This is a story about Destruction

7/21/2002

Aral left town for the week and I've got the apartment all to myself. So I trashed the place, just out of principle, and didn't leave for two entire days, until the apartment building caught on fire again. I'm serious. It's funny; I'm out of work, there's just enough food and no money, and my building caught on fire again. Luckily this time it was just someone's kitchen fire that set off the alarm, and so there were no dramatic flames jumping out of the windows.

The front page of the Boston Globe a week ago confirmed all my suspicions about the past year; America is genuinely is worse shape than it has been since the 1970's. I got that newspaper just days after losing a chance at another job - one I hadn't even really wanted - in Atlanta. I found out that it would be around a grand to move all my stuff from Boston to Atlanta, and I'm so broke I can't afford to go to a movie, let alone shell out a grand. The stores of produce my Grandfather gave me are wearing out.

So, things are bad. But times like these will make you take stock of your life. Have I ever mentioned what amazing friends I've got?

This is a story about Destruction.

In March of 1998, I was working full time as assistant manager of a children's bookstore in a mall just outside of Nashville, Tennessee. Actually, I was working more than full time, because my fiancé and I had just split, and I didn't want to think about anything except working. I had been out of college for almost a year at that point, because I ran out of money. My only focus was getting through the spring and summer so I could go back to MTSU, finish my first degree, and move the hell out of Tennessee as fast as I could. I knew I'd be in hell for another two years at least, but I tried not to think about it. Hell, I tried not to think about anything. All my possessions were in storage, because when the fiancé split I lost the rental house we shared. I was couch surfing, carless, and working retail more than forty hours a week.

So one day, in that fine warm spring, three tornadoes sweep through the city of Nashville.

No kidding! Only a few people died in the tornado, but it was a really big deal. Out of curiosity and a general carelessness for what could happen to me, I went out on the hillside of my parent's home at the time and was able to watch a smaller tornado rip through the trees on a hillside just 3 miles away. It was amazing.

The day after the tornados, I was at work, but business at the mall was pretty slow. Half of Nashville was still without power, and downtown was shown on TV as a disaster zone. Police were asking people to stay out off Nashville while clean up crews went around removing downed trees and clearing the streets of broken glass. Somewhere near the end of my shift, two friends of mine, from High school, Cairy and Skeet run into the store.

A little background on these guys: our High School experiences weren't fun. It's wasn't one of those "Best of times, worst of times" kind of situations; it was just the worst of times. We were part of a large group of friends that bonded, I think, because we had really odd home lives and a sincere desire to leave the little factory town we were stuck in as quickly as possible.

After High School, I went to college, became a happier person, and lost track of everyone for a few years. Oh, we'd bump into each other now and again - especially when we first left school - but we never hung out.

And here, after all those years, Cairy and Skeet come into my store. We decided that when the mall shut down and I got off my shift, we'd ride around town and look at the destruction.

The mall closed at 9, and we left about 9:30. The interstate was eerily empty. Cairy drove to West End and only went so far before turning around. All the windows on several streets had been blown out, and while most had been covered by plywood during the day, others were just taped up with black plastic garbage bags. I was in the front passenger seat, and Skeet was in the back. While we drove through the dark and deserted streets, the three of us caught up on the last few years. It was one of those nights that was just surreal. We decided to drive to Centennial Park, where the Parthenon is, to see if any of the trees there had survived, and to see if the best thing Nashville had to offer had been damaged.

Cairy parked the car at the Mc Donald's near the park so that no officer would get suspicious about us being in the park near midnight when no one was supposed to be out in the city poking around anyway. We knew from the local news that Centennial Park was the only place where someone had died in the tornado.

The Greek temple was fine. The three of us walked all around it, checking out the restoration work that was going on at the time, and then we headed down towards the playground. Parts of the earth were torn up around the path - landscaping shrubs and flowers had been pulled out of the ground. Cairy, Skeet and I were talking about relationships when we came to the spot where a downed tree had been sawed up into chunks. We knew that must have been the tree that fell on someone and killed him. Cairy stared at it, with his hands in his jacket pockets, and Skeet lit a cigarette. I stepped over it, not really caring about what had happened.

"Come on" I said. "Nah", one of them said, "Let's start back."

So we did, pausing a bit only under the big covered pavilion where Skeet said there were Wiccan rituals. He hugged me, and Cairy just stood there, telling me to get over this asshole who wasn't worth a damn anyway.

And I didn't hang out with them again until last Christmas, when they showed up at the party Tony and Andrew threw for my graduation. I saw them again in May when I went down South to set up my move to Atlanta. And just this last week,

The most horrible week I've had in four years,

I realized that whenever my life has been crap, they've been there for me. And it's not just Cairy and Skeet who've made life bearable through the rough spots. It's all the people in my life - some of them related to me, but most of them just friends- who show up when I'm down to remind me that we're all in this together, you know? Tony and Andrew making sure I had a graduation party. My Aunt Beth and a dozen other friends who send me little packages in the mail to remind me that they love me, and want to share their lives with me. My cousin Audrey calling to let me know I have a place to go, and the Scribbling Mob telling me that I need to accept their help with the move. Because your real friends are in it for the long term. Oh, you may not hear from them every day, but they're there when the shit hits the fan. That's something I never expected from life - for people to be there when I need them - and goddamn, if it isn't a nice surprise.