“So anyway, we’re all sitting at the kitchen table–me, Rollo and his old man. Rollo was the first to bring me around, you know. We’re smokin’,
jokin’ and the coffee’s real good. It’s the warmth I feel as the hot coffee
goes down and the sharing ambles on. I think it was real cold that night, too
cold to be outside. Certainly, things looked a lot darker then. I was afraid of
the dark as a kid. It was crazy. So we’re sitting there and I’m all over the
place, racing, and I think they don’t know. It seems like one second I’m confused, then happy, then
fearful, then hopeful, then confused, then happy, then fearful, then hopeful,
over and over, faster and faster–a real spin cycle. I hold onto that hope,
though. I couldn’t help but see it and feel it sitting across from me at that
table. Solid and sure. The kitchen light was real illuminating, if you know
what I mean. Rollo leaves the table to take a leak and I’m left sitting across
from his old man. I really respect him. I’m tapping my foot to the quick time
in my head and smiling, sort of, when he asks me, “So, are you one of us?” I crash into that wall of a question
and I’m numb–and dumb. I hesitate. I look down and away, figuring I could maybe
find the answer in the coffee grounds in the bottom of my cup. I’m no oracle so
I answer like I usually do when I’m caught with no way out–real sheepish and
earnest-like. I say, with my real quiet voice , “I think I am.” He looks me straight
in the eyes and bellows, “Look, it’s like being pregnant. you either are or you
aren’t.” The strength of his voice, the conviction of his tone and the volume
of it all cut through the chit chat in my head. I don’t know what happened in
that instant. I certainly wasn’t pregnant, yet I know for sure that something
very beautiful was born that night.”
