Papa’s favorite band was called The Fiddle Way. They’re a folk band from
Quebec City, Quebec, and he had always wanted to see them live. I don’t know
why he couldn’t go up to Canada where they always played, but I think it had
something to do with his job. I think the stuff he was working on made it so
that his bosses didn’t want him to leave the country without their
permission. One time in the winter of 2011, though, The Fiddle Way decided
to have a show in New Hampshire, which isn’t too far away from Quebec City.
My dad and I never found out which airport he flew into, but it was really
far away from where the band was going to play. He had to rent a car from
there, and drive for a couple of hours all the way up north until he reached
Lancaster, New Hampshire. It wasn’t actually only this one band. A whole
bunch of them were playing outside over the weekend. It was called the
Lancaster Cabot Music Festival. Papa didn’t care about any of the other
bands, though. He only wanted to hear The Fiddle Way, so he wandered around
until it was time for them. It took place kind of in the middle of the
woods, so there was plenty of room to walk around. He said he sat by a river
for a while, and just enjoyed being in nature. It was really late at night
when the band started to play, and by the time he made it back to his hotel
room, all he had time for was a shower, and then he had to drive back to the
airport to fly home in the morning. He barely made it to his gate on time.
He regrets paying for two nights when he only needed one.
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Showing posts with label wandering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wandering. Show all posts
Monday, December 4, 2023
Microstory 2031: New Hampshire
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
Microstory 1882: Someone Their Own Size
I was a wanderer in my youth. I settled down when I got old, and the
traveler life was no longer viable. I don’t regret the way I was, and I
don’t regret ending it when I did. I don’t care that I can’t afford to be in
a nice facility. It’s got a bed, and they feed me twice a day, which is more
than I can say for some periods of my past. There was a time when I could go
anywhere in the world with no problem. Hiking, hitchhiking, sneaking onto
trains; everything was easier before. I suppose I started doing it out of
necessity. I had a normal upbringing, and a regular job, but then I lost
that job, and couldn’t get a new one, so I sold most of my possessions just
to get by, including my car. Once I realized there was nothing left for me
there, I skipped town, and began to make my way to other places. Sometimes I
found a good job that could have lasted, and sometimes not. If it was the
former, I would inevitably quit, and move on anyway. You see, I get bored
quite easily. The scenery, the people, the restaurants; I like them when
they’re new, but I inevitably eventually lose interest. One time I managed
to scrounge up enough cash to get on a boat to the New World. It’s not like
I had a dream to make a better life overseas. I just figured things would be
different enough, and thus more interesting to me. They weren’t really;
things are pretty much the same no matter where you go. But I never went
back, because I felt like I was done with Europe by then. I spent a lot of
time in the rural parts, which is where our story really begins. My life up
to this particular point, and all the time after that, was generic and
boring, but I finally got an adventure. I just wish it hadn’t been so
bloody. Still, at least I have something to say for myself. I saved lives.
I was wandering through the woods one early afternoon, hoping to find a spot
to make camp, when I started to hear a ruckus beyond the trees. It wasn’t my
business, but I’ve always been curious—disappointed, ultimately, but curious
until I learn the truth. So I kept walking, and found myself overlooking a
fighting ring down the hill. It was a huge operation, lookin’ so strange
since it was in the middle of nowhere. Three Ring Circus is what they called
it, unoriginal as that was. A third of the audience was watching a cock
fight, the other third a dog fight, and the final third a human fight. Some
people acted like they could smell me—it was weird—they turned around, and
gave me the stink eye. A couple of rednecks started to walk up towards me.
It was clear that I was unwelcome there. I don’t know how they figured out
who was excited for the violence, and who didn’t approve, but they seemed to
know right away that I did not like what I was seeing. The humans, I didn’t
care about. They made their choices, as far as I was concerned, but the
animals were innocent, and were never given any options. I. Went. Crazy. I
had been in a number of fights myself over the years. Some places just don’t
like strangers, even if you mean them no harm. I was never formally trained,
though, so I was kind of surprised at how much I had picked up from
experience. I took down the men they sent after me, and then I went after
everybody else. Some were afraid of getting caught by the authorities, so
they bugged out, but others tried to defend their territory. You might not
believe it, but I took on at least twenty men all on my own, including the
human fighters whose entire reason for being was hurting others. Once it was
over, and I left, having freed the poor creatures, I’m sure the people who
ran the show just started back up again, but I still felt satisfied by
giving them a taste of their own medicine.
Wednesday, January 26, 2022
Microstory 1808: Only Natural
I thought that I was born a nomad when I was young, but I didn’t know the
meaning of the word. We moved all over the country, for various reasons,
usually involving one of my parents getting a better job opportunity, but
also sometimes because they needed a change of pace. They eventually grew
weary of the grind, and decided that we would live simpler lives. There were
six of us kids by then, and a seventh would come later. The two eldest got
jobs to help support the family, but none of it was what you might call
skilled labor. This was done on purpose, so as to untether us from any one
place. We continued to move around, but if anyone in the family—including
the youngest kids—asked to move somewhere else, we would. Well, you had to
perform a presentation, and plead your case, but this was only shot down
twice, and once because there were conflicting requests that just so
happened to occur at the same time. I was the middle kid, and had plenty of
chances to prompt one of our infamous moves, but I never chose to do so. It
didn’t matter to me where we lived, as long as everyone else was happy.
Being the one to ask for it just didn’t make any sense for someone who
didn’t care either way. I fell in love with the life. I liked meeting people
all over the continent, trying new things, and learning new languages. We
even went to the U.S. once, but I’m sorry to say nobody liked it, so we
returned to Europe after a few months. We spent all of our money on those
two trips, but we all appreciated gaining the experience. When I came of
age, I was expected to get a job of my own, so I could share in the burden.
I did, but then I grew tired of it. I loved my family, but I didn’t
want to work. I wanted to keep moving.
My parents and siblings could see that I was unhappy. Some people in this
world are just not cut out for work. I was certainly not raised to recognize
its inherent value. We only did it because we had to...at least that’s what
we thought. They released me from my unwritten contract so I could go
explore the world on my own. I went farther than we ever did, to parts of
Africa and Asia, and back to the Americas once or twice. I was homeless, but
I was happy. You would be surprised what you can do without any money
whatsoever, as long as you have no qualms about wild berries and dumpster
diving. I kept in touch as best I could in those days, and returned home
after two years. I regaled my family with stories of my journey, teaching
them a few tricks I picked up along the way. They found themselves to be
envious of the true nomadic lifestyle, especially my two younger brothers,
who both had jobs of their own now. They too hated it. Only the littlest
girl was too young to know what it was like yet, but she didn’t seem very
interested in trying. So everyone quit their jobs, and followed me. With my
guidance, they figured out how to live with no borders, no constraints. It
was so freeing, and I thought I was happy before, but now I was
really happy. As technology progressed, it became easier to stay in contact with
people, and we discovered that we weren’t the only ones living like this. As
nomads, we were obviously very separated from each other, but we still
considered ourselves to be part of a community. It is through it that I met
my future husband. I can’t believe I found someone who saw the world just as
I did. We settled down for a little while so our kids could grow up with a
little bit more stability, but when they were old enough to start making
their own decisions, they decided they wanted to join our old community. So
we went back to being nomads. It’s only natural.
Thursday, September 23, 2021
Microstory 1719: The Centaurs
My people have been cursed to wander the continent forever. We may stop to
rest for the night, and gather resources, but then we must continue. Legend
says that anyone who spends too long in one place will be turned to stone.
This is not entirely true, but it is not completely false either. A body
cannot transform into stone, but it can become stone-like. Their skin will
harden, and their feet will root into the ground. The enemy who cursed us
decided that we would have a choice, and treated this choice as a great
gift. We can either keep moving, or we can never move again. Of course, that
is no choice at all. Some say the stonemen are kept alive where they are
forever, but there is no way for us to know that. If we ever see someone
become stonelike, the only course of action is to get moving again, and we
are always long gone before the stonemen can die... or not, if that is the
case. No one here was alive when the curse fell upon us. We were all born
into this way of living, and most of us accept that there is nothing we can
do about it. I am not so sure. I know that there is a way out of this, and
it’s all because of something I once saw when I separated myself from the
group for a brief period of time. Going off is a fine thing to do. In fact,
our tribe has been split a few times over the decades. Some groups would
prefer to go another direction, while a few individuals have determined that
they would survive better on their own. Many of us just like to walk alone
for a while, but then we rejoin later. One day, when alone, I encountered
something I had never seen before. We have come across many other tribes,
but we try to steer clear, worried that the curse will befall them as well
if they spend too much time with us. We would wish this on no one. The few
individuals I saw that day were different. They were sitting upon great
beasts, which evidently walked for them. They called these creatures horses,
and referred to themselves as The Centaurs. I was in awe, and hopeful that
there was some way for my tribe to rest and walk at the same time.
I begged these Centaurs to follow me, so I could show my people what they
have discovered, but they were worried. To begin, they did not want to incur
the wrath of the demons who cursed us in the first place. I have never seen
one of these demons myself, but I have seen stonemen, so I know that someone
must have done this to us, and that it is not some kind of elaborate lie to
control us. Still, the demons could be watching us in secret, and if so,
would be capable of punishing us further for attempting to find a way out of
our predicament. The Centaurs were also worried that we would steal their
horses for ourselves. We are noble and just, and would never do such a
thing, but I understand the concern. All I want to know is where they found
their animals, and whether we could find more for ourselves. In the end,
they did not agree, and I was forced to return to the group with only my
word. Many believed what I told them of the Centaurs, but not everyone, and
of those who did, some did not believe it would be a good option. As far as
I knew, only eleven horses existed in the entire world. That would not be
enough to sustain our entire population. I urged them to reconsider,
assuming there to be greater number of the animals somewhere, but also
pointed out that eleven would be enough for us to take turns. It did not
matter, they believed. We didn’t know where any of these horses were, and
there was every chance we would happen upon them as we continued to wander.
Looking for them on purpose would not increase the odds. It would, I
explained, if we spread out more, but still, they refused to hear me.
Frustrated with their skepticism, I have now separated myself once more, and
I am not sure if I will ever rejoin. I keep walking in a lateral direction,
always hoping to randomly come across more Centaurs, or better yet, unused
horses. Instead, I have found something else. It is a massive object that I
can barely describe. It’s yellow, but covered in black rectangles. There are
four black circles on the bottom near each corner, which rest upon the
ground. I step inside to find dozens of seats that would make quite
comfortable beds, but one looks special. It’s in the front, and there are
tons of objects along with it, like little dots, and another black circle. I
see something shiny underneath it, and feel a compulsion not to take it out,
but to turn it. The yellow object roars and shakes, and for a moment, I’m
worried that it’s going to eat me. I cannot let it, so I sit down in the
seat, and start tinkering with everything I find that moves. A couple of
things are at my feet. When I step on one, the entire thing lurches just a
little bit. I keep moving things around, trying to figure out how this thing
works, and eventually realize that the entire yellow object is some kind of
motion machine. After some trial and error, I manage to make it go for an
extended period of time, all the way back to the group. I am the Centaur
now.
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