The sounds of Bubble Guppies stream through the three bones that rattle in my ear and communicate wavelengths to my brain.
I’m alone in this asphalt laden wasteland of humanity, striving for the sights and sounds of a seamed spheroid and the ping of aluminum on a mild Tuesday. Or is it a Wednesday? Time has become flat as two offspring scream their howls of excitement or is it terror?
This is a road I’ve traveled before. A road untraveled alone.
The men of Ole Miss and the men of Murray State collide in a match of leather and metal sheared in cylinders - and I am alone with two of mine own seed. Sustenance is needed, but we are on the path of Old Taylor in a barren field of blackness. The greenspace is not on the horizon.
”DADDY I’M SO THIRSTY CARRY ME I CAN’T GO ANY FURTHER!”
The cries reverberate.
The looks of happy elders turn to frowns upon seeing my calamitous, heaving, slow moving body beastily trudging across the black rock land. The eyes of judgment pierce and do their worst.
But the cries don’t stop until we reach the oasis. No, they only grow louder.
A land of greens, browns, where the smoke is not from the fires of oppression and death. The beasts of the field cook raising the savory aromas to my nostrils, and suddenly the hunger pangs of deep desire fill me.
Through the smoke, clatter and weight of my beloved offspring, I see the welcoming visage signaling our arrival. It is he - Smeargle - purveyor of all that is good with frothy red steins of barley and rice stewed and fermented then chilled to a level of drinkability that the most teetotaling teetotaler cannot help but take in the luscious volume of its contents.
He knows not of our journey, only that we have survived. The offspring squeal at the sight of sustenance, the smokey potato matter, the beasts of the field charred into soft delectable wheat caverns.
We must return soon across that black wasteland to our rig on the road alone. The anxiety fills and sways me, but it is not now.
For now, in this moment, father and son and daughter and friends and foes. We are one. We are in this place together away from the wastelands and blackness enjoying this existence.
Also, Ole Miss won with a wild pitch, 7-6. They’re now 8-0 for the first time in 10 years.