Some pain is fuel.
Perfect tinder for creativity.
It hurts, but it opens you emotionally and allows raw truth to flow from your mind and into your art. Your fingertips, your paintbrush, your voice, your instrument. Whatever your art is. Some of my best writing has been done while experiencing pain.
This, however, was not that.
This pain was the type that led to me not writing at all in the last few weeks.
Mental pain. Emotional.
But it's only fair to do a quick recap before moving forward with this story, so here we go...
On the 20th of May, a Monday, I venture into Atlanta with a local kid.
The next afternoon, I wake up in the ER after having been unresponsive for 10 hours.
I've been drugged.
I was brought to the emergency room in an ambulance. I don't recall this.
The nurse tells me they didn't think I was going to make it when the EMT's first brought me in.
I am released in the evening and return to the campground where I am living.
I feel violated.
It's the anniversary of my best friends death.
He shares a name with the person who I suspect drugged me.
I put on his ratty old t-shirt and cry.
At 2am my mom texts me asking me to call when I can.
That's a strange time for this request.
I call her.
My grandmother has died.
My heart hurts.
I drive to Florida to help pack up her house as best I can.
When I return, once more, to the campground in Georgia, I have my trust shattered by someone close to me. Someone I come to realize I have been leaning on too hard for support only once I am forced to hold myself upright again.
I talk on the phone to a close friend in Austin...he informs me our coworker has died in a terrible accident. She was the kindest person.
Why do the good die young?
A friend in Georgia comes to me in the campground. He sits in the doorway of my van and tells me of the things weighing on his soul. He grows quiet as water comes to his eyes. He doesn't want to tell me anymore. He says there is nothing I can do. So I talk to him about trivial things until he regains composure.
And my heart hurts.
I want to take that pain away.
More instances spread over the weeks...plenty more...but this blog isn't for spreading pain and misfortune, so now that you're somewhat, briefly caught up, we can get back to it.
The Georgia chapter of this book is closing, though certain themes may persist into the next. One may even call the Georgia chapter manic, with it's intense highs and extreme lows, but for all the wisdom, pain, pleasure, heartache, confusion, friendship, and laughter that it brought with it, I'm thankful this chapter made it in the book.
You cannot always control what happens to you. Only how you react.
When the Georgia Ren Faire ends I decide to visit family in Tennessee. On my way to Nashville I stop at an RV repair place. I have damaged my vent fan the week before, by unplugging some wire I wasn't meant to touch. The problem now is, I have no idea which wire it was. A man named Jett stops me in the parking lot before I reach the door by asking what they can help me with. I show him the problem. He makes fun of me for tugging at wires with no knowledge, but he gets my fan working again, and sends me off without a bill. A small reminder from the universe...not everyone is out to get something from you.
Thanks, Jett.
Last night, after reading many forums, government sites, and having much debate back and forth between us on the legality of the situation, we decided to pull into an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway with the intention of sleeping there. As we technically were in a National Forest, we knew there shouldn't be any legal issues with us sleeping on the Parkway, but still, we felt some uncertainty, as some government sites/rules/regulations can be hard to navigate correctly. In the end, we decided the only way to find out was to test it. We parked, made dinner, played cards, watched the clouds turn from white to pink to black, and eventually fell asleep, fully aware of the potential to be awakened in the middle of the night by a park ranger or police officer.
But no such thing occurred.
Success!
We stuff our faces with tacos...a taste of Texas...a reminder of home, and down coffee as we prepare for the day ahead. A "real life" day, I like to think of them. A day in a city or town where we pause to use all the amenities these places have to offer...coffee shops, wifi, large stores, mechanics, and in my case, a clinic. I'm not looking forward to it, but the after effects of my drugging are still playing out, and since I don't know what happened to me in the hours between losing consciousness and arriving to the hospital, the only smart thing to do is to go get tested for STD's. I can't change the past, but I can prepare for, and protect, my future.
I punch the button at the entrance of the parking garage and it spits a ticket out at me, activating the bar ahead.
"I don't know how tall this thing is, but we're about to find out," I joke to Ixchel, taking note of the height marker.
I drive beneath it tentatively, but we don't touch so I pull forward without hesitation.
There's a soft, rhythmatic rubbing noise...once...twice...
It registers in my brain what is happening barely too late.
There's a crunching noise and I hit the brakes hard.
We're definitely too tall for this garage.
Why didn't I touch the bar at the front?, I think frantically. That's supposed to be the warning.
I look in my rear view and see that I'm already blocked in by a car behind me.
Okay...well, if I'm already touching, the damage is already done, and I should just pull around to the exit and get out of here. The van lurches forward when I touch the gas, and there's an awful cracking noise as the vent hood shatters into multiple pieces. Turns out the garage continues getting shorter. Ixchel yells for me to stop, and we sit there, my mind racing.
A parking attendant comes over. Then two. Then three.
They tell me to let all the air out of my tires.
Ixchel climbs on the roof and tries to unscrew the vent hood, but it's got so much putty holding it in place, it's useless.
Even with no air, we're still too tall.
The five of us stand around the van, options being thrown about.
Eventually the attendants climb onto my back bumper to drop the tail the last inch we still need and I back out as slowly and precisely as I can.
Success!
They fill my tires back to a safe pressure to get us to the tire shop down the street, and while we wait for them to fill, they tell us stories of people ripping their entire roofs off in the parking garage. Or their 10K AC units. Or whatever other things may be mounted up there.
"Well," I respond, "It sucks for those people, but it's kind of nice to hear I'm not the only idiot to do something like this." I joke with them.
"Oh no! Not at all. And you guys are nice about it, so that's really cool. People like to yell at us while we help them get unstuck."
"But it's not your fault..."
"Yeah, you're telling us!"
They finish with the air, direct us to a shop that will finish the job for free, give us the recommendation of a mechanic for my alignment, and stop traffic while I back out of the garage.
Thankful for kind people.
By the time we've got the tires fixed up and found a street parking spot, it's time for me to head to my appointment.
"Alright, I'm gonna go get stuck with needles. I'll see you soon."
Then the mechanic. Who is so old I'm surprised he's still working on cars, but he knows his stuff and is very kind. He squeezes us in as his last customers of the day and fixes the noises I've been hearing from my front end.
"Someone's done a lot of work on this car. It looks good under there!"
Always lovely to be reassured when it comes to your vehicle and house.
By the time the alignment is fixed up and paid for, I feel we've lived a week in this one long day.
"I need a beer,"I tell Ixchel, and off we go on a night time adventure, hoping to unwind a few notches.
Perfect tinder for creativity.
It hurts, but it opens you emotionally and allows raw truth to flow from your mind and into your art. Your fingertips, your paintbrush, your voice, your instrument. Whatever your art is. Some of my best writing has been done while experiencing pain.
This, however, was not that.
This pain was the type that led to me not writing at all in the last few weeks.
Mental pain. Emotional.
But it's only fair to do a quick recap before moving forward with this story, so here we go...
On the 20th of May, a Monday, I venture into Atlanta with a local kid.
The next afternoon, I wake up in the ER after having been unresponsive for 10 hours.
I've been drugged.
I was brought to the emergency room in an ambulance. I don't recall this.
The nurse tells me they didn't think I was going to make it when the EMT's first brought me in.
I am released in the evening and return to the campground where I am living.
I feel violated.
It's the anniversary of my best friends death.
He shares a name with the person who I suspect drugged me.
I put on his ratty old t-shirt and cry.
At 2am my mom texts me asking me to call when I can.
That's a strange time for this request.
I call her.
My grandmother has died.
My heart hurts.
I drive to Florida to help pack up her house as best I can.
When I return, once more, to the campground in Georgia, I have my trust shattered by someone close to me. Someone I come to realize I have been leaning on too hard for support only once I am forced to hold myself upright again.
I talk on the phone to a close friend in Austin...he informs me our coworker has died in a terrible accident. She was the kindest person.
Why do the good die young?
A friend in Georgia comes to me in the campground. He sits in the doorway of my van and tells me of the things weighing on his soul. He grows quiet as water comes to his eyes. He doesn't want to tell me anymore. He says there is nothing I can do. So I talk to him about trivial things until he regains composure.
And my heart hurts.
I want to take that pain away.
 |
| My wonderful friends picking me up from the hospital once I was awake again. |
 |
| Witchy, my sister, with Lelu under our late grandmothers beautiful oak tree. |
 |
| Suited up to start the cleaning of Grandma's house |
 |
| My beautiful momma. |
More instances spread over the weeks...plenty more...but this blog isn't for spreading pain and misfortune, so now that you're somewhat, briefly caught up, we can get back to it.
The Georgia chapter of this book is closing, though certain themes may persist into the next. One may even call the Georgia chapter manic, with it's intense highs and extreme lows, but for all the wisdom, pain, pleasure, heartache, confusion, friendship, and laughter that it brought with it, I'm thankful this chapter made it in the book.
You cannot always control what happens to you. Only how you react.
 |
| My "Jane Z20630" hospital wristband. That's what happens when you come in unconscious without identification. |
When the Georgia Ren Faire ends I decide to visit family in Tennessee. On my way to Nashville I stop at an RV repair place. I have damaged my vent fan the week before, by unplugging some wire I wasn't meant to touch. The problem now is, I have no idea which wire it was. A man named Jett stops me in the parking lot before I reach the door by asking what they can help me with. I show him the problem. He makes fun of me for tugging at wires with no knowledge, but he gets my fan working again, and sends me off without a bill. A small reminder from the universe...not everyone is out to get something from you.
Thanks, Jett.
Yesterday morning, around 6am, I groggily checked my phone and realized quite suddenly I needed to be up already and on my way to pick Ixchel up from the airport. It may almost be described as comical, the way I threw on last nights clothes and ran out of the door in a frantic flurry, hopping in my grandfathers truck.
I got there quickly and messaged Ixchel - "I'm in the cell waiting lot. Let me know when you're through customs."
I waited almost an hour before she got back to me - "What are you talking about? I'm in China..."
*face palm*
Some days just run more smoothly than others, I guess.
Today I wait for her communication, as the LAX power outage has delayed her flight 10 hours, and there's no telling when she will arrive. I just need my adventure partner back in the United States! But if I'm going to wait for her anywhere, Nashville is a pretty swell place to spend a few extra days.
The rain patters gently on the leaves above. Rolling smoothly in the tracks of the drops before it and softly breaking open on the mossy forest floor. I feel myself breathe deeply for the first time in days. The stress hasn't gone, but the forest, the trees, the rain...these things help.
I got there quickly and messaged Ixchel - "I'm in the cell waiting lot. Let me know when you're through customs."
I waited almost an hour before she got back to me - "What are you talking about? I'm in China..."
*face palm*
Some days just run more smoothly than others, I guess.
Today I wait for her communication, as the LAX power outage has delayed her flight 10 hours, and there's no telling when she will arrive. I just need my adventure partner back in the United States! But if I'm going to wait for her anywhere, Nashville is a pretty swell place to spend a few extra days.
 |
| My cousin Chase, showing that del Mazo pride! |
 |
| Pawpaw and Chase arm wrestling with their matching tattoos |
The rain patters gently on the leaves above. Rolling smoothly in the tracks of the drops before it and softly breaking open on the mossy forest floor. I feel myself breathe deeply for the first time in days. The stress hasn't gone, but the forest, the trees, the rain...these things help.
My days at my grandparents were lovely, and Ixchel's arrival certainly lightened my spirits.
"I like her," my Memaw says to me, "You laugh when she's around. She makes you happy."
She does.
But even with the joy of my friend and the comfort of my family, certain things still weigh heavy on my mind... Things like... Where is my father?
This is the biggest contender to overtake my thoughts.
I haven't heard from him in a month, and this is far from normal behavior. Last I heard, he was in Colorado Springs, so today I called the police department there. I was eventually instructed to call a separate department tomorrow. I'll call then, and pray this yields something useful.
My thoughts each night as I try to sleep are filled with questions, dark scenarios, and worries which transform quickly to dread.
If I'm not worried about my dad, I'm worried about the medical debt the Atlanta incident has put me in.
If not those things, I'm worried about my mom and how she's faring after losing her own mother so recently.
Many thoughts seem to fight for control of my mind in the last weeks, but the rain patters gently on the trees above, and it's all I can do to stop and listen, and allow myself to breathe. Just breathe.
Everything comes and goes in this life. Laughter and sadness being no different from one another in their uncertainty.
"I like her," my Memaw says to me, "You laugh when she's around. She makes you happy."
She does.
But even with the joy of my friend and the comfort of my family, certain things still weigh heavy on my mind... Things like... Where is my father?
This is the biggest contender to overtake my thoughts.
I haven't heard from him in a month, and this is far from normal behavior. Last I heard, he was in Colorado Springs, so today I called the police department there. I was eventually instructed to call a separate department tomorrow. I'll call then, and pray this yields something useful.
My thoughts each night as I try to sleep are filled with questions, dark scenarios, and worries which transform quickly to dread.
If I'm not worried about my dad, I'm worried about the medical debt the Atlanta incident has put me in.
If not those things, I'm worried about my mom and how she's faring after losing her own mother so recently.
Many thoughts seem to fight for control of my mind in the last weeks, but the rain patters gently on the trees above, and it's all I can do to stop and listen, and allow myself to breathe. Just breathe.
Everything comes and goes in this life. Laughter and sadness being no different from one another in their uncertainty.
 |
| Pawpaw, Memaw, Ixchel, and I before we took off toward the coast. |
The cold air nips at the tip of my nose and fingers as the dawn light filters past the blue curtains. I sit quickly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and eagerly tear the curtain away from the window. I'm rewarded immediately. Peaks upon peaks upon peaks...mountains as far as the eye can see. I laugh excitedly at the beauty and look to Ixchel in the bed beside me. She smiles back. "I know," she says simply.
The clouds are slow to wake, hanging low in the valleys between luscious green mountain tops. Last night, after reading many forums, government sites, and having much debate back and forth between us on the legality of the situation, we decided to pull into an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway with the intention of sleeping there. As we technically were in a National Forest, we knew there shouldn't be any legal issues with us sleeping on the Parkway, but still, we felt some uncertainty, as some government sites/rules/regulations can be hard to navigate correctly. In the end, we decided the only way to find out was to test it. We parked, made dinner, played cards, watched the clouds turn from white to pink to black, and eventually fell asleep, fully aware of the potential to be awakened in the middle of the night by a park ranger or police officer.
But no such thing occurred.
Success!
 |
| Watching the mountains from the door of my home <3 |
 |
| At Billy Goat, an Austin native run taco shop in Ashville, NC. Can't get tacos and Texans to separate! |
I punch the button at the entrance of the parking garage and it spits a ticket out at me, activating the bar ahead.
"I don't know how tall this thing is, but we're about to find out," I joke to Ixchel, taking note of the height marker.
I drive beneath it tentatively, but we don't touch so I pull forward without hesitation.
There's a soft, rhythmatic rubbing noise...once...twice...
It registers in my brain what is happening barely too late.
There's a crunching noise and I hit the brakes hard.
We're definitely too tall for this garage.
Why didn't I touch the bar at the front?, I think frantically. That's supposed to be the warning.
I look in my rear view and see that I'm already blocked in by a car behind me.
Okay...well, if I'm already touching, the damage is already done, and I should just pull around to the exit and get out of here. The van lurches forward when I touch the gas, and there's an awful cracking noise as the vent hood shatters into multiple pieces. Turns out the garage continues getting shorter. Ixchel yells for me to stop, and we sit there, my mind racing.
A parking attendant comes over. Then two. Then three.
They tell me to let all the air out of my tires.
Ixchel climbs on the roof and tries to unscrew the vent hood, but it's got so much putty holding it in place, it's useless.
Even with no air, we're still too tall.
The five of us stand around the van, options being thrown about.
Eventually the attendants climb onto my back bumper to drop the tail the last inch we still need and I back out as slowly and precisely as I can.
Success!
They fill my tires back to a safe pressure to get us to the tire shop down the street, and while we wait for them to fill, they tell us stories of people ripping their entire roofs off in the parking garage. Or their 10K AC units. Or whatever other things may be mounted up there.
"Well," I respond, "It sucks for those people, but it's kind of nice to hear I'm not the only idiot to do something like this." I joke with them.
"Oh no! Not at all. And you guys are nice about it, so that's really cool. People like to yell at us while we help them get unstuck."
"But it's not your fault..."
"Yeah, you're telling us!"
They finish with the air, direct us to a shop that will finish the job for free, give us the recommendation of a mechanic for my alignment, and stop traffic while I back out of the garage.
Thankful for kind people.
 |
| Damage from the inside...fan blades are snapped, whole thing falling inside. |
 |
| Old fan removed, hole taped up until we can find the parts we need. |
 |
| Removing the broken parts in a Walmart parking lot. |
By the time we've got the tires fixed up and found a street parking spot, it's time for me to head to my appointment.
"Alright, I'm gonna go get stuck with needles. I'll see you soon."
Then the mechanic. Who is so old I'm surprised he's still working on cars, but he knows his stuff and is very kind. He squeezes us in as his last customers of the day and fixes the noises I've been hearing from my front end.
"Someone's done a lot of work on this car. It looks good under there!"
Always lovely to be reassured when it comes to your vehicle and house.
By the time the alignment is fixed up and paid for, I feel we've lived a week in this one long day.
"I need a beer,"I tell Ixchel, and off we go on a night time adventure, hoping to unwind a few notches.
Ixchel and I hop in the van bright and early, coffee's in hand, ready to check out the farmers market in Floyd, Virgina, where we've been staying the last two nights.
I pull forward to the edge of the driveway, adjusting to get the van at the right angle, and comment without thought, "It's funny Morgan doesn't think I could fit down his driveway, there's plenty of room down there. I wonder if he thinks I'll get stuck."
I cut the wheel to back out.
Except...
The back wheels are spinning.
You've got to be kidding.
I look at Ixchel, disbelief evident on my face.
After a moment her eyes widen. "No way..."
I stand near Morgan's bus with my hands over my mouth in tension. I hear my van rev higher and higher down the driveway, out of my view, Doug trying to wiggle it out of where it's gotten stuck in the mud... Again. We've been trying for two hours to fix my original mistake, and we just keep making more mistakes and bad decisions, putting the van in worse and worse positions. Eventually we stopped trying and agreed we needed help from Doug, Morgan's grouchy - but sweet to strangers - 71 year old neighbor.
The tires finally catch. I hear the abrupt acceleration. Rocks shooting from beneath the spinning rubber. The engine roaring. In my head I'm envisioning the parking space my baby is stuck in, and screaming, tree, tree, tree!! But I keep my hand clamped over my mouth, acutely aware that any shouts of warning from me would be lost to distance and the commotion at the end of the driveway.
Still in my head, Tree, tree, tree...
*CRASH*
I squeeze my eyes closed as my hands slide up to cover them instead of my mouth, as though I can shut out reality. I'm rooted to my spot, filling slowly with dread, but relieved, at least, that I removed myself from the scene when things began getting too intense and it looked like my van might slide into the creek, because stress doesn't help anyone perform.
I hear footsteps approaching on the gravel drive and slide my hands back down to my cheeks.
Pull yourself together, Maia, you can't make the people trying to help feel bad.
But my eyes well up when I see Morgan approaching. He gives me a sad, almost rueful smile.
"How bad is it?" I whimper past the tightness in my throat.
"It's gonna be fine," he reassures me, closing the distance and grabbing my shoulders. "Everything's fine. You might not be able to open the back doors anymore, with the way the bumper is smashed up, but your bumper did it's job. It did what it's supposed to do. No windows are broken or anything. You're out of the mud now. You're okay, alright?" He stoops to my height to look me in the eyes and gives me a gentle shake.
I return a watery smile, trying to organize the fear and chaos in my brain.
"I'm gonna go make sure everyone is okay and get you turned around." And then he's gone.
After a few calming breaths, I follow him back up the driveway to the van where Doug and Ixchel wait, inspecting the damage.
Okay.
Okay.
It's not that bad.
The bumper is smashed in, but Morgan is right, nothing else is broken.
Doug approaches me with a sad look.
"Thank you so much for getting me unstuck," I say before he's even reached me. Offering a real smile. No tears in my eyes now.
"I'm really sorry," he responds, head hung. "I thought I had it, but I guess I'm getting old."
You're 71 and way more capable than me, I think. Give yourself a break.
"No, really, it's okay. We were stuck down there two hours before you showed up. Thank you for answering our S.O.S!"
"Well it is quite a boat you've got there. Surprised this is the first trouble you've had on these back mountain roads."
"Hoping it's the last!" I respond with a wink.
He hugs me and apologizes again. I return the gesture and thank him.
After he leaves I just stand a while, staring at my home, with her new banged up bumper.
Poor Lelu...you've gained quite a bit of "character" this week, haven't you?
From Floyd, we ventured through Washington DC, and on to New York City...
When thing's start to feel overwhelming...find a cafe.
 |
| Old friends, in the mountains of Floyd |
 |
| Morgan's bus home. I loved how he did everything in the bus <3 |
 |
| Morgan in his bus kitchen. |
From Floyd, we ventured through Washington DC, and on to New York City...
When thing's start to feel overwhelming...find a cafe.
I head out into the street, the wind more biting than I expected, shove my hands in my jacket pockets and turn my face skyward to examine all the huge buildings of NYC as I walk. The combination of the drizzle and the old buildings towering above me on either side brings me back to my time in Ireland, and I'm breathing a little easier. I've always had an easy time transversing the unknown streets of foreign countries by myself, but for some reason, in the last day since arriving to NY, I've had no desire to figure this place out, even with a friend by my side. But this morning she's gone on her own adventure, and I force myself out of the house we're staying in. As much as I want to, I am not allowed to sit inside all day while visiting New York City. So out I go.
I start with an easy task - acquiring coffee and pastries. And that's how I find myself sitting in this cafe, which doesn't seem to know what country it wants to be. It's called Little Paris (in French), all the art inside is African or African influenced, and there are multiple signs in Italian. I love it. Cause that's kind of how the whole city feels. One big mosaic of culture.
Today Ixchel and I ride our last train together for a while. Originally she was going to drive to Colorado with me and fly home from there, but we've decided to part ways early so she can enjoy this city which she loves so much (NYC) and I can get on with the things in my life I need to deal with. Like finding my dad and getting rid of this medical debt.
We sit holding hands as we watch the scenery go by silently. Her with headphones in, me lost in my head. After some time, the older woman next to me on the train strikes up a friendly conversation, and eventually asks if Ixchel is my partner.
I awkwardly fumble to reply.
I don't fumble because I'm unsure of the answer, or it makes me uncomfortable, or any of the other reasons young people don't know how to answer that question.
No, not that.
I fumble because I know this woman simply meant, "Is she your girlfriend?"
And the answer to that is "no."
But she is so much more.
She is my partner in crime. Literally.
My sympathetic ear.
The kick in my ass when I'm being dumb.
My adventure buddy.
She picks me up when I'm down.
She drives me crazy.
She loves me unconditionally.
Actually unconditionally.
Even the thought of losing her breaks my heart.
All of this goes through my head, and all that comes out of my mouth, is "Uhhh...well..."
Misunderstanding my hesitation, the woman rushes quickly to assure me she meant no offense, and I let the moment go.
Freaking millennial's, right? What's so hard about expressing emotions?
Some pics to sum up Ixchel and I's two week trip up the East Coast;
Some pics to sum up Ixchel and I's two week trip up the East Coast;
 |
| Here comes the storm! |
After four hours on subways and trains to get from Brooklyn to where my van is parked in New Jersey, and another hour in the car to get to the Hoboken train station, we've finally reached our moment of parting.
We hug and make each other promise to be safe until we can next meet. Ixchel climbs out of the side, her large pack on her back, and I orient myself to the west. As I turn my wheels, I feel the next page turning. This chapter ending, and a solo chapter beginning, because while I am never far from friends or family in this country (proven time and again on my travels), I need some time now, to clear my head and deal with some of the "real life" things which have been thrown my way recently.
The road stretches before me now, open and full of potential, and I decide firmly in my mind, that the bad guys don't get to win in this story. Not without a fight.
And what better place to work out my defense strategy, than tucked away in the beautiful rocky mountains?
See you soon, Colorado.
Comments
Post a Comment