Driving home from work
Thinking of everything that's gone wrong
Everything that is still going wrong
Tears run down my cheeks.
I don't want to go home
I just want to drive
I want to escape
I want to disappear forever.
I take random turns
Drive down random roads
Looking for somewhere safe
Somewhere I can be alone.
But there is no where
And no matter what I do
No matter how "random" I drive
I'm still heading in the direction of home
Realizing there is no other option.
"Lean on Me" comes on the radio
As I pull into the drive
Even after turning off the engine
I sit in the car
The song echoes in my mind
First I think it's mocking me
But maybe it's a sign
So I send out a text
And wait for a reply
With tears running down my cheeks
And when none comes
I wipe away the tears
Accepting that I am alone
Trapped in a life
With no one
No one but myself
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Dakota Nice
Back in the fall of 2008, I was a freshman at Northern State University in Aberdeen. A Twin Cities native, I assumed what most people did: Life was safer in the country (yes, at this point I still considered Aberdeen to be "country"). I still took those habitual cautions that I had developed in the cities (lock everything, trust few, carry something to defend yourself at night), but I worried slightly less.
One bitterly cold day that November, in about a 5-minute span of time, I witnessed three things that for me changed and defined how trustworthy I considered my new hometown.
First, I came out of Kessler's grocery store, arm full of groceries, to find one of my car tires flat. Before I had time to be upset, a middle-age gentleman pulled up next to me and offered to help. In below freezing temps, he pulled out an air compressor and inflated my tire.
Just as he was wrapping that up and I was thanking him, a large pick-up roared out of the parking lot and took off down the street.
"Idiot," I thought, for the second writing him off as just another brash guy compensating for something.
Then I saw and heard an elderly lady rushing towards us. "Help!" She cried, "He stole my purse!"
Immediately people sprang into action. One guy was on the phone with 911 in seconds. A cart attendant was asking if anyone got the license plate. Someone ushered the woman inside so she could wait somewhere warm for the police to arrive.
And just like that I learned three things about people out here. 1) Most strangers are kind and will help you any way they can while expecting nothing in return. 2) Not everyone is kind or helpful or even a good citizen. Crimes happen: Theft, arson, child abuse... If you look at crime statistics for the area, they're there. 3) When bad things do happen, there are plenty of good people to help immediately.
Over the years those three things haven't changed, although I have built on them a little. Much depends on where you are raised. After all, cities like Sioux Falls, Bismarck, and Aberdeen are much different than towns like Groton, Gettysburg and Ellendale, or towns further off interstates, like Columbia or Oakes. Then there's the whole East River vs. West River situation, and either side of the Missouri has its own opinion on which people are better.
But at the core of it all lies concepts as old as the prairie itself: Help those in need, give the shirt off your back if necessary; basically, the Golden Rule itself. Today, these concepts are as common to the Dakotas as t-shirts in February, barbequing year-around, and the term "spendy."
As for me, I still take the usual precautions, as everyone should just to be on the safe side. Old habits are hard to break, after all. But strangers don't worry me so much anymore and I try to be a friendly stranger as well.
And I have three cans of Fix-A-Flat in my car trunk just in case I - or anyone else - might need help with a flat tire someday.
One bitterly cold day that November, in about a 5-minute span of time, I witnessed three things that for me changed and defined how trustworthy I considered my new hometown.
First, I came out of Kessler's grocery store, arm full of groceries, to find one of my car tires flat. Before I had time to be upset, a middle-age gentleman pulled up next to me and offered to help. In below freezing temps, he pulled out an air compressor and inflated my tire.
Just as he was wrapping that up and I was thanking him, a large pick-up roared out of the parking lot and took off down the street.
"Idiot," I thought, for the second writing him off as just another brash guy compensating for something.
Then I saw and heard an elderly lady rushing towards us. "Help!" She cried, "He stole my purse!"
Immediately people sprang into action. One guy was on the phone with 911 in seconds. A cart attendant was asking if anyone got the license plate. Someone ushered the woman inside so she could wait somewhere warm for the police to arrive.
And just like that I learned three things about people out here. 1) Most strangers are kind and will help you any way they can while expecting nothing in return. 2) Not everyone is kind or helpful or even a good citizen. Crimes happen: Theft, arson, child abuse... If you look at crime statistics for the area, they're there. 3) When bad things do happen, there are plenty of good people to help immediately.
Over the years those three things haven't changed, although I have built on them a little. Much depends on where you are raised. After all, cities like Sioux Falls, Bismarck, and Aberdeen are much different than towns like Groton, Gettysburg and Ellendale, or towns further off interstates, like Columbia or Oakes. Then there's the whole East River vs. West River situation, and either side of the Missouri has its own opinion on which people are better.
But at the core of it all lies concepts as old as the prairie itself: Help those in need, give the shirt off your back if necessary; basically, the Golden Rule itself. Today, these concepts are as common to the Dakotas as t-shirts in February, barbequing year-around, and the term "spendy."
As for me, I still take the usual precautions, as everyone should just to be on the safe side. Old habits are hard to break, after all. But strangers don't worry me so much anymore and I try to be a friendly stranger as well.
And I have three cans of Fix-A-Flat in my car trunk just in case I - or anyone else - might need help with a flat tire someday.
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