Asheville, NC: The Starting Point

The original plan had David and I driving to Blowing Rock together.

I would get to know Blue's foreign car as the miles added up from Florida to the Carolinas

and David would be there, watching the landscape change from constant summer to snowy winter.

We would chat about little things like Cheerwine but also weighty stuff such as Kelsey Casamo’s remains, resting in a glossy blue vessel under the passenger seat.

The trip turned out differently.
I had to leave a week early to get a title and tag for Blue's car before it expired,
and I hit the road alone and planned to meet David in Asheville. 

The Solo Drive: 

With a string of vehicles halted behind an accident,
I witnessed a range of scenes through car windows in Columbia, SC.

A man to my right climbed over his seat, took some puffs from a bowl, and returned with a snack-bar hanging from his mouth.

A young couple in front of him did some climbing of their own, namely toward each other in a grand romantic gesture. 

I'd never thought car sex seemed all that comfortable but when they landed in my peripheral vision, I had to change my perspective.

I'll leave the imagery up to you, but know that their execution was less than discreet.
To keep distracted, I turned my engine off and practiced ukulele.

The traffic finally started crawling, but my car wouldn't.

I needed a jump.

And I was in the fast lane.
And this jerk behind me was honking.

So I got out of my car, knocked on the jerk's window and asked for a jump.
Their sour face shifted from aggravated to empathetic, and he shimmied his car to the lefthand shoulder.
Two minutes later, a symphony of beeps emerged, urging us to get moving.
With no desire to egg on their noisy encore, I tried to start my engine.
It worked
and we got moving.
*
I got into town and slept maybe 3 hours before Tuesday morning hit.
Inside the DMV, a rosy cheeked, curly haired lady waved me on. She squinted through her thick prescription glasses, reaching for my paperwork and she raised her eyebrow.

“This is some awful chicken scratch, “ she said.

But she shrugged and got to typing anyhow.

 “Honey,” she called after a good while, “you’re all set. ”

Her wrist shook arthritically as she handed me my tag.

“You take care now. And hon,” she said, “get you a thicker sweater.”

I nodded. I left. 

It really was cold as hell, I guess I just hadn't noticed.

The Solo Week: 
*
Tuesday: 

With the DMV dealt with, I had a slew of days to play with before David's arrival.

Brett decided to host dinner to get everyone together and we had ourselves a Taco Tuesday.

Now, I have to tell you,
swinging a full liquor bottle at your friend's head is not the best way to make an entrance.

Poor Nicole, my Boston bartender friend, did not take kindly to calling dibs on first hugs only to be intercepted with a blunt object.

I went in for a host hug, carrying a brown bag of Old Crow as a gift,
and as my left arm came across Brett's shoulder, I felt a hard thud that was followed by a loud cry.

"Jesus! Right in the money maker," Nicole yelled, half in pain but still half happy to see me.
I handed her the bottle and she took a stiff swig.
"This was not the way I pictured the night going."
She wiped her swollen eyes and commented about the top-knotch choice she made in waterproof mascara.

"Typical June bullshit," she said.
And then we ate tacos and had a fine time.

Wednesday:















It was the strangest thing, having to knock.

It was mine, but not mine anymore,
the apartment.

I looked around and saw my old tea kettle, my hand written map of Asheville and my Sound-Portrait painting. It was all in its rightful place, but it was now a remainder of a lease I no longer belonged to.

The wild turkeys were outside, the bears were no doubt waiting for trash and the rabbits were scuttling across the dead-end street like usual.

Nowadays, Horus lived in the canvas-covered dining room I spent my first year there living in.
The spoon-chandelier I hung there had six or so spoons missing.

George lived in my latest room, the master bedroom with my orphaned favorite books.

Gunnar still slept loyally in his bedroom, the one he kept since we became roommates.

This was our stomping ground, but  now I was the guest on the blow up mattress.

Thursday: 

What grandmother lacks love for chocolates and roses?
I made my way to Hendersonville and stocked up on valentines gifts.

Grandma Patti peeked out of her door in a toboggan and a long jacket, shivering. It was 76 degrees inside her room yet we were both overdressed and freezing.
It was then that I realized why the nurses laughed as I asked for Patti's room number.
We were "perfectly identical" the blonde nurse giggled, "give or take 50 years."
I didn't mind favoring her, she was a hell of a lady.
In her many years she's been an actress, a radio host, a special-ed teacher, an activist and a dancer.
You might say she's condensed quite a character into her 4'8 frame.

I found a home for her roses, sliced her a piece of chocolate cake and played her a song before having to miss her again. We talked about the road trip and she wished me luck. I told her I'd send her postcards here and there. She smiled, she walked me out, she kissed me a trillion times.
"Never goodbye darling, always see you later," she said, closing the door.

Friday:

(Left side: Henry, Gunnar, Brooke, Gilbert. Right side: David, me, Horus.)

At last, David arrived! After driving all day, we brainstormed on nightly activities.
"To the bar,"the roommates suggested.
David doesn't really drink, especially not beer. I pondered.
"Well he's in Beer City, maybe we can sway him to the dark side."
And to Wicked Weed we went, for food and brews.
Then to the Southern. Then to the Vault.
Brooke and Horus swarmed the dance floor with me and we made our way back.
At the house, the misspelt label 'hommus' had Brooke cracked up to terrifically-buzzed tears and we all joyfully munched the typo-ridden snacks until it was time for them to go.
That was pretty much the evening, first night around.

Saturday:

With zero intentions of leaving Asheville without Biscuit Head, the Jeffopolis folks
(meaning the people that lived or loved "Jeff", our apartment)
bore the blistering cold of the line to sample the dozens of jams available to stuff in our faces.

They had sweet potato chai, rosemary peach and banana foster jams hanging out with the bacon butter.
The novelly was drool-worthy. We got our fix before hitting the road.

Then the real reason for the visit came into effect.

Blowing Rock, NC:

I get the butterflies just typing the name of the place.
Blowing Rock was named after a cliff ledge that supposedly blows the winds upward.

Legend has it that a Chickasaw chief hid his daughter with a squaw after a white man showed interest in her, and there she hid until one day a Cherokee brave walked in the woods below and caught her eye. She shot an arrow toward him, I guess in a Catniss type of flirtation, and he followed the arrow's path to where she stood. He, enamored by her presence, found his way to her and tried to woo her with songs of his land. She was wooed. They fell in love.
But some time later, the brave caught a strange red glow in the sky and figured it was an omen of some sort. He figured his tribe was in trouble and felt the sudden urge to help his people.
He couldn't bear leaving the side of his love, however, and felt infinitely torn between his two desires.
Instead of choosing either option, he jumped off the cliff and left the maiden alone.
She cried and cried to the winds to bring her him back to her.
Eventually, the Great Spirit finally gave in and sent a gust of wind upwards, bringing her lover with it.
The wind shot her lover into the air, where she reached up into the sky to grab him and bring him back to her. Ever since then, the winds continue to gust upwards, even sending snow floating rather than falling.

David and I found the rock and stepped upon it. This was Blue's favorite place.
You could feel her there, smiling.
Maybe I was just remembering a photograph I saw of her there once.
She was poised, perched like a lady fully emerged in her element.
This was the place she always wanted to take David and I to.
I pictured her on the rock, perched just like the image I knew.

She seemed completely present, making the wind dance, laughing at us when we shivered in the 28 degree gusts. We blew warm air into our ever-freezing fingers, but the only way to find warmth seemed to be running inside the visitor's center, so we did.














We would meander one path, run inside, then find our way through the next patch of trail.
Eventually, we came across a cliff where the land below seemed vast and sun-drenched.
The wind was quiet and the crowd was nowhere near.
We waited for the winds to die down and opened my bag.
Inside, the ashes of Kelsey Blue rested.
"She was never meant to be put on a shelf," David said.
He looked at me, nodded, and we shared a moment of silence for goodbyes before he stood up with her in his arms one last time, closing his eyes and breathing out.
"I'll miss you," he whispered.

And there she went, blowing in the wind.

Valentines Day in Asheville:

David must have left the Carolinas at some ungodly hour-
I got up just after the sun rose and he had already gone.
Then there it hit me, Valentines day.

I already had an aversion to the day.
It was my mother's birthday and ever since she passed, the day seemed less sweet.
When I was younger, she'd always ask to be our Valentines.
Now, I felt like I was both without my mother and my best friend.
No valentines could beat those two.
I couldn't get my mind off of them.
Two of my favorite people.

Eventually, I decided I had to do something.

I would buy bouquets with Franny and gift them away,
flower by flower, to any passersby within arm's reach.

She got purple and I got yellow. We blasted the heat in her car then readied ourselves for the cold.

No one was on the street, but we managed to find sporadic footsteps.

Outside Dobra Tea, a few men stood chilly by the doorway.

Two of them were chatting cynically about the Hallmark marketing behind valentines day,

one man was just laughing at them. 

When Frances and I curtsied and placed flowers in front of them, their expressions gentled.

I asked for their photograph and they let me capture this:

The evening arrived, the champagne was sipped, the sun was drenched in clouds.
The visit to Asheville was ending

and I was ready for Tallahassee.