by Anton Martin Smith antonmartinsmithwrites@gmail.com or martinantonsmith@gmail.com
She was a small town girl.
Who like all the kids in high school from the late eighties and nineties.
Was told you had to ‘go to university’.
So she ditched the small town and studied something in a city.
(In fact I did that too)
She graduated and got an office job. …
….in a small town not so unlike her hometown.
She had to – for there was a recession in the early nineties.
It was the only job she could get.
So she stayed and started her career off.
A couple years passed.
Her feet were getting itchy.
She was shy, but at heart adventurous.
At this first career-job she met a guy,
Who fell in love with her.
But she wanted to travel the world.
So she said goodbye to him and hello to a plane.
She travelled around the world.
To England, most of Europe, and even to Africa and some other unnamed wild places too.
She stayed in dingey backpackers – as you do and are happy with at that age.
After the first bout of travel she pulled beers in England and mixed a few office gigs too.
Partied hard – this goes without saying:
She was a westerner in the late 20th century and young.
The parties and experiences rolled on.
When she was thirty she had to give up that five years of fun and go home –
The flat land of red dirt some thirty hours away in a flying tin can was calling.
She returned to a big dirty city for the rest of her career and I dare say probably her life.
She could never settle down – she didn’t want to.
She was used to and programmed for short relationships and fun times with the men with rizz aplenty.
The ‘trap of excitement’ you might say.
As she aged and all around her settled down – she steadfastly resisted.
Many whisperers did appear and said ‘she couldn’t love’, and of course much worse.
This was not the case – the truth was that she loved too hard.
And when she did, the electronics in her body went haywire.
They simply wouldn’t let her settle down.
So she kicked to the kerb many guys she liked, and a couple or at least one of these she loved.
Not becasue she wanted to.
She had to.
The electronics inside were stronger than diamond chains around her feet,
And it would take a series of perfectly planned and executed wars to break those chains,
To then allow the feelings of closeness not to trigger electrical short circuits within.
And so her career rolled on, money was made, rent was paid.
The social life was a ever slightly degrading repeat and rehash of her youth in England.
Perhaps now described best as quasi-controlled-debauteurous weekends,
Mixed with typical middle class dinner parties, drunk racing events, cafe coffees and brinches.
As the grey hairs grew she new she was having the same year, done many times over.
She knew she wasn’t happy (I know as she even let slip one day to admit this to me).
At heart she always wanted to be an entrepreneur – set her own hours – do her own thing.
But she got trapped as a salary-woman in a mega city does.
(After all – is not the invention of the ‘big city’ the oldest trap on humankind there is?)
Late in life she tried to become an entrepreneur –
I’m not sure if that worked.
After all, entrepreneurs are entrepreneurs while young.
They find a way – becasue it is who they are.
I guess I was lucky that she couldn’t handle long term cloesness,
Becasue we would have never met at that drunken bar when she was pushing forty.
Of course I may be deluding myself.
I could easily say using joes-schmoe logic that was a ruiness night.
But sometimes you meet who you need to meet at the time.
And it might be someone who allows the needed dismantling of your entire life to occur.
That would not have happened otherwise.
And I guess that’s why I met her.
With the peace becoming war (that was us) now long over,
And the mustard gas that was stinging my eyes long gone –
I can now see that clearly.
And isn’t it interesting that there is one part inside myself that has never changed.
Perhaps that is a all-knowing holographic part of her inside my chest.
I don’t know if that’s a healthy assessment – but I don’t really care.
It is simply an immovable object inside.
It is what Olympus Mons is to the surface of Mars.
But the question is (and has been over the rolling years) what to do about it?
Does the famous climbers Q & A adage hold for me?
“Why did you climb that mountain? – becasue it’s there”.
And so I sometimes look at Olypus Mons, from far away Earth.
And I wonder if I too would should Travel.
To see her in true strikingly imperfect rugged beauty.
After all – I believe that today she is still ‘There’.
Yet currently at star-date 2026.4958 I am still ‘Here’.
Perhaps I am like an asteroid that collided on Olympus Mons with a ‘glancing blow’,
And so natural physical law demanded I skip away into the black skies never to return.
Yet information cannot ever be scrubbed.
Yet the scars of the collision remain within the asteroid’s hulk, within me,
As so do more than a few small fragments of her aka Olympus Mons.
So I guess if I never see her rugged striking heights and grandeur again,
I can always say she never one hundred percent left anyway.
I carry literally a few pieces of her with me through space and time.
And will her short circuitng electronics ever be fixed before she is gone?
Perhaps when it is this will be the spark that starts the spaceship’s thrusters,
And while I am thinking I will simply be whisked away to see her.
Physics itself will be in dictatorial charge of the matter.
Yes let’s end it there and agree to that quasi-copout shall we?
After all this prose poem has become an odyssey in its own right,
And perhaps with a mind of its own, and definitely a nervous system.
So there is now only one more line that I have to say,
And whatever the future holds it will remain true for everlasting eternity.
And that last line is this:
She was she, I was me, and we both still are…..