Laguna Seca
10 October 2009, Monterey, CA
I live by this simple rule. You can take all my money. You can take all my gold. You can take my heart, but you can't take my soul. My God be with me. Life is crazy; I see things hazy. Life is amazing.
Strange sometimes how it happens to me these days. Days when I'm walking my way back to normal; days when I'm almost there. Days when the alcohol cannot own you, you've done conquered that fool. Days after you learned in those books all you need to know. Today was one of those days. My dad and his wife visited me on my last days in Monterey before I finally head home to see my daughter, but it still happens to me no matter how much I deny.
Days that cannot compare. What is today? Time transcends, persist, and lapses. Maybe there is no such thing as time. It just is.
The fall sets on the Monteray Bay drawing in the fog and eractic temperatures in a tempest that confuses the best of the weathermen. As a drunken fool playing throwing all his money down on an off-suit 2-3 in Texas Hold' Em, the morning creeps in cold as a blistering winter. Waking up, I shiver under my covers. By late morning, the sun shines inviting the heat to arise.
We eat breakfast in Moss Landing at the Haute Enchildada, the best mexican restaurant along the bay tucked into the wayside off the beaten path. I enjoy a scramble of an omelette including artichoke hearts, bell peppers, mushrooms, and feta cheese combined with a perfect mixture of black bean soup. I am fed. Breakfast is topped off and finished with the best of expressos.
I almost feel normal.
We walk along the street gazing along the rows of fishermen and maritime science experimental boats enjoying the view of the marina. As we walk, I breathe in the perfect mixture of captured fish and rusted boats that drift along in any marina reminding me of my youth. The sea lions bark while blistening on the docks trying to capture the sun's rays.
I feel at peace. We decide to travel southeast to watch the final leg of the American Leman's racing tour at Laguna Seca- the best of Porsche, Lamborgini, Acura, and Mazda's cars racing and twisting through the backside of the former hills of the Army's long forgotten post of Fort Ord. We work our way towards the race winding along reservation road. As we ventured along Reservation Road, we watched farmers farm, and my heart dropped as we passed the Young Life Pumpkin Patch. I told my dad how I used to take my daughter through the corn maze eventually working our way through to find the perfect pumpkin for Halloween. I had to tell my dad how my ex-wife was miserable and stressed throughout the entire trip. My heart sunk in recollection.
Every enclave of Monterey holds a memory for me.
Finding the official entrance for Laguna Seca, we work our way up the road stopping briefly to purchase tickets. We arrived just in time for the final race of the season.
We drove around the perimeter, parked the car, and made our way into the crowd and the race. Beautiful people and beautiful cars passed by my gaze as we walked past the grid, over the footpath, pausing at the "Fuel Stop" to buy a Corona, and finally sitting along the bleachers overlooking the track. As the crowd fills the bleachers, the announcer thanks everyone and their mother for joining us today. He preceeds to interview the drivers.
I sip on my Corona watching the cars pass warming up their tires on the track. A valley girl makes her way up the stairs- platinum blond, perfect posture, perfect body. For a moment, I see Lela, my best friend, my twin. I sip my beer as the crowd filters in outside my internal distraction. The announcer's voice echoes throughout the racetrack finally demanding that everyone stand for the playing of the Star Spangled Banner.
I stand to attention with my hand over my heart. The song begins. I remember too much, and I'm caught crying as I hear,
"And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?"
I always choke up over those notes thinking back to where I'd been. It passed, and I waited for the race to start. My day of rest was to be undone. A fighter unit flew over the racetrack, forcing a fake diving run onto the crowd, and I spiraled back into the times when I called in those birds. I lost control of my reality. I went back there again. It just flowed.
Day became night, dark moved to light, and I was in a different place.
Turki Village, Iraq
"Shadow Six, this is Ghost Rider Six. Acquired targets and inbound. Understand twenty armed men in canal. Understand your are 370 degrees and 500 meters from target. Waiting for final confirmation and tally. You must confirm that you are danger close."
"Ghost Rider Six, this is Shadow Six. Understand all. My initials are Juliet Mike Foxtrot."
The planes rushed in dropping their bombs, firing their guns, and wasting the enemy. I can't remember how many times that I've repeated that call. I forget how many that I have killed.
It is what it is. Stories that must be told so that I can move on.
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