THE 40 PARADOX
The hazy summer of the new millennium
Finds the four of us
Inching through the daily scramble of the 405
That finally lands us on Wilshire Boulevard
Mother, Father, Daughter, Nephew
We all look for movie stars at the corner Starbucks
Giddy that two are real enough to stop and chat
After compliments on latest movie
And our travel plans shared
Telling looks and “I have to go” smiles
Stage whisper we had lingered
as long as we could
No real relationships are solidified
Warm goodbyes float on the Westwood glitter
And the smoggy rumor of
A Los Angeles sun
We glide to the 10
For a tearful goodbye in Korea Town
He watches, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped
As we onramp in a curve with the 15
Pushing back the struggle of separation
We must embrace the happy of it all
Smooth and all lightness we are until
Truck tires stutter and skip upon meeting the 40 asphalt
Acting like they don’t really want to go
But knowing they must
Then grabbing pavement as if holding on for dear life
Calling out a warning
About destinations unfamiliar
At Flagstaff the truck bed tarp unravels
We braid the new fringe together
Like a schoolgirl’s hair
Too far from the shade
We grow faint and angry
At the hot dry Arizona earth
The mountains stand as stationery greys
Through miles of lonely highway
Reluctantly giving in to New Mexico reds
Albuquerque has waited patiently at the Route 66 fork
To lovingly shelter us for the night
At sunrise we mount up
Heeding the warnings of others before us
We move cautiously across Texas
With a list of towns where things have not changed
Places where we have been told to go slow
Or not to stop at all
CD player on blast
We sing through it loudly to ease the creeping fear
The dungy beige tumbleweeds
Taunt us from Amarillo to Shamrock
We maneuver through an unsettling sea of Texaco’s
When on the horizon
A California Chevron
Rises like a phoenix
And makes us momentarily forget
Where we are
The figure riding the heat waves
Is not a mirage
It is dirty coverall gas station man
Arrived at the edge of the road
To deliver the bigot’s creed to travelers like us
No gas no bathrooms no water
No nothing
For you or you or you and especially you
Our knowing looks exchanged
Unnecessary words discarded
The boys sneak around back
And hose down gas station man’s truck
In a very natural way
Denial again on the dirty linoleum
Of the desolate Oklahoma country store
Soon made just another scratch on the soul
That will heal over
But leave another mark
Salve is the rich green of Oklahoma City
Where gentle hosts provide us a sweet night of rest
When they believe nephew’s story
That he is Jay Z’s little brother
The lie is a blanket tossed aside in the morning
As hundreds of birds in the outsized hydrangea trees
Raucously chirp us awake
Convoys of confederate flagged truckers
Vilify the lush beauty of the Arkansas terrain
As they curse and spit us all the way
To where the 40 route narrows
To a sharpened sword
That shears off the tip of Mississippi
Then becomes airborne
And pierces the trucker bubble
In the rearview we watch them fall back airless
And melt into silver lines on the asphalt
Unthreatened we cross the mighty river
And exhale into Tennessee
As the signs for Nashville begin to appear
We are happy to have made it this far
And sad that we have arrived
This is where she will be for a while
To do this thing
That she is dream driven to do
This university of regal brick and stone
Would whisper to her each day
And remind her how far she was
From California
They would educate her
In the ways she came there for
And in ways they did not consider
Later we journey to meet her there
Flying high above the 40
Joyously and triumphantly following the road
From 30,000 feet
Giving it the finger with one hand
Blowing kisses with the other
Her PhD a permanent mile marker
Along the 40 paradox
Copyright © 2017 by Sheryl J. Bize-Boutte