“I stood at the open warehouse door, just below the concrete landing three feet up, and the guy had disappeared again. I turned toward my truck to duck out of the wind, & grab my hat from the driver’s seat. Snow and grit raced around the asphalt yard, in gusts so mighty, I felt assaulted. Where was my clipboard and 3 inch pencil? Had I pulled in close enough to the loading dock? I tried to imagine which approach the dude would use, to wrestle five gigantic bags of rock wool insulation into my vehicle. Then, as my flimsy coat flew upwards & I braced myself against the next frigid blast, I thought: they’ll do whatever. They work out here all day. And not that many women are pulling into their parking lot for building materials, probably, not on average. So, ride the wave, I said, almost aloud. Let them figure it out. That’s when I heard his dolly coming, and saw the plastic brand name, before I saw him. That big bale of stuff was looking unstoppable. You only have one life to live, so use me, it said, as it sailed out over the gap, the shouting man, heaving, his helper secondarily in charge, heaving, the bulk of my future warmth crashing, until there it lay, inert on the truck bed liner. The things that men can do, I said, again, to myself. It was going to be harder to pay for it. I recalled my most recent awkward entrances into the world of the lumber yard counter. The one nice, normal guy in the middle; the other guys, who had to be deftly avoided But it wasn’t always possible, now was it. You’d be batting a thousand to get the guy who’d obviously been civilized by having grown up with older sisters. No, more likely, it was going to be the fellow who became paralyzed at the sight of an intriguing female, & who could not make eye contact, nor reconcile his churning emotions. Most likely married, to his childhood sweetheart. No judgement there, I sincerely honor his struggle! But frankly, as far as buying building materials goes, I’d rather just buy the materials. And not have to jump thru so many psychological land mine moments, just to pick up some boards, or a can of spray foam. And when I don’t have to go through town to pick up my mail, I can take the notch road home, and clear out my sinuses, so to speak. A crackling mystery of hundreds of acres of wilderness, with only a few access roads, casually accessible, and yet, not a place to idly wander. The twisting notch road that tracks a deep cleft of tumbling mountain water, it felt ominous today. The darkest cliffs here, no one tramps on a romp. I kind of thrill to it, but kind of, I don’t. I used to like driving with music on loud, to ramp my mood, but as it turned out, music fueled a fantasy that was totally self destructive. Would I do it again? I would redo it again. I would take the secret roads partly traveled due to ignorance, and explore them further, with intelligence. I would stop fearing what outside myself could hurt me, and instead, take up healing as my first art. And along with that, drink courage, when no one else would.”
