RAM: The Open Book

My father pulled the car along the field and parked on the side of the road. We were on our way home from visiting family friends and it was late, for me, not for him. But Dad wanted to show me something, something I had never seen before. We got out of the car and he put me on his shoulders. We wove our way through the field, through rows and rows of other parked cars, all empty, all dark, just sitting in the field, until we came upon a clearing where hundreds of people were sitting on the grass on blankets. I rode on Dad’s shoulders seven feet in the air and watched other children below me run around with sparklers. Real sparklers. Stars glittered in the sky. People were chatting and happy and seemed to be waiting for something. Dad wasn’t really moving anymore. He was waiting and he told me to wait with him. Suddenly the crowd went silent. A whoosh cut through the air and light exploded in the sky, blotting out the stars beyond. Little speckles of white light fell to the ground and another whoosh went up into the air. A new flash of light and a spray of green flashed across the sky. It was beautiful. ‘What are these?’ I asked as I pointed to the sky. ‘Fireworks’, my Dad replied. ‘Aren’t they wonderful?!’

Johnny Cash could have been my uncle for as much time as his voice spent in our house. There were other musicians who actually did spend a lot of time in our house, backing up my mother’s voice with steel and six-string guitars. But The Man In Black was always in the background, looking out from his album covers by the stereo.

I walk into my kitchen. Teatime. The water boils on the stove in the kettle. The steam rises, dissipates, disappears. In essence, a visual symbol of life in my mind. The light plays through the vapor, coming through the window in streams. Intense light and heat baking anything in its path. I go to the sink to rinse off my hands. My hands are tan. My long sleeved shirt is white, the sleeves are each rolled twice. The soap suds in the sink envelope my skin and reflect little blue rainbows of light off of each round bubble. I pour the water into the cup over the Earl Grey teabag. The water changes from clear to clear brown in swirls of unending caffeine. I move my chair so that it faces the window, so that the sun shines directly onto my face, warming me, regenerating me, passing its life into me.