One winter, on a whim, I drove up
to Michigan to see Lake Huron.
Big bodies of water had always
done me good, and despite the cold,
I wanted to go north.
The south was too easy, not rustic
enough for a bold, adventuresome spirit like mine.
When I merged onto I-71 North, I
felt the spirit of freedom overtake me.
I rolled the windows down, turned
up the radio, and sang along to “Running with the Devil” by Van Halen.
Along the way, I stopped at
various rest areas to smoke cigarettes and look for beautiful women.
I didn’t find any, and even if I
had, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to talk to them.
Driving through Detroit was
tumultuous, with its lofty byways and labyrinthine system of expressways.
I got to Port Huron in the
mid-afternoon—the birthplace of Thomas Edison,
A small port town right across the
water from Canada.
I walked up and down a commercial
street, and stopped in at a coffee shop
Made with dark oak beams and
designed like an old Gothic pub.
I sat at a table drinking coffee,
and stared at the reflection of a beautiful girl in a mirror on the wall.
The waitresses all had brightly
dyed hair, and the shelves were filled with old books,
And wooden gargoyles looked out
from above the bar.
I felt for the first time like an
independent adult, secure in my body, ready for any adventure
That might come my way.
I drove to the pier, and stood in
over a foot of snow, looking out over the water
At the Canadian shore.
The bridge connecting the two
countries hung like a giant frown in the sky,
As if a part of the upper
atmosphere.
I drove further north, and found a
park overlooking the water,
Which stretched all the way to the
horizon.
There, I watched the sunset and
wrote driveling poetry.
That same night, I drove back down
to Detroit and walked around downtown.
I passed the ice skating rink,
where happy couples skated by holding hands
And little children took careful
strides on their own, away from their parents.
I happened upon a dejected bum,
and bought him a meal.
He sat and ate a coney dog while I
recited him poetry.
I gave him twenty dollars for a
cab, and he embraced me.
That night, as I lay in bed at the
Holiday Inn, I thought about this bum
And the gift I had given him.
An unfamiliar peace fell over me.
The day felt complete.
I soon fell asleep, and when I awoke,
The sun’s rays were just barely
turning the sky a light shade of blue.
I got dressed, packed my things,
and went home
Knowing that life had more in
store for me when I needed there to be
And time is not measured in years,
minutes, or seconds—not when you are truly alive,
But rather moments shared with
those who need you the most
And the eternal love that lays so
often dormant within our souls.
