no man's land

In no man's land it is quiet. 

The colors are slow and deep like crayons. 

The air, only cold if you stand in it.

No man's land looks a lot like fall. 

I do what I want to do here and I don't have to lie about it.

BC wakes me by bringing coffee and telling me there is frost in the backfield. I spent all night in my dreams in fifth water canyon and it's disappointing to find myself in my own bed. 

The tree crew hired by the power company is already working down the south fence line. Minus the chocolate cake the farm looks better than you would think after a party. No photos. I misplaced my camera. But it was a typical night 'round here: a lingering fire, food, drinks, 4 kids stung by yellow jackets, and a well timed visit from the missionaries- no, I don't make this stuff up.

On my third cup of coffee BC asks what I've had for breakfast.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that anymore."

We stare at each other.

 

Until this moment he has forgotten one thing about me- I don't wage wars against other people. I don't lash out. I control what I am capable of controlling: my behavior.

Unfortunately for BC, me being in charge of me is the one thing that frightens him the most. I am not a warrior willing to stand and fight. I am a terrorist with a hostage- me. And we have fled the scene.

Since the moment BC first realized he had stepped off the wrong side of the cliff with me he began trying to smooth things over. Sweet and careful, walking around waiting to see where I was, and now he knows. 

He loses the information battle when I won't commit to where I am going hiking and when I plan to return. Later he loses the dinner battle when I come home late dismissing everything offered, except for the beer. 

The following morning the tree crew is back. BC knows I am not fully awake by the way I answer him when he calls me to the phone. In my mind I am still wandering the slippery edge of the red crevasse, the smell of the hot springs and camp fire pulling me back to the dim space between sleep and morning light. 

"It's your sister." 

I ask, "Which one?"

There is a pause while he attempts to translate my mental state. 

"Your big sister...otherwise this would be really creepy."

Right. 

The dead don't tend to call, not even into no man's land.

You know if I could I would live here forever. 

 Step out the front door like a ghost

into the fog where no one notices

the contrast of white on white.

And in between the moon and you

the angels get a better view

of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.

I walk in the air between the rain

through myself and back again.

Where? I don't know... 

~Round Here, Counting Crows~