Metanoia

big sky

I travel more in those days than since, or no, rather my trips from that time can be measured in miles and not baggage. A black bear in Juneau comes between me and my rental car, never looks my way, continues on into the forest. He cannot decide if he approves of my presence there, or if we are after the same prey. In the room I remember how much I adored the three years in college in absolute silence and solitude. I adore the concept, anyway, because in those few months the house was filled with noise and disquietude. In the hotel room, I turn on the television to mask the humming from the fluorescent lamp. That’s all.

I know I should go out, but god what's the point? I've got regrets sitting all alone on the fake mahogany nightstand, with no one to give them comfort. Who will think of my babies? My nameless, hurtful offspring, with nicknames like Provo and Albuquerque. I wonder if they'd be lost if I never returned? Or if they'd escape when the cleaning lady came, and drift from room to room to torment the other weary pilgrims. Who would adopt my remorse?

I’m sitting at the table thumbing through the pages of local restaurants, halfheartedly counting out the change on the floor next to me, next to a single boot and a half-empty bottle of gin, this fullness of sitting in a quiet hotel room alone, with nothing but the thoughts of all the horrid things I’ve done to keep me company. Maybe not fullness, what's the word? Perhaps there's no word. I hope there's not a word for this. Being able to describe it would only make it worse, diagnosis worse than the disease. There’re too many goddamned words to describe what shouldn’t be given more than singular terms.

The liquor store warns me, of course, that the consumption of alcohol will lead to me finding myself irresistible, or rather, unresistant to scratches, nicks and knots. Through the television speakers I hear a man ask an audience how they want to experience what remains of their lives? Do they want to fill the days with laughter and noble deeds, and cast aside the humiliation and crises? Or perhaps he’s not addressing an audience. It might, in fact, be the fluorescent lamp.

In Montana, I am forced to rent an SUV, the hotel a lodge in the middle of Gallatin National Forest. When the pavement gives way to gravel, an overcast darkness descends, and it’s not long before I have the 4-wheel drive engaged, am crawling through the Indian Paintbrush searching for the dark shape that crossed my path. When I capture her in the headlights, she never looks my way. In the field below, the lights of a dozen eyes reflected and bounding away in frightened pairs, thankful for my presence, or in any case, eager to take advantage of an opportunity presented.