south side of Bloomington. Rent was $150 less a month there, the area had less questionable activities happening around us. My stepfather wanted to take a vacation to the Smoky Mountains, so we did. It was a good vacation. It was the only “family” vacation I really remember.
My mom and I.My now ex-stepfather and I. I’ve only randomly ran into him twice since he split with my mom.Me on my new bike at our campsite. I still have that bike, and it’s still in like new shape.
It was a good vacation, and we all had a good time. There are memories from that trip that I’ll hold with me the rest of my life. What happened when we arrived home however, was frightening but gave me another memory. One that I’m writing about right now.
Where we had moved to was right behind Jack’s Defeat Creek, a defining feature of the town. While we were gone there was a massive storm. The creek swelled to levels I didn’t see until I was in my mid 20’s. We lived in a duplex, our neighbors car had been flooded to the roof line. The water didn’t recede for 2 days. He had changed the fluids and done what he could to dry it out, but the insurance company totaled it out. He offered it to us, since I was getting close to the age to legally drive. The price? $383. My stepfather bought it without hesitation.
The car was to serve as a backup vehicle for him and my mother until I got my drivers license, then it would be my car. But I had to work for that car, it wasn’t handed to me. It was my job to turn this flooded out car into a running, fully operational vehicle that anyone would be proud of, and I was totally up to the task. So I got to work.
The electronics were ruined in it due to the water. All of the interior soft components were also water logged. The first step was to remove the entire interior. On good days, I would take all of the items outside to bake in the sun. This car had an electronic dash, something many newer vehicles have but at the time this car was built it was fancy and special. I was able to get it dried out and work again, but the radio was a goner. This radio was interesting however. Due to the design of the dash, it was in two pieces. There was a control section and a tuner section. After scouring the local junkyards, I was able to find one and it worked!
Next up was the mechanical. The 2.5L “Iron Duke” engine in it was very sloppy. There was oil and coolant leaks all over. Once I got those under control, I replaced almost every electronic component under the hood. I then changed the brakes, wheel bearings and shocks.
By this time, all of the soft interior components in the car had dried out. I cleaned them profusely and reinstalled them. The car was for all purposes, done. I still didn’t have a license however, bummer.
Summer turned into fall, and fall turned into winter, then winter turned into spring. My home life had changed significantly. The parents of the household were having arguments and serious conversations revolving me and my father. My stepfather at one point said “Maybe we should stop letting Lee see his dad.” That was all I needed to hear. I thought for the first time in my life, my mother had built something not based on alcohol and drugs but on a family. I was only living with my mother because my stepmother “said I couldn’t live there anymore” according to my father.
I would be leaving, the only question was how, when and where. By this time I spent a lot of time on the internet. I spoke to a lot of people, primarily in the Oklahoma City, OK area. I had been talking to a couple of girls around my age that lived in Valparaiso, IN and Round Rock, TX however.
I eventually made a plan. I was to go see and possibly live with this girl in Round Rock, TX. I had never even been to Texas before. Bye bye Indiana, you’ve left me nothing but trauma and abuse. One night, I packed a large duffel bag with clothes and things I would need. I waited until 4 or 5 in the morning, and army crawled into my mom & stepfathers bedroom and took all of her money and the keys to the car. She had just gotten paid, so it was around $400. I pushed the car out of the driveway (it’s a small car) and down the street a ways before I started it. And I was gone.
My first stop was at the Pilot truck stop in Terre Haute, IN. It was my “last chance Texaco” opportunity to turn around and be able to make it seem like nothing happened. I filled up the gas tank, and headed down I-70.
I’ve traveled to Oklahoma since I was a baby. I know the route to many places by heart. GPS wasn’t available to citizens yet, but I did have a map in the car. Due to the lack of sleep, and adrenaline pumping through my veins, memories of much of the trip were not saved in the hard drive in my head. Not until I made it to Topeka, KS. I had made a mistake, that I do remember, and I decided to just keep going.
By this time, I had been driving for a long time and needed a break, some rest. I had talked with someone in Topeka over the internet, and she gave me her number. I stopped at a mall and called her, she gave me her address and I was on my way. I was a teenager at the time, so nefarious things were obviously on my mind – but what I really needed was rest. I arrived, and didn’t know how to act or react. Their home was filled with clutter and trash, literally. There were trash bags everywhere! I gave an excuse that I had to put some transmission fluid in my car and that I’d be back, never to return.
That’s when I got my map out, and I started looking. I want to go somewhere to rest. I can’t rent a hotel room, and I can’t get comfortable enough in the car really. What do I do? Maybe I can drive to my aunt Beth’s house? She my youngest aunt, and has always been a little on the wild side. Maybe she’ll give me a place to stay for the night while I’m on my way? So I found US 75. Wow, pure heaven that road is. I need to take it again sometime. It’s like route 66. It lead me to Tulsa, which led me to my aunts apartment, in the tiny town of Westville, OK.
When I got to Westville, I stopped at a gas station and paged my best friend, with the phone number to the pay phone I was at. He never called back, so I proceeded to my aunts place.
I got there, but she wasn’t home. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t really know where my other two aunts lived at the time. My grandfather was in the area, but I didn’t know where he lived either. So I left a note on her door and sat in the parking lot, resting. After a while, she got home. I watched her read the note I left and go inside.
After a few minutes, I decided to knock on the door. Why was I so nervous? This is my aunt, a person who loves me. But I was rattled to my core. Did I make a wrong decision? She was on the phone with my dad. Gah, she ratted me out! My plan is ruined. He wanted to get me on a Greyhound and get me back to Indiana, and worry about the car later.
So she, I and her infant son Alex spent the evening catching up and I finally got some rest that I needed so badly. That was until the police department came knocking at her door in the middle of the night. She answered the door, and they asked for me. She woke me and I went to the door. In my mind, I figured the jig was up. They were going to arrest me. What they did still makes me wonder. They just asked for the keys and left when I gave them to them. It was years later when I found out what happened afterwards.
The rest of my time in Oklahoma during that occasion is something I would do again in a heartbeat however. I won’t go into detail about it in this post though.
My mom and stepfather apparently drove out and got the car while I was there, and left me. My mom then drove out again and got me. How she knew where my grandfather was living surprised me however. This was the straw that broke the camels back with the marriage of my mom and second stepfather. Shortly after my return, he moved out.
I finally get my drivers license, and I’m finally able to legally drive! Yes, we still have this car I stole and drove cross country without a license – and it’s MINE. I’m so excited.
Three days after receiving my drivers license. My best good friend Craig and I decide to go fishing at what’s called the Snake Pit, it’s the day after Thanksgiving. Being freshly licensed teenage males, we are driving aggressively and generally doing things we shouldn’t. That’s when I made a mistake, one I’ll never forget.
The road to the Snake Pit is gravel. It leads to a cove of the largest lake in Indiana, Lake Monroe. The road forks in one spot, with the left fork going in an upward direction. The right fork goes downwards towards the lake. Memories become hazy, but I swear the throttle became stuck. I was losing control and was panicking. I did my best to steer towards the left fork in the road, but the car went in the middle and flipped. In an unlikely turn of events I was actually wearing my seat belt that day, something I didn’t do back then.
I was hanging inside the car. My seat belt wouldn’t unbuckle. I had to get my pocket knife out and cut the seat belt to get out. It broke while doing so, swinging around and cutting my hand. I still carry a pocketknife to this day, just in case something like this happens again.
If you notice, I haven’t said much to describe the car up until now. This car was and is still a very rare car. Not an expensive or exotic one, just rare. It was the cousin of the Pontiac Grand Am. A 1987 Buick Somerset GS, Grey with a Grey vinyl top. Here are the only images I have of it. Taken from the lot it was towed to.
The shadow is highly representative of how my soul felt at the time.
Not all memories fade. Price does not equate happiness. The smallest things can fill the largest part of your heart. My aunts and I still joke about this, and they know I’ll forever trust them with my heart.
