Fragments of a day

Let peace follow you. I sit and look out beyond the metal walls that carry Sarah and me over rolling hills of green-gold sea, saturated and made quick by yesterday’s thunderstorms. The purr of the bus is less like a kitten and more akin to a rabid tiger – one whose teeth jangle in metallic sing-song and whose joints have lost all previous ability to absorb impact. She sounds fucking fantastic to me.

We’ve left the comfort of Wimberley behind. (A friend who’s doing an internship abroad has let us park outside his place, use his electricity, and shower in what smells like sulfuric rain). Abnormally cool temperatures replace the usual humidity gouged by scorching heat. These hills, mostly farmland, give way to the continual, inevitable spread of San Antonio, the shifting and moving of people over a given terrain – something neither unusual nor contemporary. A sharp dip in the pavement sends household items noisily to the floorboard, promptly reminding me of our journey’s transience.

After attempting to locate a spare rim and tire at a South San Antonio establishment, we venture (everything in the bus is done at about half pace, comparatively) to the Goeth’s (Sarah’s parents), hoping to secure and organize all our shit more effectively. Later, in an effort to fulfill a long-neglected promise, we drive to John Glen Elementary to pick up the niece and nephew. As Isaac rounds the corner he whirls about and places his hands on his head in dramatic fashion: “The bus! It must be an illusion. It must be.” This is either thinly masked disdain for the especially funky pick-up or sheer anticipation of bus-surfing without repercussions. I guess the latter. Illiana just keeps saying how cool it is and running around and sitting in every available seat. I hope for success of this magnitude throughout.