Save me lord
Save me, save me from the mighty flood...
I approached the island in small spells of trying strength. After a certain point, as close to the island as I was, I let myself loosen up, exhausting me both mentally and physically. "So close, yet so far away", "as it were". Like the promise of your favorite TV show after school, which couldn't end soon enough.
My orange had become mushy and soggy. This didn't phase me for by the time I had finally reached the island, my appetite had diminished. Somewhere in between the paddling and the paddling, I guess.
My hair was stringy and padded, my armpits were sweaty and stinky, and I felt bored, tired, and unaccomplished. I had made it!
In an attempt to make the best of my attempt, I thought I'd at least try and eat:
I peeled the orange's soft, wet skin back and bit into it. I expected the fruit to prevail in proving my appetite wrong and to contradict my previous stance in eating, forcing me to yield to the fruits delicious flavor and hidden agenda to be eaten until proven otherwise. And there, around 7:30am in the month of June, in the year 2003, on a warm summer day between Kentucky and Indiana in the middle of The Ohio river, an orange proved otherwise. A mix of unbrushed teeth, a hot and humid mouth, bad breath and it's own sour-sweet taste acted against the fruit. The fruit...
...was thrown overboard.
I had almost made the decision to salvage the Floridian favorite in case I had another spat with life and decided to kayak to Ohio while I was there, but in the 10 seconds I had to consider the idea the orange had already made it's way to downtown Louisville. A dry sigh escaped my wrenched body; it was time to move on.
As I stepped out of the kayak and into the "mud", a cloud crossed over the sun. The whole area became grey. Soon I started to think that nothing was gonna come of this. Sure, I tried, but now I have to kayak back home!
Still I moved, breaking through loose, dead branches and overgrown weeds, careful not to encounter a fire plant. Unsurprisingly, a few seconds later I did. "There's nothing special about this." I said aloud. "WHY are you there!!!" I scratched at my ankle and stomped on the fire plant. Trying to calm myself down, I took in a deep breath. But that hadn't worked either--I couldn't take in a deep breath, only shallow ones. My lack of control overwhelmed me, and in no time I was breaking my way back towards the kayak. good timing, too--it was floating away.
I paused. Looked at the darkened sky, the brown river water; the overgrown shrubs that had masked the islands' beauty, which drew me and Jesse in to camp there one summer; the kayak.
A sad kind of anger inundated my thoughts.
The river.
Still flooded after all this time. Ruining our summer.
I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I think I might've screamed.
I stepped into the water. I wasn't lucky in evading the branches stuck in the mud, of course.
I swam to the kayak, pulled myself in, and headed home.
Even with the current, it seemed to be taking me forever to passed by the houses near the island. The battle was won, but the war had just begun. And that's when I threw my oars into the bow of the boat, stretched out, and layed down. "Fuck that. I'm floatin' back."
I situated myself and started to float back and forth, back and forth. It was smooth sailing from here on out. I bent up for a second to see if there were any boats around, saw that there were none, fell back and closed my eyes. A few seconds into almost falling to sleep, though, I was interrupted. The sun's rays started poking out of the clouds. An instant after that, it was in full shine. The light beat orange against my eyelids. "Never any peace" I said. But soon it's warmth started to feel good. "I could do this for awhile."
"Hey!"
I jumped up. Opening my eyes, I barely saw a boat in the distance.
"Are you ok?"
My eyes slowly adjusted to see that it was two men on a speed boat.
"Oh, yeah! haha I was just...just, uh, floatin' along. tired of kayaking."
"Ah, ok! thought you were dead!"
"Oh, no, I'm fine. haha. Thanks, though."
"Yeah man. Just wanted to make sure."
"Thanks!"
His buddy said something else as they sped off, but I couldn't make out the words against the engine. "That was nice of them", I thought. Didn't have a clue how I could've missed where they were, but, that was nice.
I layed back down and rested my eyes again, taking in the sun's heat.
Suddenly, I felt better. Better than better; Exhilarated. I hadn't given it a second thought until then, but mabye I had won "the war." What I had, I took to that island, where it now rested amongst the flooded banks. Soon the water would subside and recede from the islands walls, and with it will go all the fear I had brought to it. I stretched out and pulled myself up to see how far I had floated. Looking to my left, I saw the end of the neighborhood. To my right, Indiana. Turning around, I saw Twelve mile island, now just a spot in the water.
Tupelo is gone.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Twelve mile island, part 2
The summer of 2003 had started off as one of the best by far. Danny had flown up; hot dogs were shared, trampolines were bounced on. The air was teaming with vitality, just as we had all hoped for. Deep down, though, we didn't expect anything like what was happening. Each summer before and after that we'd wait, year after year, for summer, cautious not to build momentum toward an unsatisfactory outcome. We'd prepare ourselves for the worse. Out of respect for each other, we'd keep our building excitement throughout the school year at bay. I think that, perhaps, it was our silent, persistant supplications that pulled through in making most of our summers memorably epic. Sometimes, it was as if every summer were our last, and that scared the poo out of my butt. Mabye that's why the current journey I was embarking on seemed so considerably definitive.
My mind had become replete with anger and anguish. The sun began to pound down on my bare, wet skin, amplifying the intensity of the cold parts of the rest of my body. Just when I thought I had progressed in my journey, I had floated back what seemed like miles and miles of hard work. My kayak began to swirl toward home. Working it back toward the island, I had made the unconscious decision to keep paddling; my mind was too busy considering what I was doing, whether I should keeping doing it, whether "it" was anything at all, and whether it was anything of importance. Along with that I was still conceiving how I could've floated back so fast, all the more relishing the phenomenon I had recently witnessed. I finally deduced that perhaps the rapid speed of the rising sun was merely an optical illusion; a result of having floated down with the current of the river past the various heights of trees.
Once my arms started to ache, I began to realize what a sisyphean task this was turning out to be. Every 5 seconds I stopped, I floated back 15 feet. As a result, I couldn't stop to eat the only sustenance I had on board. My body was cold, warm, worn out, and the island was still at least another hour and a half away.
I had just made the decision to turn around and go back, for sure this time, when my anger peaked again. The idea of giving up pissed me off even more, and was just enough to get me back to paddling. Anger replaced sentiment, and I soon found that the substitute was just the thing I needed. Waves crashed back and forth, up and against the sides of the boat. Bits of water splashed against my face, breaking the intensity of the exhausting heat. My arms began to quiver, along with my legs and torso. No, I didn't feel amazing, but I felt powerful. Right then and there I began to understand how powerful I could be, and what power I thought we all held. Little did I know, I'd soon be a stone's throw away from the island.
My mind had become replete with anger and anguish. The sun began to pound down on my bare, wet skin, amplifying the intensity of the cold parts of the rest of my body. Just when I thought I had progressed in my journey, I had floated back what seemed like miles and miles of hard work. My kayak began to swirl toward home. Working it back toward the island, I had made the unconscious decision to keep paddling; my mind was too busy considering what I was doing, whether I should keeping doing it, whether "it" was anything at all, and whether it was anything of importance. Along with that I was still conceiving how I could've floated back so fast, all the more relishing the phenomenon I had recently witnessed. I finally deduced that perhaps the rapid speed of the rising sun was merely an optical illusion; a result of having floated down with the current of the river past the various heights of trees.
Once my arms started to ache, I began to realize what a sisyphean task this was turning out to be. Every 5 seconds I stopped, I floated back 15 feet. As a result, I couldn't stop to eat the only sustenance I had on board. My body was cold, warm, worn out, and the island was still at least another hour and a half away.
I had just made the decision to turn around and go back, for sure this time, when my anger peaked again. The idea of giving up pissed me off even more, and was just enough to get me back to paddling. Anger replaced sentiment, and I soon found that the substitute was just the thing I needed. Waves crashed back and forth, up and against the sides of the boat. Bits of water splashed against my face, breaking the intensity of the exhausting heat. My arms began to quiver, along with my legs and torso. No, I didn't feel amazing, but I felt powerful. Right then and there I began to understand how powerful I could be, and what power I thought we all held. Little did I know, I'd soon be a stone's throw away from the island.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Twelve mile island, part 1
Did you read about the flood? It happened a long time ago, in a little country town, in Tupelo Mississippi. It rained and it rained, it rained both night and day
It was five o'clock in the morning after a warm, unproductive summer night in Prospect, Kentucky. At the humble age of 14, I expected no less.
The usually placid river had taken on a steady, rapid flow toward the middle of downtown Louisville as a result of flooding.
The people got worried, didn't have no place to go. Had no one to turn to Lord but you
Detritus had washed up toward the back of our house...
"Save me lord, save me. Save me from the mighty flood"
...Angry fear littered my mind with thoughts of doubt...
There was women, and there was children, screamin' and cryin'. Lord, they had no one to turn to but you. Little country town: Tupelo, Mississippi.
...and soon enough I was on my way upriver toward Twelve mile island, via kayak.
An orange in one hand, rope in the other, I quietly carried my kayak down toward the river. Stepped in. Began to push off, and hesitated. "Do I wanna do this?" I thought.
"Nope."
A few minutes after that, my kayak and I were both engulfed in the morning fog, floating downriver. A few seconds after that, I pushed and pulled the oars. The water in front of me started to part. Rippled waves broke the water's peace and before I knew it I was safe and out of view of my house. The current was strong and steady, unlike any conditions I'd kayaked in before. Previous thoughts rephrased themselves into doubts, and I began to wonder whether or not I could kayak the distance. I hadn't eaten for hours, was tired, cold, and fatigued.
My body continued to tell me to turn around, or better yet float back down towards home, towards my warm bed, and call it a night, but I was finished calling it a night. I had lost myself over the progress of summer, had lost control, and needed to gain it back. I wasn't about to back out of the challenge.
I continued to kayak, now picking up speed. The faster and faster I rowed, the better I felt. The further I pushed the further away from my current life of confusion and fear I became. Likewise, the harder I tried, the harder it was to go on. A good 20 minutes into it, I still hadn't passed the neighborhood. I wanted to go home.
Again, I pushed the oar to my left, pulled at my right.
"This isn't gonna solve anything!" I reasoned. "Turn around!"
Once again, I rowed.
"Now it's just cheesy."
I stopped and took a big breath of humid air. The sky had brightened. 6 o'clock was near.
I had come to hate this time of day. This was the time of day to sleep. Instead, I was being forced to wake up for school 5/6 of the year. Every chance I got I'd avoid having to witness the sun's arrival to our side of the world. Plainly put, I was a creature of the night. Dad hated this, arguing that I needed to learn some responsibility and start waking up at a reasonable hour (about 6 am). Even to this day, he'd stand toward what he's said as a verity, to which I'd respond, "What exactly makes me a responsible human being by waking up when there is absolutely no reason for me to?"
Again I rowed. Again I pushed. I wanted this strange anger out. And instead of retreating to bed, I'd push my way towards a truth that didn't exist; Mabye because I wouldn't let it, or mabye because I wasn't capable of understanding that truth. Even then I chalked it up into believing that all I was doing was rowing for a false sense of security--a moment where I could stand on the island, far from home, and isolate myself from the world for a second, and think "Everything's gonna be ok."
Either way, I had to at least try.
I pushed it into gear and began to row faster.
Then faster.
And faster.
And faster.
I could feel alittle bit of a breeze cross my face and slither inbetween the spaces of my lifejacket. My skin tightened. I had goosebumps all over. To urge on, I thought, "I have an orange, so it's not like I don't have anything to eat if I get hungry or thirsty." The thought provoked a slight feeling of fulfillment being put into practice, from that moment on until my false sense of security withered away, probably sometime later in the day after I get back, I thought.
Finally, I had passed the neighborhood. And although the previous inkling of hope had empowered me with a new energy to push on, the fact that I had just passed the neighborhood lowered my eyes.
I kept my speed for another twenty minutes before I stopped again. When I did, I was proud to realize that I had gone further than expected. Within that amount of time, I had gained about 3/5 of the distance. The sun soon began to peak up through the hills of trees over to my right--Kentucky. To my left was Indiana. There I saw a mountain I had once made a foolish attempt to climb out of boredom. Lucky me, I fell down within 7 feet, suffering only minor injuries such as a bloody elbow and hurt wrist, but have sustained longterm stupidity unfortunetly.
Suddenly, I found myself dumbfounded. Was it the fall? Was this just the way the sun rised? Right before my eyes, the sun began to rise at a speed that, at first, scared me. In only seconds it was high above the trees. In only seconds the river lit up. In only seconds the sky was bright blue, the way the sky looked around noon.
Suddenly, in only seconds, I had floated back to the end of the neighborhood.
It was five o'clock in the morning after a warm, unproductive summer night in Prospect, Kentucky. At the humble age of 14, I expected no less.
The usually placid river had taken on a steady, rapid flow toward the middle of downtown Louisville as a result of flooding.
The people got worried, didn't have no place to go. Had no one to turn to Lord but you
Detritus had washed up toward the back of our house...
"Save me lord, save me. Save me from the mighty flood"
...Angry fear littered my mind with thoughts of doubt...
There was women, and there was children, screamin' and cryin'. Lord, they had no one to turn to but you. Little country town: Tupelo, Mississippi.
...and soon enough I was on my way upriver toward Twelve mile island, via kayak.
An orange in one hand, rope in the other, I quietly carried my kayak down toward the river. Stepped in. Began to push off, and hesitated. "Do I wanna do this?" I thought.
"Nope."
A few minutes after that, my kayak and I were both engulfed in the morning fog, floating downriver. A few seconds after that, I pushed and pulled the oars. The water in front of me started to part. Rippled waves broke the water's peace and before I knew it I was safe and out of view of my house. The current was strong and steady, unlike any conditions I'd kayaked in before. Previous thoughts rephrased themselves into doubts, and I began to wonder whether or not I could kayak the distance. I hadn't eaten for hours, was tired, cold, and fatigued.
My body continued to tell me to turn around, or better yet float back down towards home, towards my warm bed, and call it a night, but I was finished calling it a night. I had lost myself over the progress of summer, had lost control, and needed to gain it back. I wasn't about to back out of the challenge.
I continued to kayak, now picking up speed. The faster and faster I rowed, the better I felt. The further I pushed the further away from my current life of confusion and fear I became. Likewise, the harder I tried, the harder it was to go on. A good 20 minutes into it, I still hadn't passed the neighborhood. I wanted to go home.
Again, I pushed the oar to my left, pulled at my right.
"This isn't gonna solve anything!" I reasoned. "Turn around!"
Once again, I rowed.
"Now it's just cheesy."
I stopped and took a big breath of humid air. The sky had brightened. 6 o'clock was near.
I had come to hate this time of day. This was the time of day to sleep. Instead, I was being forced to wake up for school 5/6 of the year. Every chance I got I'd avoid having to witness the sun's arrival to our side of the world. Plainly put, I was a creature of the night. Dad hated this, arguing that I needed to learn some responsibility and start waking up at a reasonable hour (about 6 am). Even to this day, he'd stand toward what he's said as a verity, to which I'd respond, "What exactly makes me a responsible human being by waking up when there is absolutely no reason for me to?"
Again I rowed. Again I pushed. I wanted this strange anger out. And instead of retreating to bed, I'd push my way towards a truth that didn't exist; Mabye because I wouldn't let it, or mabye because I wasn't capable of understanding that truth. Even then I chalked it up into believing that all I was doing was rowing for a false sense of security--a moment where I could stand on the island, far from home, and isolate myself from the world for a second, and think "Everything's gonna be ok."
Either way, I had to at least try.
I pushed it into gear and began to row faster.
Then faster.
And faster.
And faster.
I could feel alittle bit of a breeze cross my face and slither inbetween the spaces of my lifejacket. My skin tightened. I had goosebumps all over. To urge on, I thought, "I have an orange, so it's not like I don't have anything to eat if I get hungry or thirsty." The thought provoked a slight feeling of fulfillment being put into practice, from that moment on until my false sense of security withered away, probably sometime later in the day after I get back, I thought.
Finally, I had passed the neighborhood. And although the previous inkling of hope had empowered me with a new energy to push on, the fact that I had just passed the neighborhood lowered my eyes.
I kept my speed for another twenty minutes before I stopped again. When I did, I was proud to realize that I had gone further than expected. Within that amount of time, I had gained about 3/5 of the distance. The sun soon began to peak up through the hills of trees over to my right--Kentucky. To my left was Indiana. There I saw a mountain I had once made a foolish attempt to climb out of boredom. Lucky me, I fell down within 7 feet, suffering only minor injuries such as a bloody elbow and hurt wrist, but have sustained longterm stupidity unfortunetly.
Suddenly, I found myself dumbfounded. Was it the fall? Was this just the way the sun rised? Right before my eyes, the sun began to rise at a speed that, at first, scared me. In only seconds it was high above the trees. In only seconds the river lit up. In only seconds the sky was bright blue, the way the sky looked around noon.
Suddenly, in only seconds, I had floated back to the end of the neighborhood.
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