Friday, September 30, 2011

Why I Need To Move

I received a call from Alexey's phone this morning at 5:37am. I was awaken by the call. I answered and there was no one there. I called back at 5:40am. I sent a text with a "?" at 5:42am. I thought about it for a minute wondering what might motivate such a call. I might have been the last call on his phone from 11:01pm last night when he stopped by here to write some letters - his phone being set to call back the last caller. I also wondered, cop-wise, whether this was a sign of some distress in their house - specifically recalling Michael Dinkle's threats against their family (convicted felon) and that his rent was now about due - if he was still living at the Inn. I think he got the message from me to make haste when I talk to he and his father. And I considered a house fire - lucid carbon monoxide state and grabbing the phone. I considered that Mom might have accidentally called while perusing through Alex's text messages. Even Alex sleeping on his phone and "pocket calling" was a thought - and when he sleeps, he's out like a light. I put on my Burkenstocks and walked downstairs, changed t-shirts and walked outdoors to go take a look. As I was walking out the door, I received another phone call from Alexey's phone, this at 5:47am. I answered and there was no signal - apparently disconnected before my answering. I walked down to the top of the Dillon's driveway and stood quietly. The Mercedes, Dodge, Yukon and Breeze were parked. It was strangely dark and silent - Orion very bright right overhead. I figured if something was amiss, Tyson or Shammy would be barking. Anyhow - I went back home, found my keys and took a drive. I pulled into the Dillon's driveway from below and lighted up the parked car. I was able to see through the house clearly and there was no observable smoke. I then drove to the Crystal River Inn to see if perchance William Dinkle was out on the road - he with no car of his own. Again, it was all quiet. On the way home I stopped on Burleson in front of the Dillon's and killed my engine. A train was going through town at the time, 6:02am, and it was hard to hear. Things seemed quiet, no animals barking or distressed. I returned home and wrote this.

It is morning now and the coffee pot is gurgling in the kitchen. Kodak and Bugs are lying on the floor. I've just picked up Alex's letters at Kinko's. A cool front has blown in during the night and this afternoon promises to be an uncommon pleasant. Alex said to me last night before he left, "Man Carl, you get so much done in a day". He wanted copies of the letters we'd crafted so that he could learn how to write better. I wonder sometimes why it is that I defer to the lowest common denominator when assessing risk - thinking the worst before investigating and then proving it less difficult. If I lived in a small distant town, toiling each day in creative projects, would I become soft and no longer capable of watching out for, teaching and preparing those who I care for the most - and would I want to. I think this is just me and it's what I do.

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