I complain about the traffic, I say it has no heart, what town this small needs five 7-11s? It's always hot or raining or both, every street is a one-way, the advert trucks with their blaring loudspeakers (especially when they're under your window at 7am) are like a mean joke. But really, it's not that I dislike this town. It's that sometimes, I think it's flat-lining. or maybe I am. I look for and try to grab onto some kind of sprark, a beginning of something bigger, but i come up--again again again--empty. When people say they love it here, I feel my head cocking to the side, a tiny, involuntary, really?
But then, there are unexpected moments: a teenaged girl leading her blind grandfather by the arm, while he coaxes music out of a mandolin that's so pretty it makes my arm hair stand up, I literally get chills. Or four months ago when Aung San Suu Kyi came to town and I waited in the blaring heat on the side of the road until her massive car rounded the corner and the man standing next to me opened his mouth in wonder and joy, and threw, in a perfect arc, his bouquet of flowers through her open window and we saw them land neatly in her open hands.
But then, there are unexpected moments: a teenaged girl leading her blind grandfather by the arm, while he coaxes music out of a mandolin that's so pretty it makes my arm hair stand up, I literally get chills. Or four months ago when Aung San Suu Kyi came to town and I waited in the blaring heat on the side of the road until her massive car rounded the corner and the man standing next to me opened his mouth in wonder and joy, and threw, in a perfect arc, his bouquet of flowers through her open window and we saw them land neatly in her open hands.
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