It’s been one year since I’ve been to Georgia to see my parents near
Athens GA. While visiting last year, my pal, two mutts and I also had the opportunity to go camping in
East GA.
We met a friend at a camp site East of Athens, one exit from
South Carolina. In an odd little town called “Dewy Rose”
Georgia, we found ourselves around midnight. Not being familiar with the lay of the land, we ploughed through a horribly treacherous rain storm. After passing three times the entrance and running over one innocent lost rabbit, we found this ‘po-dunk’ (a WAY country saying), well quite a large campground/RV ground. Not that I’m a puss or anything, but all night I couldn’t stop thinking of the rabbit and the probability of her young awaiting their Mother’s return.
So, we settled in at this beautiful place there in the woods with a decadently outfitted club house, a huge pool, a full time staff and Concierge. Hot water showers and cold potable water spigots at every turn. A genuine bonfire that lit up the sky for miles every night at 9pm. Air conditioned cabins fully stocked with your liquor of choice and a library of award winning porn for your DVD player. Come to think of it – I wasn’t sure I was even at a campground. In retrospect, it may have been a less than “po-dunk’ spot to hang one’s hat for a minute or several. ‘twasn’t the Ritz, but a damn close rendition. Actually the Ritz doesn’t offer free parking nor the tolerance of our two furry companions OR the burning of any herb. The Ritz is overrated – and snotty assed filthy dughty to boot.
Anyway, what I want to share here is that while I was taking in the 6am sunrise at the pool, on a flawless Saturday morning all to myself, I met a strikingly handsome young man that forever indented my thinly sheet-metaled life. Side swiped at a necessary four-way intersection that I’d normally have blazed through without a glance. I’ve always considered my life to be one of privilege in all the stereotypical sense of the meaning. I learned that Saturday morning that I have not a clue what privilege or perfection is.
The young man that sauntered by me was a mere child at 28 years old – with soul of a whithered old man. He had a smile that melted my heart. With a sincere and genuine smile that could take him far and wide should he so desire. A smile that wouldn’t allow me to not to speak. A smile that invited me to at least say hello. His name is Kris.
In between Kris backwashing of the pool filters and generally cleaning up around me, arranging deck chairs and the like; he unwittingly allowed me about two hours of his time. After our small talk about the weather and the usual bull shit one feels obliged to offer through the raw meeting of someone; he sat on the cement next to my chair. Within the time he allowed me, I found that I’d really never experienced true gratefulness to be drawing my next breath.
Looking back, I am truly honored to have ever met Kris. As I’ve mentioned prior, I’m not a terribly religious man. But this boy showed up at a seemingly odd moment, an expeditious acceptation on both of our parts that was surely aligned with the stars the wind and the moon. Karma? Angels?
I haven’t the time to elaborate on all that young Kris taught me that day in-between two simple hours, but I’d like to mention a few points that amazed me.
He’d traveled the
United States on commerce trains passing by wherever he stood, climbing aboard at his own whim. Absent of schedule, he moved from town to town, working simple jobs just to eat. The only place in the US he’d never been was Jackson Hole
Wyoming to go fly fishing. A place he said he’d always wanted to see.
He shared very personal spaces with me, usually reserved for the years of psychotherapy that could never ever unlock the essence of. Rape – many. Starved of food – often. Loved – seldom. Allowing the lust of another, be it man or woman when it equaled a decent night’s rest. A self proclaimed “misplaced being” from the standard issue normal society – always. Parents… heritage unknown. Once beat to a bloody pulp by four men intruding upon his fancy of the wrong woman – girl,. while overstaying his welcome in a city he couldn’t even recall. From what beating he left the govt sponsored trauma hospital with two titanium plates in his forehead and one in his right leg. I felt them. They were real. Once discharged he simply climbed aboard the next boxcar to… elsewhere.
I asked Kris if I was to camp here again in about six months or a year, would I see him again. He most assuredly said “no”.
Whenever I suffer from a bad day, or from what I might consider a bad day; I think of Kris’ undying spirit to boldly carry on regardless of anyone or anything. To proudly profess his perfectly clear understanding of his (our) world and what it means to really live life. A life he’s already lived. One I’ll never be privelaged enough to see in all of my days.
All the
United States over, never a single photo taken. His mind is an 100 gig hard drive of true experience that only he can access.
Notice in this missive I never referenced a negative adjective. In our two hours of friendship, Kris never did either.
I wish him a great experience fly fishing in
Wyoming.
I wonder how many oblivious people have dismissed Kris, glancing… judging only from a galloping horse. How unfortunate for them.
Forever touched,WoMbaT1
