Once with Blue: Playing in the Puddles

It's pouring outside.

Every rainstorm, I think of Blue.
Mostly because we solemnly swore to pounce every puddles without remorse, but I'll explain the backstory.

Kelsey Blue and I were crammed with mid terms. We crowded her dining room table with class notes and caffeine. She had this soap, caffeinated soap, which she rubbed occasionally -hoping it might jolt alertness through her bloodstream. I had coffee, gas station coffee, with the label "Xtreme" written in lightning bolts. It was dreadful and smelt like earthy toilet scum.
But there we sat, still as stones, memorizing formulas and definitions, trying not to breathe through our noses.

Then the clouds thickened. We paid no mind.
The winds picked up. We kept studying.

Finally, a downpour of liquid marbles tumbled from the clouds' pockets. Unignorable.
The droplets, if you'd care to call them such a dainty word, struck loudly, almost horizontally, onto the sliding doors by her table.
Kelsey glanced up. I couldn't concentrate either.

She closed her notes and nudged me,
"Intermission?"
"No question," I said, nodding profusely.
She sprang from her seat and examined the showers through the sliding glass door.
"Are you a fan of the rain?"
Was I a fan of the rain?
I was born in June. Every year, it rained on my birthday
like a present from the gods.
"Yeah," I was very much a fan.
"Great! Let's give it a visit," she said, sprightly.
My face shaped into that smile small children make when receiving a carnival balloon-animal.
"Sure," I called out, "but there's this minor detail about having no backup clothes."
"Ditch them," she concluded, giving it no thought.

And so I did. Her folks were out, not due back for at least a grocery shopping's worth of an hour, and I shoved my shirt, shoes, shorts and underclothes by the cat-scratched leather sofa. She followed suit.
Just then, Blue and I hit a landmark.
We hadn't, to this point, seen each other naked.

We acknowledged it briefly, noting that the other human in the room was definitely made of girl parts, and ran past each other, flailing those girl parts right round the fenced-in yard, soaking in the deluge.

I'd never felt so damn refreshed in my life. Baptized might be a better word.
The drenched sky seemed more of an endless aquarium, swimmable.
The grass spit mud from beneath its blades, painting our stomping legs brown.
The trees shook and shined, delighted in their quenched thirst.
They had plenty.
We had plenty.

We solemnly swore to dance out in the rain whenever it blessed us with a bath.
She struck a brave match in me, and I was, with her, on fire with constant courage.

We kept our promise.

The Origin of Blue

I'll sprinkle stories as travels unfold, but this is the very, very beginning:

I met Kelsey Blue from the passenger seat of her brother's car. 

It was the first of March. Blue crammed in and tapped my shoulder with a Samoa cookie, giving me a wink.

She announced, "I'm Kelsey Blue, like the Moody Blues," with a toothy smile, and I turned around to reciprocate an introduction. 

"I'm," I started.

"Skittles!" she blurted, indicating her brother previously informed her of my existence. 

I was Skittles, friend of Chad. She was Blue, little sister of Chad. Chad was Chad, the suave librarian I made paper crafts with. Those were our roles at the beginning. 

I knew her older brother fleetingly, and at that point still found him fascinating. 

Chad and I would often smoke hookah on his lawn, watch shadows of shade change under his spray-painted tree and take bets whether or not I could squeeze into his mini fridge, 

of course I could. 

Those were the easy days, before the windows-down-car-wash rendezvous or the long night drives circling Lighthouse Doughnuts.

Throughout the first few times I'd seen Chad outside of the library, he decided the name Skittles fit me, due to my "colorful demeanor and fun-sized packaging". 

Whatever my name was at that point, I was a semi-stranger with Somoa crumbs all over my face. And I was headed to their abode for the third time, with Chad as the sole reason for my visit.

That afternoon, he fell asleep on the sofa and Kelsey suggested we wake him with a pot and a spoon. 

"Excellent," I agreed, happy to know Chad's sense of humor ran in the family. 

While we inspected potential kitchen instruments, Kelsey got to talking about her love for all things Neil Gaiman and gothic. She was pretty hilarious. Told a hell of a story.

Her words, unlike Chad's, were less-calculated. They flowed with ease between her light-hearted laughter. She didn't give a damn if she sounded outrageous. Blue could rock the shock value. 

Kelsey insisted on finding a favorite Gaiman excerpt, most likely hidden somewhere on her floor, and I  crouched down beside her to tear through the heaps of exciting things eventually leading to a forgotten beige, bird-seed-sprinkled carpet. The bottom took a while to reach. 

I could sense a fondness for Kelsey blossoming somewhere between Chad's nap and Blue's show-and-tell of her solved Rubik's Cubes. She threw so many facts and puzzles at me I'd been left dizzy, in need of a second explanation. She knew her stuff.

While maintaining our mission to seek this Gaiman excerpt, we found brilliant leather boots, trench coats and fishnets, all of which Blue insisted I try on.

She said I ought to get in touch with my "Rocky Horror Picture Show" side. 

I hadn't heard of Rocky back then, but she assured me one day we'd see the midnight showing.

What the hell, I figured. I gave in. 

I remember, when I pulled her striped black and pink top over my head, there was a hint of vanilla, dust and bird seed to her room that clung to the fabric. It made me kind of sneezy but was also oddly comforting. This was Kelsey's room's scent. 

I got the shirt past my shoulders and slid into the rest of her selected wardrobe.

She said the outfit looked fantastic. 

I looked in the mirror and her trench coat swallowed me. Her shirt was laughably saggy, displaying that the previous garment-wearer had far larger a' bosom than I, and her boots were upwards of two sizes too big, slumping with every step I took. She was taller than me too, with a soft, classic structure. I was short, flimsy, fun-sized. At 4'11 at the time, I still managed to wiggle into the children's clothing department.

Nonetheless, we pranced around the living room to see if I could manage walking. I couldn't. 

Kelsey demonstrated how the boots ought to be strutted, and I swayed my way to the spoons and pots to wake Chad before changing. 

He got a kick out of the ordeal from what I remember, but Blue always had the better chuckle. I couldn't help comparing. When she laughed, her head fell back and her smile took over so much of her face that her eyes shrunk to tiny, giddy lines. Chad's smile was self-assured, guarded in comparison.

However, Chad's grin I saw less and less of as I appeared at their doorstep time and again for Blue, rather than him. But that didn't matter to me, for I picked the laugh that lingered. 

Kelsey and I, from then on, were inseparable. 

Picking Cities: the Planning Stage

I am taking a road trip with a different kind of co-pilot. 

Kelsey Blue, my adventurer best friend, found a map and pinned the places she wanted us to see together. That is the route that shall be taken.

After knowing each other through our awkward teen stages and living together for our fruitful beginnings of womanhood, you might say that this lady has been the holy water to help plant my roots. We've been planning this adventure for quite some time. 

To put Kelsey into context, she is the miracle of a woman that bakes cupcakes for their mechanic and buys roses for strangers. She's essentially compassion incarnate. Blue took care of me when I was bed ridden and adventured with me when I felt the need to escape. 

We stuck it out through thick and thin and weird and great. 

Unfortunately, tragedy struck before Thanksgiving and left our trip with one less passenger. 

In Blue's last note she gave me her car, and that's the closest thing I've got to her company now. She's a part of the trip, but I guess you could say we are splitting a few less hours driving.

I owe it to her to christen the car with  a memorial trip.

By mid-February, I will embark on a solo-drive across the country. In each city Blue chose, I'll perform an act of compassion in her name. I will find community cleanups, soup kitchens, youth organizations and other service projects that need a hand.

I will write the progress of the trip throughout the journey that will include photos, videos, music, interviews, city characteristics and personal thoughts.

When the trip is through, I will compile personal notes and blog posts to write a travelogue for those who help me make this trip happen.

First order of business ought to be sharing Blue's map. This is the route she aimed to take:

The trip will begin with David, the love of Kelsey Blue's life.

We will drive to Blowing Rock, NC the second weekend of February to send off paper lanterns and see Kelsey's favorite Blue Ridge town. 

David said it was the place he wanted to ask Blue's hand in marriage, and albeit, that certain question can't be answered with "yes", the sentiment remains.

 This wasn't a pin on her map, but it was a town always escaping her tongue, and hence, we will travel to see what she so poetically depicted in stories.

The weekend will end with taking David back to Holiday, FL and from there, I'll roam:

Florida: Tallahassee

Mississipi: Flora Petrified Forest

Texas: Tyler 14-acre rose garden & Mineral Wells Fossil Park

New Mexico: Carlsbad Caverns National Park, Aztec Ruins & Four Corners Monument

Arizona: Grand Canyon National Park

Nevada: Las Vegas

California: San Diego Zoo, Alcatraz, Redwoods & Lake Tahoe

Utah: Salt Lake City

Wyoming: Yellowstone National Park

South Dakota: Mt. Rushmore National Park & Wind Cave National Park

Missouri: Diamond City Crater

Tennessee: Nasheville

Kentucky: Mammoth Cave

Pennsylvania: Pittsburgh to see Blue's brother & Gettysburg

Washington D.C. : (Spend 3-4 Days)

North Carolina: Asheville & Charlotte

With Kelsey's list on hand, I've added some pins of my own. I know myself better than to believe I can drive past certain places without wondering their whereabouts: 

In Texas, I'll sing in Austin's streets. 

I'll play in New Mexico's desert White Sands before squeezing embraces into Corinne's tiny Taos ribs. 

I will seek Arizona's Saguaros in Tucson

Then,

On the way to San Diego, Slab City and the ancient Joshua Trees will no doubt catch my gazes.

I'll look for my lively aunt Hillary in Santa Barbara

and my jovial friend James in Santa Cruz.

Yosemite's peaks will then beckon me to scuff weather into my camping gear, 

which I shall. 

Eventually,

I'll again count bridges in Portland, perhaps craving rainy coffee in Seattle.

Retracing steps in the Tetons, I'll unbury secrets lost in their snowy caps. 

I'll see time's endless layers in the Zion narrows then look at the Arches as they frame every sunset.

But what of the Northeast? 

Why would I neglect the roaring flow of Niagara Falls?

How could I call this quest quits without seeing Chelsea Black in Buffalo? 

Acadia will tangle my affections in its branches and

Shenandoah will serenade my steps. 

I've got plans.

And even if the trip takes a few years to complete, 

I will find means to trek every inch of it.

Thank you again to all the folks helping me make this happen on
https://www.gofundme.com/2hdsfskk

You're a part of this too, making it come to life.