Entry Three: Atlanta

Niagara Falls: If you’ve never been there, then nothing that I say can convey to you the raw power. Think of Lake Erie, a body of water so large that you can’t see across it. Now think of that much water steadily moving. Easily fifty meters across and easily ten feet deep the river. But unless you look down, all you see is a layer of swiftly flowing water. We aren’t used to seeing water that deep move quickly. Imagine the deep end of a swimming pool pushing forward at twenty miles per hour. Now take all of that, and put it at the top of a 175-foot cliff. There are places where you can go underground and look out from behind the falls. All you see is a sheet of white with the faintest perception of movement, and all you hear is the roar of water. It leaves you horrified and terrified and awe struck at its beautiful power and powerful beauty.

Canada: What a country. The Canadian side of the falls is by far the more elegant. The Horseshoe Falls, they are called, for obvious reasons. But getting to them is a pain, especially after 9/11, I suppose. There are two guards on the bridge from America to Canada. And neither guard believed that we were genuine at all. “How long are you staying?” “I dunno, half an hour.” “Uh-huh, and you drove all the way from Georgia just to stay half an hour.” I’m not sure if that’s just suspicion or ignorance. I had to explain to the American agent that, no; we were actually doing other things while in the northeast than just seeing Canada for thirty minutes. Then the Canadian lady was convinced we had weapons. “What kind of fire-arms are you bringing into Canada?” Not “do you have guns,” or “are you bringing any guns into Canada.” We said we didn’t have any and she gave us this look. “I thought everyone in Georgia had fire-arms.” That’s either bad humor or, again, ignorance. Thank God coming back in to the US was easier than leaving her.

Snow Driving: Perilously fair, if I had to describe it. We woke up on Monday morning to drive to Connecticut only to find the ground dusted with an inch of snow and more falling. The farther east we got, the more enchanting it became. Huge flakes drifting down onto sheets of rock that lined the Thruway. Hills of Evergreens, each layered with white. I think the best moment was the Massachusetts State Sign. A deep blue beacon that seemed to fit the icy terrain; a small fir tree on either side and some wood bark in a semi-circle in front, brown laced with white. A winter-wonderland, albeit a dangerous one.

The Crash: 4:01pm. You’re driving down the iced roads, trying to stay in the tracks of the car ahead of you. You need to stop, so you merge over and begin to exit onto the ramp for the rest area. You only have image memories from here on out...… a sign… “Cars left. Trucks right”…. turn the wheel left… the tires turn… the car continues right… ice… a clear moment of panic… instinct: recover… the car beginning to spin… training kicks in… “Turn into the spin”… a ditch to the right… you’re going right towards it… breaking hard… closer… oh shit… going left… a median… car still spinning… going reverse… a voice other than yours… oh shit… how many turns have you gone… jumping the curb… now backwards again… the sign you saw… five feet… snow and dirt flying… three feet… “Our Father”… one foot… stopped… You open eyes you didn’t close. Ryan is jumping out of the car. You think you hear Justin, “Holy Fucking God!” You open your door and glance at the clock. “Is it still 4:01?” Falling out of the car onto rubbery legs. Ryan is running around yelling, now kneeling, now running again. You look at the back bumper. Scarcely a foot from the sign. Justin talking: “Thank God we missed that light pole.” Light pole? You look. Next to the ditch is a large metal street light you hadn’t even seen. Ryan leaping up hugging you. Weak knees. Someone: “Take a picture, quick.” A camera snaps. Faltering out into the exit ramp. Somewhere between a prayer and a tear.

I guess from there we packed up and moved on. We filled the car with gas and sat in McDonalds for a long time, each coping differently. Ryan writing everything down madly. Justin pacing, talking to us. Me searching for an angle on the situation. Desperate for a handle. Scared of the road: Phobic of my hands on the steering wheel. The snow fell… Perilously fair.

Reiki: We pulled into Connecticut that evening, worn and frazzled. Luckily Ryan’s mother was something of a superb hostess. Spagetti & Meatballs for dinner were a quick precursor to the real relaxation. Reiki is a sort of spiritual meditation / massage. You lie on a flat table with soothing music playing, and the guide essentially prays over you. But with her hands. The idea is a massage of the spiritual energy of the body, releasing all of the blocks and letting it flow freely. Now I’m not a huge believer, but for some reason or another, it honestly worked. I lay there on my back and was only vaguely aware of her hands passing over me. Now placing one on my chest, now one on my knee. They feel as though they’re still there, but as I slit my eyes, I can see both of her hands on my feet. It was strange and strangely worked. All three of us slept like rocks.