Thursday, July 12, 2012

186 miles per hour, guardrail airborne to a pastures redemption.

        186 miles per hour, guardrail airborne to a pastures redemption.

                                   Serina’s tale of whoa.


       Pissed at a family with plastic words spewing never ending doubts from twisted mouths. Serina walks away from her family, fighting tears, look of ferocity, eyebrows aimed toward her tiny nose. Walking past the counter area, where single diners would congregate, heading the front exit. Passing the sign that reads: Maximum occupancy: 126, opening the outer door, warm summer breeze calling her to her bike.

        The Lenny’s Restaurant adjacent to the Clearstratus Mall, a division of Southfield Malls, like so many other Lenny’s. Exterior booths, some holding 6 people with interior tables seating 4. Tacky paintings of fishermen, vague sunsets and mountain ranges, mixing with odors of burnt onions, overcooked cheese sticks and bad coffee.

       Leaving this, embraced by summer evenings diving sun sometimes covered by lazy clouds, sounds of frogs beckoning mates, crickets chirping. To her, these nature calls mean serenity.

       Serina mounts her trusty friend.

          Verrrrr-ROOOOOM! Her Honda CBR750R growls to life. Tachometer hitting just under 9,000 RPM’s, halogen headlight lasering s single intense beam spotlighting the side of worn Uhaul truck with a fading picture of some Great Plains scene.

         Raising her airbrushed Deathshead helmet with strong hands over crew cut blond hair. Seeing surroundings, green eyes blazing, before shrouded by polarized glass. Firmly planted on head, motorcycle in neutral, right hand competently grabbing throttle.


        RPM’s going high, releasing clutch, taking off. Losing control halfway through cornering left as her back tire hits engine oil on black pavement. Wobbling violently too and fro, sobering event, she corrects front tire aim and shoots true exiting the parking lot onto 4 lane highway traffic.

        Tightly fitting royal blue striped legs, placed astride powerful engine slightly shrouded by Cobalt fiberglass bodywork. Matching leather coat covering arms extended, passionate hands meeting handlebars.

        Skin and bone mating with metal and plastic in the truest sense of man and beast.

       Stopping at a red light, heat of her lover rising, enclosing her from the only thing that never screamed back to her except in acceptance.

       Red convertible Ford Mustang next to her in the right lane, macho man with receding hairline and bleach blond bitch with over make-upped face glance over at her. Not quite a GT, though sporting an 8 banger smaller than that of a 5.0, throws out a meager 5000 RPM gasp. Overly bassed thumps of Judas Priest FreeWheel Burning with raspy treble vocals fill this crossroad.

       Firing back, she gives them a hearty 9500, its menacing pitch causing heads to turn from her in the left lane. She was always left-laner. Never curb lane, as that is for losers.

        Serina, in her element, laughing: Obviously this idiot has no clue of thrust to weight ratios…

        Mustang redlining. Macho man and bleach bitch looking excited like those close to orgasm.

       Throttling hard on her CBR750R, exhaust shrieking into the night.

       Watching traffic light going yellow to cross traffic.

       Engines pitching higher and higher. Anticipation reaching a point of pure acerbating madness.

       Their light goes Green.

       Macho jumps ahead of her.

        BOOM! Huge plume of white smoke quickly follows Mustang as a right side piston smashes through the intake manifold, nearly piercing its candy apple red hood.

       Glowing green eyes meet her laughing face as she leaves the line at no more than 25 MPH.

       Pulling up her visor to meet them with unshielded eyes as she passed them. Another one bites the dust, she thought.

       Purring into the lesser roads of traffic lights encumbering, she powers on as night smells and blurring trees greet her in natures welcome.

       Leaning sharply into tight corners, blasting down straight-aways, keen eye looking for State Patrol, never looking into her rear view mirrors. Never looking backward.

       Except in her own mind.

       Serina had pissed off many in her small years on this planet, causing their indifference toward her. Her past, like that of William Tecumseh Sherman’s scorched earth march: burning bridges, fields and homes but with the closest of people that cared for her in loving fashion, leaving them frustrated and fuming in her wake.

      I try. Each and every day I try so help me god. I know I say the wrong things, fall back on yesterdays failures I never seem to learn from and speak harshly in some attempt to make them listen. Yeah, I understand them, I just don’t understand myself and why I do what I do. Repeatedly.

        Why can’t someone just kill me?

       Cooler air from the denser array of green trees and grass, escaping the asphalt jungle, its tarred surfaces and concrete boring landscapes, the summer heat they hold, descending deeper into woods she rides.

       Shit! She cries, braking hard as she passes something to her left side.

        Rear tire locking up, smoking rubber creating whitish vapor, swerving to a halt.

       Parking her bike aways from the road, removing helmet, shaken, she begins to walk toward what she saw.

        Nature making wondrous spenders of the night: that of rustling trees louder without the din of constant daytime traffic, barn owls hooting, faint low-pitched growls of raccoons. Smell of fresh pine and other wooded inhabitants with the river scents doing what do each summer night appreciated by so few.

     Reaching what had caught her eyes, she gasped, eyes displaying both concern and sorrow.

      Dropping to leathered knees, she sent her right hand to the smashed and dying deer before her.

       HUH-HUH-HUH-HUH, the failing doe exhaled with increasing repetition.

      Oh, god! NO! Serina’s eyes shedding tears, stroking its head with sincerest of hearts to ease its suffering. NO! Damn….

      Shattered doe, sad eyes shinning in full moon unclouded, meeting Serina’s eyes with fading night vision. Knowing, instinctively so, it was not alone now.

     HUH-HUH-HUH-HUHHUHHUHHUHHUH! Faster and faster, breath trying harder and harder to hold on to constantly slendering threads of life.

       Falling tears like rain on a spring day reaching gushing volume, Serina’s heart falling deeper as this animal suffers on.

       The doe’s crushed rib cage with once strong legs mangled, free flowing blood less and less with each fleeting pant. Thankfully, vultures sleeping, not circling to descend with hungry beaks darting at soon dead.

       Words escaping quietly, softest of tones, whimpering a single prayer: Lord, take this deer to you. End its pain as someday you will do mine.

       Stroking gently behind its ears, blond short hair casting halos to ceasing sight of the doe.

       HUHUHUHUHUHUHUHhuh-huh-----huh-huh------hu… Final air spent, big brown eyes closing eternally, leaving this world forever.

      Throwing herself to the dead animal under her, Serina lifting its head and holding it in her arms. Be at peace. Be at peace.

      On her bike, placing helmet on head after calling 911 for animal control for no other reason than to not see the majestic animal to be eaten by predators. She fires up her Honda, leaving the scene as quietly as possible.

       Miles passing endlessly over hours that reach brilliant sunrise in another State. Cornfields rising in colour, hay fields growing in gold hues, hints of morning dew meeting the steady purr of her bike. The moon vanishing as quickly as it greeted her.

       Long straight line, yanking on throttle. The increasing whine of last gear ascending in tone. Faster and faster as the shebike pumped power.

       Mind spinning endlessly of her latest travel took her beyond. No control over its thinking. Wandering soul, endlessly trying and falling short. Memories, damned memories and relations that like herself never truly change.

       Box turtle trundling to pond on yonder side of road, seeking even temperature and good feeding ground.

       Sound, blaring sound, louder and louder still. Hiding into safe harbor of its shell. The turtle pulls quickly in.

       She hits to turtle at 186 MPH. Losing control in a very physical world, bike pitching and yawing massively, heaving her from its power.

        Serina goes airborne, arms flailing out like an untrained bird in a massive crosswind.

       Flying over wooden fence, barely clearing an electrified cattle holder, mind cart wheeling insanely.

      Hitting Earth, bouncing several times as she slows down, leather friction translating to flesh with growing heat.

       Fourth, fifth bounce? She does not remember until the final impact stops her suddenly.

        Am I dead? Odd smells with no memory meet her as the sun mounts the morning sky.

       Lying there, stunned.

       Dying like the deer on the road hours earlier, feeling helpless.

      “You took a tumble, didn’t you English?”

      Serina, barely able to look up, taking stock of both limbs and life support. Do fingers move? YES! Do hands and legs work? YES! Neck broken? NO!

      Dazed green eyes look up and meet the voice.

      “My wife didn’t want me to put this here. Glad I did.”

       Shit, she is smelling shit. She stands, not knowing how she can even do this after such an accident. A pile cow shit she has risen from, she glances down.

      Looking at Mr. Yoder, an Amish man in traditional garb, realizing where she landed.

      God, she thought. How am I still alive?

      “You must be hungry, are you?” smiling all the while, happy for this miracle before him.

       Starving! You have no idea…

        “c’mon to breakfast then! No better food than my wife's here or anywhere else.”

       Shaking less and less, she tells him thanks.

      Do you need a farm hand? I’d like to work for what I eat.

      “Farm hand? No. Got many for that. But you are welcome. If a hand is what you be, than God will make it so.”

       Serina, months later, after working the land, feeling reborn again in a world she never dreamt of, contacting her family who would drive to meet her once again. Wondering what Serina is into now, they coursed the roads of farmlands and brick making companies.

      Pulling onto dirt road, no major expectations but liking cheese very much. Brown clouds behind them like a smoke screen. “I’m gonna need a serious car wash after this trip!” Sister said loudly.

     They parked and exited their vehicle/

      Sheep BAHHING, tiny piglets snorting happily as they romped about, tails quickly wagging, cows mooing. Fresh bread baking, rich, full smells of handmade glory that nowadays never greet the urban world.

      Serina, standing taller than ever before, runs to them as happiness fills her face, touches her eyes with arms outstretched to greet them.

      Teary embraces. Her telling the story of her absence from them, the deer and landing where she did.

      Feast, a grand feast of fresh beef, potatoes, raw goats milk and bread fill bellies as stories shared and hours pass like various fields rise rapidly in summer warmth and sunlight. Smiles and laughs creating accidental yet harmonious chords. Sharing without sarcasm.

      Thanks given to Serina’s extended family, hugs given, happy faces exchanged.

      Embracing Serina. Serina’s heart feeling sense of place, peace and acceptance from both worlds. Strong arms she gathers them, scoops them against her body.

       Contentment: Family united as God wanted.

      Thanking the Yoder family before they left, Mr Yoder walked to their car, adjusting suspenders as he always did after mealtime, long white beard moving with gentle breeze.

      “ya English! Sometimes yuh have tfall into a pile of cowdung to come out smelling like a rose.” huge smile, raising hand in their soon departure.

      Blank looks transcended into deeper understanding of an old saying. Ease and comfort meeting faces as the vehicles passengers truly to hold of its simple meaning.

        Serina’s sister, driving away in a White Chevy Suburban, stared into the rear view  mirror as her sisters image grew smaller, Serina wearing a pale blue dress with no accessories to display individuality. A sister she had prayed she’d meet and never thought she would.






                                     Authors Note:

                I cannot express thanks enough for the sharing to make this entry happen.. I still shake my head in disbelief after meeting the sister, Amish-adopting father and Serina on a too hot county road in SugarCreek Ohio in the summer of 2012.

        Corn having a hard time climbing in drought conditions, yet cows doing quite well in fields brown grasses feeding, their milk making greatest of cheeses.

          I broke bread and shared as they did with me.

         Communion of differing lifestyles.

           I think of the blessings my higher power has given me. I question not as it tells me to read emails, talk on the phone and take road <albeit, sometimes Rogue> trips.

          This life's juggling does not come easy, but it is not without reward and it leads to Another Life unknown to me.

           Highest regards,

        Mark William Darus 07/12/2012