The Road To Oncewhere

The Road To Oncewhere

The Road to Oncewhere is a highway of virtual reality ingrained in the back alleys of my own enigmatic lucidity.

This journey takes me through not only distance but time. Cinematic crossroads of repressed emotion and memory are found around every corner, every turn, every signpost, along this route of angst.

A friend, one of those I count as a brother, those men who were 10 or more years my senior who stepped up at a time when I needed them, who saved me from falling into the abyss, those few men who were the Older Brother I never had, has called and asked me to come. A duty I am most happy to oblige as I owe this man much.

And so I begin the journey, a mere 160 miles of distance, 2 or so hours of reflection, retrospection, resurrection, and remorse and a few smiles.

Once where I was a boy-man, naive, unaffected, unblemished, unpolished, unafraid, unscathed.
The scars and blemishes incurred along the road to Oncewhere never fade.

I try to turn up the radio to drown out the melancholy, but it doesn't work.
Eventually, I just turn it off.
And let the demons sing out their cacaphony of regret.

I try to concentrate, most times when I drive this familiar road, I am thinking of the more historical venues and event. "There's where Tahlonteskee had his ferry across the Arkansas. There's where the Creek-Cherokee boundary comes to a point. There's where they all stopped at the end of the Trail of Tears".

Not this trip.
This trip will not allow for their story. So, with a long sigh, I begin the journey to Oncewhere.

Once where I thought 100 miles was a long, long ways.

There.
That's where our car broke down.
Where two young newlyweds with all their wordly belongings in the back seat and in the 'turtle-hull' stood in an early spring mist along the road.
Trying desparately to find a way to lift the car from the pavement, off of the 'jack' they had tried to use to change the tire, only to have the car 'roll' and pin the tire up in the wheel well, and then down upon the jack.
I notice a pickup truck, an old farm truck, with the sideboards on it, her father's truck, that we had used one day to bring home the first brand new piece of furniture we had purchased, a proud day for us, and on the way back, we had propped the spare tire in the pickup bed, and the tailgate which had been removed years ago to allow for the hay gave the spare an easy exit; the tire rolls out the back end of the pickup and passes me.
I whip the truck over, and chase the tire as it rolls down the highway, finally into the median, and tackle it as I would a quarterback on a football field, hoping to catch it before it runs into the oncoming traffic.
I look back, and she is laughing.
She is laughing that big, wide smile and her eyes are twinkling with the silliness of it all, me laying in the muck of the median, folks driving by honking their appreciation of the effort.

Once where we sat close, and held hands as we drove 'home' on weekends, to see the parents, once where we were so oblivious to the dangers and madness of it all.
Once where we were invincible.

There around that corner, that's where I pulled that college basketball player out of the car he was pinned in.
He and four of his team mates in a brand new Honda, driving too fast for an Oklahoma cloudburst, and they spun three complete 360's before landing in the trees below.
Where I ran to assist them, and the smell of gas gave rise to fear, and throwing the door open and grabbing the 6'6" forward by the shoulders and yanking him free of the crushed door, his ankle lying at an incredibile angle, pulled him from the car. The ground begins to sizzle.
The car begins to flame.
Someone says something about how youre supposed to leave folks as they are until the paramedics arrive.
Someone else says he'll never play basketball again. Another says something about a lawsuit.
The car burns.
I leave them on the ground there, as the whine of the ambulance draws closer.

The road ahead has a rise to it.
Once where my college friend was driving back to school late at night. And fell asleep at the wheel.
And never woke up.
In my mind I can still see the blackened earth and the twisted metal shards that marked his passing.
I miss his laugh.

The Road to Oncewhere developed toll booths. I paid the tolls, both real and imagined, many times. But there, that's the toll booth that one night, in complete utter despair, and in a crazed, maniacal attempt to save what was left of a failing marriage, that I flew through the booth in blind emotion, without paying, trying to retrace the road to once where we were in love and where we held hands and the world was still ours for the taking. I made the trip in half the time it normally takes, but arrived years too late.
No longer invincible.

The demons giggle at their frivolty.

The toll they took was much too expensive. And it cost us dearly.

The Road to Oncewhere twists and turns, and my stomach twists and turns with the course of the trip.
The bile sneaks into my throat and I swallow it back, choking off the venom of regret.

I look towards the passenger seat, and she smiles at me, and then she fades away.

Over on the left, is where a dance-hall used to be. The movie begins.
Four of us, one white, one black, two Indians, they refuse us entrance even though three of us had been there before. Not this night, we needed a "membership".

"D", the lone Black man in the group, begs us to go, "let's just go, man", he says, but we're too stupid to know why. The bouncers step up, and then we understand what the 'membership' is all about.
"D" begs us, "let's go, Please,!"
It's too late, the fight is on.
"D" is in the back seat with me, we're holding pressure on "J"s head with my shirt that I had taken off to use as a compress. He's bleeding badly, and we're speeding to a hospital 'over the line" into Arkansas.
When we arrive, the police are waiting for us. "J" goes into the ER.
"D' goes to jail.
I scream audibly at the futility of it all, of racism still rampant, of the blood stained back seat of a '67 rambler still wet in my memory.

The road reminds me of once where racism and prejudice were not disguised.
Where 'good old boys' decided who gained admittance and who lost some teeth.
The Road to Oncewhere was rough.

The Highway Patrol passes me, and through mirrored sunglasses he peers over at me.
Where were you when I need you, I think to myself. He frowns and accelerates.

Over there is where I once thumbed a ride into town. A nice man in a black-framed "buddy holly" glasses stopped and gave me a lift.
I dove from his passenger door ten miles later when his hand found my lap.

Once where I discovered something sinister in men who drive the roads by themselves.
Where I found that kindness has a price. And that nothing is for free.
And that the smiles of strangers are not to be trusted.
Once where I was not jaded of benevolence.

I pull off the four-lane interstate onto a new four-lane highway.

Once where I would find myself driving home for the weekend, to see my family.
Once where my Mother would greet me and take my week-old laundry from me at the door, and then send me back to school with freshly pressed clothes and a grocery sack full of commodity cheese, bread, and canned pop for the coming week.
Once where her smile spoke volumes between us. Once where it was enough just to go home and sit with the family. Once, before I became so egotistical and supposed myself to be too busy. She'll greet me again, some day.

Over there is where Daddy lived, once.
Once where he would call and ask if I was coming over soon? Once where he sought to bridge the gaps.

I cross over the river, the demons cackling, the bridge wider than I remembered, as the trip nears it's termination. Once where I thought this was "such" a big city. Big enough to get lost in.
I was right.

I pull into the same hospital lot that I frequented years ago. Grab the familiar elevator to the sixth floor ICU. My friend's sister greets me, I'm too late.

The demons erupt into raucous laughter.

The Road to Once Where terminated in a vortex of what-if's. What if, I had come when he first called? Instead of waiting for convenience.
What if, I had kept my promises?
What if, I had not become so jaded?
What if, I had been more mindful of my honor? What if ........there were no demons?

What if the Road to Oncewhere was not so damned long?

"The Road To Oncewhere" © Wauhilau as posted in
alt.discuss.clubs.public.culture.native-american.benable
on Sun, Sep 17, 2006, 5:06pm (EDT-3)

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