\ As meddle is to mettle

Oh, oh, oh, how come when you got someone in your life who is indecipherable that you get overwhelmed with the urge to figure her out? How come you cain't just let the enigma stand? But I do, I think. I never have done psycho, or obsessed; rarely meddle in the affairs of others, much less my own. I get quiet, though occasionally fall into an endless loop of nervous tic unless you snap your fingers, say, 'Hey, you alright?' I am. I'm just strange. I'll say a few Hail Marys and a few goddamnits on the way home. I only occasionally get turned on my head when I run into someone I should have met a few pages back in the road atlas. I am solid. I should get a medal.

I compare it to long summer road trips when you'd see a car pass, some recognizably memorable car, maybe with a clever bumper sticker like, "I DO WHATEVER THE RICE KRISPIES TELL ME," or a station wagon with wood paneling, pulling a tin can trailer, and you'd stop at Little America for an ice cream cone and SEE THAT VERY SAME CAR, AND OH MY GOD, WHAT DO YOU DO, THE COINCIDENCE OF IT ALL. And you'd leave, and that VERY SAME CAR would pass you AGAIN, and WHAT? ARE WE FRIENDS NOW? DO WE HONK AND SPEED UP? FOLLOW THEM TO THE NEXT EXIT AND BOND? but your folks don't pay attention, because old people don't see magic. And then 4 hours later, when you had had it with driving, the SAME CAR WOULD PASS AGAIN, and you couldn't imagine that perhaps the driver of that car had simply stopped for gas or food or TO PEE GODDAMNIT, NOT EVERYONE IS SO CRUEL AS THOSE WHO LOVE AND PROTECT YOU, and you'd think instead, 'They must have driven super fast, went clear around the world.' Seeing someone so often that the magic strikes me, but not nearly enough, is how I feel now. I'm as old as my parents back then, maybe even older, but goddamn it, I still BELIEVE.

Belief is helpful when you cain't make sense of it all.