I took time off, time away, to figure out exactly what I wanted this blog to do for me, realizing that some of my earlier posts don’t fit. But first and foremost, I am a writer who loves to tell a story. Designing dialogue is quite delightful; it is in that moment of a character’s conversation that I find them breathing life from words I manipulated, showing their character traits and flaws. It’s somewhat of a self-discovery, but not in the typical fashion. It isn’t about me per se, but about the creativity and the process that divulges plot, story lines, history, characters, and settings. The process takes me to places I have never been nor seen, yet it flows through me like water from a tap. Sometimes the tap runs dry trying to understand how a story should take shape, but it always continues its never-ending release to sustain life. That, in a nutshell, is what drives me.

The Birth of a Story

When the story takes shape it could be from the smallest thing. From what a person says or listening to how someone thinks. It could come from an object, a shape, a number. It can be a variety of different things. The most current piece I’m working on began when a co-worker of mine loudly stated: “I’m looking for my lost thoughts.” I can’t really explain why this hit such a chord with me, but within nano-seconds a story began to unfold inside of my mind.

So my Story Begins…

“What are you looking for?” Asked Mishon.
“My thoughts.” I replied.

I went looking for my thoughts like a lost lone ranger on a prairie. If I found them, would I have known? I wasn’t sure. But I sure tried to find my way in the thicket of grasses that caused me to wheeze and sneeze with crusted-over allergy eyes.

“Why do you cry like that?” Mishon wanted to know.
“Who’s crying?”
“You are.”

I knew I wasn’t, but he believed I was, so I decided to give him something to think about.

“Why you named Mishon?”

He paused without smile and replied: “Who is like God?”

I have to admit I was stumped with that one, but something inside of me rose up and I heard myself say: “Who is like God, is liked by all.”

I don’t know why I chose to say that, but that’s what I said. I could have had much better responses like: “You didn’t answer my question”, “You shouldn’t answer a question with a question,” or “What are you talking about?”, “It depends on which religion you’re speaking of”, “Depends on what you believe” or “Those spots are for saints only, obviously.”

None of these flowed from my mouth.

Mishon didn’t respond to my reply. He was one of those silent fellows I guessed. I honestly don’t know how I even found him.

I decided to leave my Texas roots one day and go to the plains. I have been drawn there for some reason or another, although I can’t explain why. My truck hit a rough spot in the road going through all that tall grass land on what route is it? Damn, if I didn’t forget it, again. So I had to foot-it for awhile when I found this car parked on the side of the road with windows down and the keys in the ignition. I said to myself: “Now how stupid can this idiot be?” I decided to teach the person a lesson and took the keys, but left the car. Now, I don’t know what possessed me to do that, but something did–very strongly I might add–but as I slipped those keys into my pocket, I had no idea what an idiot I had just become.

I finally came to a gas station and asked if they could help me get my truck that was up the road and fix the driver’s side door, which wasn’t hinging properly. They said they probably could, but Mishon hadn’t come back yet and by any chance did I see a Dodge Dart on the side of the road?

“Yes, yes I did. Matter of fact, some idiot left the keys in the car.” And before I got to finish they said: “Yeah, that’s old Mr. Hadely. He does that. He walks through the grasses and talks to his wife. She’s been dead for years, but he insists that he’ll know when she returns when his keys are gone. We laugh at him for that one. His keys will never be gone. That’s what we tell him, but he matter-of-factly states: “I have faith.”

When I heard that, my heart sank into one of those deep pits that went far below the pit of my stomach. I felt worse than a dog that knew it had done bad. I had to get the keys back to the car, so before I got to clear-up my own truck problems, I went walking back the way I came. They yelled after me, but I didn’t care. I had to get back to the car before Mr. Hadely got there.

I think that’s when I ran into Mishon. Isn’t it funny how I can’t really remember? Maybe it was the delirium from the lack of water and food because the idiot I am, I left without taking any provisions with me.

I thought I was back at the spot where I saw the car, but obviously I wasn’t, because the car wasn’t there. That’s when Mishon asked me what I was looking for. At that point, I was a little light-headed high. My thoughts were all mixed up and I couldn’t find them. I don’t know where he came from and I did think he was an angel or something, which is why I gave that response: “Who is like God, is liked by all.” I was so happy that some other person was out there with me, walking with me, that I was relieved. I thought God had personally sent me an angel. I also knew I must have been getting delirious. I don’t even remember him telling me his name.

I never found the car. I ended up in the hospital, since I passed out. They pumped my body with fluids, lectured me on my stupidity and told me to take it easy. As far as I knew, my truck was still by the side of the road on the route I can’t remember. I did need my truck back.

The only thing I could remember was Mishon’s name and Mr. Hadely, so I asked at the hospital. “My friend” they told me, was in the waiting room for me.

When I went out there, Mishon stood up and nodded.

“I think you’re Mishon, right?”
He nodded.
“Thank you from dehydration!”
He nodded again.
I looked at him with my extended hand and wondered why he did hang around to see if I was okay; he was so damn quiet like he didn’t know how to speak, or shake my hand, but then he shocked me.
“Do you have a place to stay?” He asked while shaking my hand. “They said you were from Texas. And you’re awful far from Texas.”
“No, no I don’t. By any chance do you know Mr. Hadely?”
“Should I?”
“Well, it seems a lot other people here do.”
“No, I don’t know him. Where you headed?”
“You don’t know Mr. Hadely?”
“No. I’m passing through here, too, so I was wondering…”
“Where you going?”
“No place special. Just traveling to see the states.”
“Your momma know where you are?”
“My momma always knows where I am.”
“Really? You’re younger than I thought.”
“No, really I’m that respectful.”
“Really? I don’t mean anything by that, it’s just I don’t know any man that goes traveling across the country, who still calls his momma about his whereabouts.”
“I’m not most men. What you’re describing is a boy. Someone who is not yet a man.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to be your son and make you a grandpa.”
“Okay. I’m not a grandpa and I’m not looking to be one, so where were you planning on hitting next?”
“I have no plans at all, but take the day as it comes. I thought maybe you’d give me a lift to the next state?”
“I don’t have my truck back and I have to take care of business with Mr. Hadely. But you can wait if you’d like.”
“Sounds good. Where are you staying?”

Yes, Mishon was a kid in my eyes, but I liked him. He lacked the experience of living, but here he was trying to find out what living was like. I respect a man for that.

We had no place to stay, either one of us.

Mishon was doing odd jobs at the station and since he didn’t return when he was supposed to, well, that caused him some problems. He was staying there at the station, but they told him he better move on considering old Mr. Hadely almost died of a heart attack; that he should have come back with the vehicle insteading of driving around. If he hadn’t been driving around, he wouldn’t have found me and saved me for that matter, but when I found out Mr. Hadely almost dying of a heart attack…I was too ashamed to admit that I was the one who took the keys. That created quite a stir here–those missing keys–rejuvenating people’s faiths. I smiled when I heard. That’s about all I could do. Smile. Politely. I still had the keys jingling in my pocket with everyone’s heightened emotional state about faith and Mr. Hadely’s health and all I wanted was to leave as soon as I could.

Truth of the matter, I couldn’t face the people regardless how bad I felt. What was I supposed to do? Crush the hearts of many? And Mr. Hadely himself…I prayed for his complete recovery.

I had no idea what to do with the keys.

When the truck was restored, I passed the old Dodge Dart, still sitting beside the side of the road acting now like a shrine. Flowers were placed everywhere with all sorts of prayers, some even claiming that the car had healing powers.

Like I said, I hadn’t realized the idiot I had become.

Mishon was just as eager to leave as I was. Some blamed him, despite the fact he saved me. It was an immediate bonding factor that neither one of us was willing to admit or deny.

“You never told me if you found your thoughts.” Stated Mishon.
“The day you found me, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that day I was out of it.”
“You sure were. It’s a good thing I came when I did. But what were you looking for? You were so upset you couldn’t find it. You started mumbling.”
“I did?”
“You were talking pretty nuts. Betty Mary better not find, the car keys, the car keys…crazy talk you know.”
“What else did I say?”
“I don’t know. Why? You concerned I found the lost pieces to your intellect?”
“What lost pieces? What I have is all here. Stuffed away in storage bins up in my mind all cluttered, dusty and should be thrown out.”
“Interesting analogy. Is your mind rusty, too?”
“I hope not. If it is, we’re in trouble.”
“I have faith.”
“I’m sure you do. Have you ever been poor, Mishon?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You have to know whether or not you were poor.”
“I wouldn’t call us poor, momma and me. I knew other kids had more than us and others who had less, so was I what I’d call poor? No.”
“Okay. I was. When I was poor, I made a wish. That wish came true and at the same time I realized I made a mistake.”
“How so? How could wishing for food be a mistake?”
“You got it wrong Mishon. I didn’t wish for food. I wished for a silver earring.”
“What for you’re a guy?”
“To be cool. When you’re poor, you can’t be cool. I wanted to be cool. Have a pierced ear and all.”
“Who cares if you’re cool or not?”
“Who cares? I cared! I was a teenager. I liked this girl and with a pierced ear, that’s what she liked. I wanted to prove to her I was cool, to win her over. But it didn’t go like that.”
“Why because you didn’t have the earring?”
“No, that’s just it. I did find an earring, silver, just what I was looking for. It was on the sidewalk in front of the school a couple days after I made the wish.”
“That’s pretty amazing.”
“What’s more weird is that the other earring belonged to her. She lost it the morning I found it. Some people would have said it was destiny or whatever, but I say it was bad luck or a bad wish.”
“Why?”
“She accused me of taking it from her.”
“That’s called irony.”
“Mishon you’re missing my point. My wish. I made the wrong wish.”
“You should have wished for food?”
“No. Let me tell you something about being poor. There is nothing like it in the world–nothing–lack of money creates the onset of depression. Deep depression, feeling like you’ll never crawl out of that state, that carved hole of bleakness. You’re too hungry to sleep and your thoughts are disconnected. Your entire focus is on eating. That’s all you think about. I didn’t know then–at that particular point–that I was going to become poorer than I had ever imagined.”
“What happened?”
“My Mom lost her job. She couldn’t get work and neither could I. No one would hire me because of the pierced ear. It was a different time then. We went broke. I have never been so hungry as then and I vowed I would never be again.”
“I guess that vow has never been broken.”
“I have never felt the pangs of hunger ever again. Until…”
“Until?”
“The day you found me. It was different, but somehow the same in some sort of way in my mind. It played tricks with me that day.”
“That makes sense. Your memory was recalling past experiences and tripped you into thinking it was the same.”
“It tripped me alright. Have you ever been tripped up like that?”
“Like what?”
“Thinking and believing something is when it isn’t?”
“Sure.”
“What was it?”

Mishon squirmed when I pressed further, so I let the young buck off the hook.