Marion (The Big Nothing: Conclusion)

I came back to a town that I no longer recognize. 

Blocks torn down, houses raised, whole intersections completely redone. 

I stood on mountains of dirt that didn't exist and walked through neighborhoods that looked emptier than before.

The middle school has a completely different playground and the neighbor tore out the old treehouse in his backyard that was just besides the little track field. 

It looks small now. 

Huge air conditioning systems hung off the side of the building like a sort of metallic growth; it looked strange on the old brick walls. 

Not right. 

The feeling is uneasy; almost as if you couldn't be there.

Deep inside you knew that you couldn't be there anymore. That you were trespassing.

I could feel the memories rushing in. They all came in at once. 

The long school nights with my little radio blasting 88.3 KCCK Jazz while on the swing set. 

I found myself running out on that track field, gym shorts and crappy t shirt, I had just out ran the cocky middle schooler kid and had the whole school cheering for me. 

I kept running after the finish line and, when I finally slowed down, I struggled to catch my breath from the exertion and the excitement; someone gave me a bottle of water and a chocolate granola bar.

I can still feel it's hallways, they were like an awkward amoeba of a period before puberty; completely filled with people and still not knowing where the stupid classroom was. 

It was a sort of mad rush to finish something that always felt beyond your grasp with each end of the school year.

High school was worse. 

In middle school, all you had to worry about was getting to high school, but once HS came in, it became about identity and the future no one ever really told you about. 

You started recognizing the social status of yourself, the importance of the opposite sex, economics, the world, history, philosophy...yadda, yadda, yadda until it all ended with you looking around and asking yourself ''what had just happened?''. 

What was the...

My eyes were starting to burn into the empty track field until I blinked again. 

The black pavement. 

Reality.

We bled back into suburbia before people could emerge out of the school and try to slap charges on us.

We passed rows of the endless houses, picket fences, mowed lawns; they blended into the nameless neighborhoods and the empty streets. 

They were enigmatic. 

They never felt real until you saw their children in the classrooms and their parents at the bars. 

Halloween gave an almost ethereal look into the suburban lifestyle as it wasn't strange to find a family having a bonfire out on their driveway or their houses filled with people and boozed up adults that left the children to answer the doors for trick or treaters. 

Sometimes you could even see inside of the local rich kid's house to check out how they lived.

We passed these slightly familiar streets with a mild bewilderment; I couldn't believe just how much had changed. 

The Salvation Army was gone and the long empty field across it was filled with a new hotel and roundabouts. 

The town square was getting cleaner, painted with murals, and was slowly looking like the rest of Cedar Rapids; which had been set in motion, more or less, by the current mayor who has promised growth and new building projects since he started.

We turned and decided to go to the Suicide Bridge before it disappeared also.

Here, in Thomas Park, was the hub in between The Inch, Nick, and The Jaffer's houses.

Most of my teenage years were spent walking through it. 

It was a typical summer scene: the playground and splash park were filled with children, the sections with tables were filled with a birthday party, and families were lounging around picnic tables.

Actually..

Now that I think about it. I don't think I've ever seen this many people there on a single day.

From what I remember, it was mostly me walking through an empty park.

Sometimes, you'd see the high school sports teams training or the band kids practicing out by the field. It was always so empty. 

If I had any of group with me, we'd be ranting about school or some other personal drama that fancied us in those times. 

It never felt more than a pathway to a destination.

We got out quickly and headed up the small wooded part of the park. We walked up the big disc golf hill and followed one of the trails to the edge of them. 

I knew that they were building houses just on the other side of the trails but didn't realize the extent of it's progress until we tried getting to the top of the huge hill that made up the area. 

The trail was so overgrown that weeds were up to my chest but I hacked through it until I found myself overlooking someone's yard. 

This used to be it, a large hill, overlooking development and the beginnings of Cedar Rapids. 

I quickly realized that this was the development land and I was feet away from the porch of a 3 story house.

I turned and made my way to the other side of the park where the bridge was.

It stood like it always has; crippled and crumbling to time. 

I trudged up and down it once more. I saw there were more holes but it still stood there with it's graffiti.

I stood on top and looked over the edge and no longer felt a sinking feeling. I didn't feel like I belonged on top here anymore. 

What had remained in this town felt empty and small. 

The town was no longer ours.

I heard the beatings of life here like I had never had before. 

There were more bikes and joggers on the main trail and that meant this place wouldn't last much longer; they're bound to get restless at it's decay.

What was missing? 

What had changed?

I had my answer already but it didn't sink in until I was on top that bridge.

That same week, I spent most of it trying to put together another road trip. 

As far as I was concerned, it wouldn't be a problem, we'd get the Inchmobile up and running, and we'd get everyone together, or, get together whoever was available at the time; but I hadn't fully realized the deterioration of the entire thing as it had started. 

The Inch and The Jaffer have quarreled before, many times, and it would send the group (I, Nick, Jaffer, Inch) inactive for a few months, than it would eventually go back to normal, but it didn't this time. 

There were no longer any excuses to make and there was nothing left to say. Everything besides the group had allowed itself to change and thus led to its demise. 

I hadn't realized this death before because the entire thing had been the death.

The whole series of trips were a beating against death and time. 

It was absentmindedly put together to get the group back, and functioning, as it had been in the days of walking to each other's houses and late night wanderings together. 

These places were a backdrop of the old summers, the memories; things that were just as shells of their former selves as these same places back here were.

Most of the time, the places weren't even there anymore, and the fact is that the land had swallowed it all back up without much noise nor struggle; just the silent arm of time sweeping over it. 

In the same way, I'd return to these old places in this town and point out what had been done there, some backstory, and laugh about it.

It was a secret wish that the town would stay as a trashhole, as I remember it being, so that there was hope I could still show up at one of their doors and go out with plans on the fly and still have a bond of collective experience holding us together but it had become like paint over old light sockets, makeup on a corpse; a garden on top of a cemetery.

It was dead and I couldn't get over it. 

I found myself trudging through these places in order to remember the feelings and thoughts as if I had lost touch with my former self and in a way I definitely have. 

I walked through the decayed corridors expecting to see The Inch, Jaffer, and Nick waiting at the end of the hall for the next adventure. The nostalgia formed its own entire reality that felt more real than what it actually was.

What was the reality?

The reality was that we were a friend group trying to get through adolescence, through the homework, the pointless romantics; our own youthful angst. We became people, some of us more than others, cemented into our own circumstances and situations, so much, that we forgot to move on or never did.

Some of us never left where we started; expecting it all to begin there. 

We never left Marion and I was tired of it. 

The long nights spent walking, watching my friends bike through town, the times spent on roofs, time spent at the local stores, the crappy food eaten at friend's houses, the jokes and conversations; the endless stories. 

I look back at it all and begin to remember that those moments were very far and few between. I tried to forget and let nostalgia glaze over it.

Then I find myself being pulled into the past again, it repeats itself in a sick way, I started to remember all the things that had come with the past. 

These moments were the things I chose to remember and the reality was what I tried to forget. 

I'm forced to come face to face with my past self and see something so incompatible that I remember why it died; because it had to.

If those were the ''glory days'' then the present has no meaning. 

To spend the rest of one's life pursuing the old experiences and feelings was to be the pathetic figure who thinks that his younger years (or any sort of time) were the meaning of his own life; as if it began and ended at that fixed point of time.

Or as Ecclesiastes 7:10 says:

"Do not say, “Why is it that the former days were better than these?”

For it is not from wisdom that you ask about this" 

What is wisdom?

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding"

and

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; A good understanding have all those who do His commandments" as Proverbs 9:10 and Psalm 111:10a says. 

How do we fear him and keep his commandments? 

We fear by recognizing:

His existence -

"For since the creation of the world His invisible attributes, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood through what has been made, so that they are without excuse" - Romans 1:20

Our sin (wrong) against him in ingratitude and our judgment as a result, the reason to fear Him -

"For even though they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks, but they became futile in their speculations, and their foolish heart was darkened" - Rom 1:21

"because of your stubbornness and unrepentant heart you are storing up wrath for yourself in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will render to each person according to his deeds" - Rom 2:5-6

This is fear of our Holy Creator who will judge us with wrath for our stubbornness and lack of faith and gratitude to Him. 

"Worship the Lord in the splendor of holiness; tremble before him, all the earth!" - Psalm 96:9

You see, this is the past that needed to die. 

The life lived in this past was what these verses are talking about. This was the reality that I was overlooking. This was behind the angst of youth. The trauma in my adolescence caused by my sin. The soul sucking absence of God. 

This reminder haunted behind every crumpled corner and over every pile of rubble. This was the past self that I was confronted with. 

Unfortunately, this is the present for most of us. 

There are those who are still living this, we cannot move on from this until we change. 

Everyone is guilty of this:

"The Lord has looked down from heaven upon the sons of men to see if there are any who understand, who seek after God. 

They have all turned aside, together they have become corrupt; There is no one who does good, not even one. 

Do all the workers of wickedness not know, who eat up my people as they eat bread, and do not call upon the Lord?" - Psalm 14:2-3

But there is hope. There is something beyond sin. 

God has offered us reconciliation, a quite different fear, in his son; Jesus Christ. 

“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life" - John 3:16

''through Him [Christ] to reconcile all things to Himself, having made peace through the blood of His cross; through Him, I say, whether things on earth or things in heaven" - Colossians 1:20

''Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die'' - John 11:25-26

''For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who have fallen asleep in Jesus'' - 1 Thessalonians 4:14

Now, we see fear in a completely different light. This fear of judgement is transformed through the cross of Christ:

''There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love'' - I John 4:18

Now, the fear in Proverbs 9:10 and Psalm 110:10 is fear that motivates those who believe in Him to obey Him. Our whole lives has been in rebellion towards him, now we find ourselves eager, in gratitude, to obey the one who saved us. Resting upon and trusting His power to sustain us to do what what pleases Him as we seek to please the one who saved us.  

''Thus you are to be holy to Me, for I the LORD am holy; and I have set you apart from the peoples to be Mine'' - Leviticus 20:26

"The fear of the LORD is the instruction for wisdom, and before honor comes humility." - Proverbs 15:33

"He said, 'Do not stretch out your hand against the lad, and do nothing to him; for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your only son, from Me.'" - Gen 22:12

"And to man He said, ‘Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom; And to depart from evil is understanding.’” - Job 28:28

''So the church throughout all Judea and Galilee and Samaria enjoyed peace, being built up; and going on in the fear of the Lord and in the comfort of the Holy Spirit, it continued to increase'' - Acts 9:31

So what now? 

Life continues.

But life continues in an entirely different way that affects everything; our outlook on life, how we act, understand life. It is moving on. 

''When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things'' - 1 Corinthians 13:11

I moved on and realized that this nostalgia was deceitful. It was not wise to pursue it because it takes away your sense of reality. It loosens your grip on yourself, like a drug, feeling only the whispers of dreams and empty promises. 

Rather, there is a calling to live for the glory of God and waiting upon the promise of eternal life: 

''Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil'' - Ephesians 5:16 

''to those who by perseverance in doing good seek for glory and honor and immortality, eternal life'' - Romans 2:7

''Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus'' - Philippians 3:13-14

These memories that remain serve to remind of what God has done: 

"Memory...is not nostalgia or historical reverie.  It is far more profound than having a mental skill or a better-than-average ability to recall....

“The redeemed memory, as it works under God’s Spirit, keeps the living awareness of the present in line with a living awareness of the past.  Thus our gratitude and thanksgiving, which are spurred by a knowledge of the past, are linked to our faith and hope, which engage the present and look toward the future.  This gives continuity and wholeness to the life of faith that are indispensible to its growth and maturity.” - Os Guinness’ God in the Dark (1996)

 

Meanwhile, there is meaning in the present. You are here for a reason. 

 

"There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven⁠" (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

"He has made everything appropriate in its time. He has also set eternity in their heart, yet so that man will not find out the work which God has done from the beginning even to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good in one’s lifetime; moreover, that every man who eats and drinks sees good in all his labor⁠—it is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will remain forever; there is nothing to add to it and there is nothing to take from it, for God has so worked that men should fear Him. That which is has been already and that which will be has already been, for God seeks what has passed by" (Eccl 3:11-15).

Behind the empty streets, on the empty back roads, and past the decayed towns that cry for life; there is this sentiment that is embedded within creation itself:

''For the anxious longing of the creation waits eagerly for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself also will be set free from its slavery to corruption into the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now'' - Romans 8:19-22

 

We progress forward on the paths that are in the hand of God and experience new feelings and capture new memories. The memories are a catalog that is meant to remind us of God's faithfulness. We either learn from this, be thankful, and progress, or we forget; only to be reminded of life's harsh realities, on account of sin, and are called to repent. 

"If we cannot say who we have been, we can never know who we are.  Our humanity lies not in mastery over the construction of our life story but in the virtues by which we accept the limits of the body, live truthfully in the face of the past, and seek to give new meaning to what is painful or misguided in that past" - Gilbert Meilaender, The Freedom of a Christian (2006)

''The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man'' - Ecclesiastes 12:13 

The End

Zucc (The Big Nothing Part 23)

The cornfield stretched on for seemingly miles. Our shoes felt lumpy from all the mud and broken cornstalks we've been walking on. 

Ryan was walking right by me, telling me about the tweakers he saw here, playing disc golf at five in the morning. ''I just kept walking, like, in mid conversation'' he said in a half chuckle. 

The sky above us was beginning to darken, the clouds looked like sheets of layered cotton; they floated around in a dim blue haze.

In the distance, I could see two blinking towers, they stood like pillars in the dead field of past harvest. Behind us was the long stretch of road that was beginning to bleed into town. 

The land development wasn't too far away. We could see the mounds of dirt and construction vehicles just on the other side of the road. 

Soon, the sprawling rows of chopped down corn will be plowed over, dug up from the ground, and replaced with nursing homes, condos, and apartment buildings.

Ryan looked dazed, he recalled walking into this exact field until the sun rose; he watched the dawn and couldn't stop walking towards it. Enamored.

The street lights were starting to blink on and we headed back to the car. We drove and drove until we figured out what to do.

I found myself on the other side of town; inside of the local movie theater. 

We were a group now and we huddled together, walking right past the ticket woman, the little old woman looked at us confused until I told her that we weren't here for a movie. She shrugged.

The place was busy, I mean, it was a Saturday night. No one else had anything to do either.

There was a second floor, which had a bunch of gimmicky arcade machines, that a few of us wanted to screw around on. I was dazed by the mind numbingness of it all.

The neon of the machines were blinding and flashing fast enough to give just about anyone a good seizure.

I found myself watching the people wander in and out of the front doors. They looked bored and emotionless. Some came in clutching tasteless women, groups of children, cheap dates, and a mindless gaze that looked offended if it caught yours. 

I saw down from the balcony that there was a ledge littered with receipts and holes in the plaster as if someone had jumped off from here and landed through it.

I kept my eye on a particular group of middle age women because, leading them, was this pissed off guy with a shaved head and crappy plaid jacket.

He kept looking at me with a murderous gaze; though it didn't feel particularly meant for me. I did keep inching away so I wouldn't get clocked from the back of the head.

I walked in the other direction to go down a useless elevator so I could use the bathroom. It felt stuck until the doors opened and I rushed into the bathroom.

The place was desecrated and littered with hand towels and everything looked diseased. I saw a pair of shoes in a stall and couldn't escape the feeling that this place was done for. It looked like the remains of a hotel room after being used by junkies for a week. Probably was.

I walked out, clutching my stomach, and couldn't escape the disgust. My nostrils were being violated with the smell of over microwaved baked potatoes. 

It turned out to be mashed potatoes.

Big difference. I could of spewed all over that cheap carpet.

Our group retreated into the bar, by the front doors, to wait for The Duke to show up. The bar was the cleanest place in the whole building. The two beautiful bartenders quietly chatted to each other as our group dumbly eyed one another.

This guy in the bar kept eyeing me over some shoulders; they were zoning in now and it'd only be a time before someone gets a pen shoved into their jugular.

By the time The Duke was walking in, we were walking out, he looked barely there. He elongated his sentences like he was drunk but he was fine. He explained that he had spent the day getting out of jail. 

He maneuvered through traffic fairly well for someone who had barely slept. He had the wheel with one hand and the other trained on a cigarette. The light of the passing traffic shimmered off his thick glasses.

We followed the others to the local Walmart. It's cheap fluorescence glowed in the night. 

The other group had wandered in some other part of the building until I found them all slumped together on a bench towards where we entered. 

There were four of them; Ryan, Covert Ops, Jax and Alex. I sat on the bench as Jax and Covert ran off to hunt for booze. 

The Duke slumped down next to me on the bench. He kept a transfixed gaze on the floor as I saw the late night Walmart people shuffle around like they were lost.

I saw the dude from the movie theater bar, he eyed me as he passed, I could see his skin moving and I noticed the microchips in his fingers. They crawled around like fleas under his flesh. This was how he was tracking us.

The funniest part was that this wasn't the worst thing to see at a Wal-Mart at night; especially when your sitting next to three other people at finger length.

Where was this going? I thought to myself. I was curious to see how crazy things could get. I didn't even know if I could get to where I was trying to get. But where was I trying to get?

That was usually the game and the game changed when I saw the figure of The Inch arise from a faceless house on this side of suburbia; bottle of laundry detergent full of booze in hand and outfit looking hijacked from Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting.

Where are we going? I asked Covert on the phone. He was vague. There were plans, always plans, and they mostly stayed plans. He told me to meet the group at the make out park.

The make out park was an unimpressive little park in Marion but it always seemed to loop around or end up there one way or another. It's called Make Out Park since it's not odd to find someone having sex in a car here. This whole town was inescapable.

We saw the other group in the parking lot of make out park. I saw Jax handing Covert booze and knew things were going to get stupid. Ryan and I watched as they chucked empty bottles at the pavement. 

The smashing of the glass echoed throughout the entire park. 

I looked out in the field that made up most of the park. The darkness hid mostly everything but the lines of trees and lights inside surrounding houses. 

The moon glowed dimly, I started to feel the dribble of rain, and The Inch had disappeared into the field with the rest of the booze.

Part Two: The Suburban Subterranean

The deep darkness of the suburban subterranean is etched out by the streetlights that stand as silent pillars in places you aren't supposed to be.

I watched the shadows of the subterranean move along with the moonlight. I drew heavily from the slow burning cigarette and sat quietly on the huge cookie cutter porch. 

It was completely silent and the road stretched into the maze of the subterranean. 

Covert came out of the house, walked right past me, and jumped on a Ripstik; one of those plastic pieces of crap that looks like someone looked at a fishstick and said to themselves “that could become a skateboard’’. 

More people came out of the house until we became a small group on bikes and Ripstiks out on the front lawn. We picked a direction randomly and raced off into the dark concrete labyrinth.

The pace was steady but would pick up once we knew for sure that the streets were empty, our only guide was the streetlights, moon, and a guy with insanity stamped deep into his eyes. 

The path we took twisted off in random directions, deep into the rows of cookie cutters, until it became about speed. 

Hills would rise among the dark rows of cookie cutters and droop down into blind corners.

I was on a bike, huffing hard, between The Inch (on a bike) and the wild eyed guy (on a Ripstik) in front; Covert followed alongside as he complained about the whole thing. 

I started to race The Inch and I found myself picking up speed; the ground turning into whirly lines and the street lights into passing fragments. 

The wild eyed guy was still in front, on that Ripstik, then disappeared down a hill and I got there fast enough to see him race down while a car pulled onto the same road. It's headlights were blinding but he only grooved right past it as the car jerked to the right.

We followed him down until we screeched to a halt at the bottom. 

He was standing there trying to figure out where to go until he suddenly yelled out ''GO RIGHT'' and we pulled into a small cul de sac; only lit by a single streetlight in the middle of it. 

I stood and rested on the little island as the group grew until there were about five of us. I ignored the others as I stared off into the empty streets. All around us were houses dimly lit by TV's, porch lights, and garage sensors.

It was only us out here inside the deep impressions of concrete and darkness.

No cars, people, or cops. 

I could of pissed out in the middle of the street and the sound of it, splattering around someone's lawn or off the curb, would have been deafening.

I could feel the sweat drip down slowly. I turned and everyone was getting ready to zoom off again. We got back out on the empty road and Covert took over. 

He directed us downhill, we raced past the dim lights and lifeless cop cars that were useless in their off duty.

For some reason, Covert was going to show us this sewer, and we were to follow him. We didn't know why but we did anyway. We followed him until most of us were so absorbed in our own conversations that we mostly ignored him.

We wandered turn after turn until we slowed and threw our bikes down on the sidewalk grass. Covert, determined, ran off until he moved to another block and found what he was looking for. 

It was a strange sight; four or five dudes just standing around on a street corner talking away as a random kid was dredging through the nearby sewer system. 

A couple of cars passed but they were too terrified to make eye contact with a group of guys sitting on a street corner at 3am. No police were called because we knew the streets better than them.

How are you supposed to have a good chase if all the streets look the same? What would their neighbors say? Their wives? Officer Shamburger cried into his wife's shoulders that night as she was quietly snoring; knowing that these moments of weakness were for her to remind him just how weak he is.

I walked past the nameless group to check up on Covert. He ran off into the sewer, he called out for me to join him, and I jumped over a little fence and stood by a small creek that flowed into it. 

The moon was so bright that I could see his shadow moving around in there. I stuck out my foot and some water touched my pant leg. It was so cold that I stepped back and refused to go in. He didn't say anything. I walked back up and stood with the others until we got tired of waiting on him and left. 

He caught the hint and ran to catch up.

Part Three: The Big Zucc

I had my head out the window and I could feel the rush of the wind and the rain beat softly against my face.

We had been driving pretty deep into the outskirts of town. There was nothing but the sound of Jeff Buckley in the car and the wind against my ear drums. 

All around me were the empty fields of development land. The street lights made a windy path all around the edges of suburbia.

There was no one on the road. 

Stop lights blinked idly at us and cops sat glazed eyed in their cruisers. 

You could see the silhouettes of the houses that acted as beacons in the deep blackness. The rain made the lines in the road disappear. We circled through the endless streets of cookie cutter. 

Most of the houses were completely dark except for the paranoid few that made their homes good targets of theft or were just plain stupid. You could make out the big screen TVs with mindless garbage plastered across them.

There was an endless black that even the streetlights couldn't help. 

We cruised through empty streets and onto the back roads that went on and on. The road never ended; only looped back to where you started.

We didn't know where we were going but it didn't matter. 

We were beating against nothing, surrounded by nothing, but somehow it felt like everything.

D'Brickashaw Ferguson (The Big Nothing Part 22)

''They threaded the cap with two notches'' said The Jaffer, looking down at half the Screwdriver (held inside of an antique Thermos) he had dumped upon the Marion McDonalds parking lot; it sizzled in the summer heat. 

The drive thru was packed but no one happened to look at our predicament. 

Granted, it was only made with Hawkeye Vodka, the worst and cheapest you can get, but that still didn't change The Jaffer's mind about swilling it, and complaining that he had swilled it, for the rest of the day.

Hawkeye Vodka has been described as ''an Iowan tradition'' and ''a staple of the University of Iowa experience'' but everyone else knows it as a step up from rubbing alcohol. 

Actually, it's not even made in Iowa but St Louis, regardless, it's still found in every booze station in eastern Iowa.

The comparison, in both quality and taste, is found in the equally cheap Black Velvet whiskey which is the leading cause of blindness, DUI's, and car crashes in Iowa.

When Mississippi moonshiners had dumped a fouled batch into the mighty river, many moons ago, it turned the entire thing black and caused it to flow backwards until it dumped into the Cedar River where it had poisoned the entire state with dysentery and blindness. 

Somehow, and by some demented inclination, a St Louie man decided to bottle some of it and recreate the demonic creation until it was perfected into what it is now.

Anyway, The Jaffer took the thermos, filled the cap, washed it down, and gave it back to me. 

Not much was left so I just closed my eyes and hoped for the best. It has a gnarly bite, that was concealed by the OJ Simpson, and I walked away with only goosebumps.

We were looking for the town of Motor; all I knew was that it was up north. 

St Nick was driving and the 2 hour trek felt like 2 centuries; maybe it was the work of the Hawkcrap or The Jaffer's impatience. 

We were almost there when The Jaffer kept going on about this park. At first, I really didn't pay attention as he had mentioned abandoning the entire thing and going camping for the 3rd time at this point but I turned around when I heard that the park had ''an old Mill and a bridge''. That was it. 

When I told him that, he said, ''Well, that was what I was trying to tell you this entire time''.

All around us were rocky hills and farming valley; I had spotted a sign that pointed out that it was 2 miles to the left, we turned, and went down gravel hills that dipped around farms and country intersections. 

We finally hit the state preserve that surrounds the remains of the town after a few minutes. It dipped low after the hills until we passed the small bridge that marks the town. Two javes clad in full motorcycle gear eyed us like we were stupid as we drove across. 

The mill towered over the other side of the bridge and the few buildings left.

We turned left and found a clearing next to the edge of the river. Behind us, two cars full of grumpsters drove past waving and The Jaffer hid behind a building to piss.

The river beside us was massive; it went down at least 30 or more feet and was nestled between two huge walls of rock and curved around out of view. 

I turned and saw The Jaffer arising from the little smokehouse he had whizzed on. He told me that the buildings here all used to be unlocked to wander around in and tours used to be given to explain it's history. 

They all were locked; a two story Inn, cooperage, the smokehouse, a stable, the mill, and the bridge were all that was left of Motor.

We started towards the Inn behind the car; it was locked. 

St Nick, and his two cousins that he had brought, peered into all the windows and took note that it had looked trashed inside. 

There was a small hill behind the Inn and I walked right up it to whizz behind the Inn. The backdoor had been sealed closed and St Nick only saw a toilet inside the windows.

We walked to the mill, it was also locked, and the sides of the door frame had been covered in name carvings, but the cooperage was the only one that wasn't. I just turned the knob and walked right in. It was a large room, museum signs littered the stone floor, and a large fireplace was it.

The Jaffer looked up at the ceiling and said that the last time that he had been here, the ceiling hadn't been there, and you could see straight up. I walked up to the fireplace and found more names carved into the rock. It was like a rite of passage. Someone had carved ''Nirvana'' in the middle of it.

We walked out and that had looked about it. The road curved in two directions; somewhere to the left were the road got smaller and steeper and the right led to an old campsite. We walked up the right road a little and found a little hiking path that led us in a complete circle. 

Back on the main road, I looked off the bridge and saw a group of kayaks coming slowly up the river. 

On our right was the mill, it stood over the river that it once had power over but now it was decayed and scribbled over by tourists. It's turbine sat besides it rusting into the ground. The Jaffer and I admired the mill for a minute and got into the car to leave.

The sun bled in between the hills and hid among the rocky cliffs that surrounded us. 

I looked around the endless expanse and sighed. 

I was growing tired of the coming and going. It was all becoming just headaches and arguments.

The Jaffer was getting itchy. He, along with St Nick's cousins, eyed me at the gas station on the way back.

It was in the town of Strawberry Point (known for a huge plastic strawberry and a hotel where you jump out the windows for fun). Everyone just wanted to go home. I was just tired of hauling the dead horse over my shoulder.

We stopped to get gas in the middle of town. It was dark now but it was a summer night. People wandered around the place, a grumpster with a hat made of PBR cans sewed together and a Hawaiian shirt head banged to no music, kids pulled up in bikes, and a truck load of good ol boys bought cases of beer and admired their dirt bikes. 

Everyone stood around and talked in their own isolated conversations. The air was warm and the kids could bike out all night.

I turned and walked into the gas station, where we had just eaten, it was a little hole in the wall place and it also had a gun rack and a counter filled with handguns and revolvers. The ammo was counter priced only and the walls were covered in fishing gear.

The kid working the counter was bored and told me that the nozzle was sometimes stuck. I went outside to make sure then looked to the group. They looked tired and ready to leave. 

St Nick stood there ready at the helm. The Jaffer spoke for them as he went on and on about leaving. I didn't care anymore.

The good ol boys had a few beers outside their trucks before getting in and jetting off with the mud stained bikes, the grampie roared off into the night howling and avoiding the attention of the cop who was just up the street, and the kids biked off into a random neighborhood. I could hear them talking amongst themselves as they biked away.

I sighed and got back in.

On the edge of town and the highway, St Nick couldn't just pass by this burned out motel we had passed before. 

He, like I, just knew these things and veered off into the little lot. 

We got out and started wandering inside the hollowed out building. It looked tore up from fire and storm. The walls were down to the frames, some didn't exist, and the roof was completely gone. 

Even then, we could tell that it was a roach hotel from the size and to what The Jaffer had apparently remembered about it. He'd mutter out some type of fever dream like recollection and walk around repeating himself.

I looked out of the crumpled building and looked off into the empty road. 

There was nothing else but to heed the call to it. 

I walked out of the bombed out structure and got back into the car to drift back home.

Plastic Town (The Big Nothing Part 21)

 I stared down at the light green carpet, the funeral usher pushed back his thick  glasses back to his face as he welcomed me and walked me back to a table in another room.  All the lights were dim, the bar was empty, and I slowly walked behind the usher.

I was greeted by the stares of angry stiffs sitting at their according tables. Fancy tablecloth; the works.

 The dim lights made their chandeliers, in which they illuminated, shimmered, and sparkled, ominously. The dim lighting was perfect for this dreary place. 

Each stiff looked across each other, at their tables, with no emotion but with a deep regret that was seared into their eyeballs. These people had accepted their individual lot in life but they didn't have to be happy about it.

This place sucked the life energy out of you and recycled it back into waiters and waitresses that smile forcefully because they know that the funeral ushers are over their shoulders; watching without mercy in their hearts.

They slop crappy rich people food in front of you; just on glass dishes and cloth wrapped cutlery. The stiffs sit and argue with the waitresses about how many ways can their slop be served to them. They've been dead longer than they've known how to consume their portion in life.

The food is plastic, the funeral ushers are in the back wrapping bodies together in sheets of tin foil before they bake them at 450 degrees for ripe consumption. 

I had to get out. 

I couldn't stand it. 

The stiffs faded in between the walls; silently watching and judging with stone hearts. 

The smell of grease and dirty tablecloth hung in the air like cigar smoke.

The funeral usher fiddles with his thumbs and a glass of bourbon before waving goodbye. His words were like scribbly post it notes on a fridge.

When I walked back into the evening light outside, it blinded me, the tomb of the funeral home glowed in the sunlight because of how darkly painted it was.

Part Two:

Driving out on the outskirts of Marion, I was so tired that I almost fell asleep in the back seat, my eyes flickered between the cookie cutter homes. 

This was it. 

Robins, Iowa.

This was another meaningless town. Rich kid territory. 

Here, the streets are paved with the brains of drunkard housewives.

Each person here lives invisibly, neighbors don't exist, and if they do; they're driving minivans and diesel pickup trucks. Swaddles of screaming infants are put on leather leashes and led up and down the streets.

They used to shoot off fireworks in the little town park, I remember walking through crowds of people, while crappy cover bands blasted away with songs that you were pained to remember; fireworks over the stage. Dogs on leather leashes. That changed. You only see the fireworks in the distance now.

I got back into the basement. 

I'm only staying here for a short amount of time but even then; it becomes insufferable.

The windows are boarded up with cardboard and the walls are a sickly white.

It's cold. 

I can't stand it. 

It reeks of lifelessness.

I waited until the night; waiting as the daylight trickled beneath the cracks of the space that the cardboard left. 

I walked out the back, the only lights being from the streetlights and cars slowly moving up the street every five minutes. 

I walked onto the main stretch of town. The only thing on it are a bar and gas station.

I walked down the path of street lights before deciding to turn right. 

While I passed a street corner, I noticed that there was a crowd of children huddled in a backyard; watching a movie that was being projected onto the back of the house. They even had a popcorn machine.

I stopped and thought about blending in with the crowd of faceless children but I didn't. 

Cars would pass along the street corner; sending their spotlight all across the crowd. They were still faceless. All nameless and would turn back into shadowy figures as soon as the light was gone.

I continued down the way, I walked down the street after street of cookie cutter nothingness; I wondered if people actually lived in those things. 

It was taking more and more of the farmland.

I used to be able to walk out on the driveway and still see corn but it's only roofs now.

Development and development being built to slowly poison and kill off the land. I could see the flood waters of yesteryear coming and washing it all away in a murderous silence.

I blinked and finally found myself surrounded by trees. I was on a small road covered on both sides by big hills overgrown with weeds.

The hills were starting to slow and I saw a car slowly pulled next to me. ''Great'', I thought. I was going to either get arrested or kidnapped and being forced to be a drug mule for a preppy college kid party. 

The car window slowly came down and revealed the frightened face of a young couple. They were lost and needed directions so I pointed to the best direction and I was off in the dark again.

The hills came down and I saw the silhouettes of houses again. I looked on my left and saw the inside of a large house. 

The basement lights were on and revealed a huge basement furnished with carpet and expensive furniture. I saw that it was filled with dudes with solo cups in their hands; they were all around this table that had someone laying on top of it. I couldn't figure it out though I was 20 or 30 feet away. I could of swore they all saw me and they proceeded to close the blinds. 

Anything could happen.

I saw that there was a little city park up ahead. 

The road went on forever; only leading to more hills and rich crazies with a lust for kidnapping so I huddled into the park.

It was surrounded on all sides by cookie cutters. 

Everything was so clean and manicured; it all felt so plastic. 

I saw two yuppie kids coming out of the darkness on scooters, I hid in the playground, and watched them trade each other Yu Gi Oh cards.

This places was driving me insane. 

I saw the sky was lit brightly with the moon, so brightly, that I could see the passing clouds moving in the night.

It was only a matter of time until this place would consume me.

Origins of Dawn (The Big Nothing Part 20)

''It's almost too hot'' says Nick.

In the backroom, towards the end of the hallway, the toilet overflows, there's Fruit Loops on the floor, bare mattresses in every room; the yellowed, old, air conditioner hums and clicks downstairs.

Inside and outside, the air is thick; the backyard overflows with green.

A fan is wedged inside the windowsill in Nick's bedroom. 

A naked baby sleeps on the couch downstairs. 

The sink in the kitchen is overfilled with pans coated in unidentifiable organisms.

Four different empty boxes of pizza lay on top of a trash can overfilled with waste and the smell of garlic.

A five foot portrait of Squidward Tentacles (in prose) overlooks Nick's room.

Puddles of piss by the toilet and on the carpet of a nearby closet. 

The cancer is emanating from the walls as it breathes in rats, trash pandas, and nicotine stains then the sound of screaming infants starts to kick in.

Downstairs is an old basement with dogs on drugs, licking the walls. 

A fat child resembling the Michelin Man sits in a comforter like an overweight father who wears wife beaters and beer on his chest.

Nick's room reeks of sickness and sweat; the heat makes the air taste like it. 

I feel like a homeless man on a drinking binge. The fan does little to make the air thin; a liter of sweat coats my forehead.

Eight people pile in a room; bunk beds with bare mattresses and five people puffing on cigarettes in a small laundry room. Few wear a shirt, the infants continue to howl, and there's no electricity in the living room. 

The fan creeks and hums loudly; the living room floor is littered with pieces of leather from a chair. 

Five adolescents left to find narcotics.

Part Two: 

The Zesticide

''West Virginueir..smoke my meth...'' sang Ryan and I as we drove off on the road.

''You remember Fight Club'' I asked Ryan. ''No'' said Ryan sarcastically. ''Whatever, you remember when...I never saw it'' said Ryan. The sound of music blasting and gravel banging all over the car was incessant. ''Ah crap, I hope this isn't it...son of a jave'' I said.

The house was there all right but the property didn't look totally abandoned. 

There were newer farm machines in the nearby barns and chows were wandering behind it. We drove down the road to see if there was anything else but that was the house that I had located online. The lawn looked freshly mowed.

It was a perfect day for travel. The sun glowed hot on us and the land was bright.

Ryan tried keeping his mouth shut because the air conditioner was blasting out cow shaz and breathing in cancer. 

''Teletubbies is f***** scary'' Ryan said. ''You ever seen those videos where they have the Teletubbies in black and white? They look like javing axe murderers.'' I replied. The weird music pumping out of his car speakers made the ride eerie.

The wide and empty highway turned into the woods as we drove through some back roads. There was a deep creek running through the ground to our right. I saw an abandoned house completely slanting on one side and another with junk all over the lawn. 

We slowly surveyed it and decided to turn back and go inside one of them. We drove down a little ways and saw that the wooded area turned into a huge clearing with large, newly built, homes scattered around. We stopped at a street and I turned and saw the town sign on someone's lawn scrawled across a rusty truck; ''Hauntown'' it said.

We turned around to the abandoned houses and parked next to the one with all the crap on the lawn. It was a little too close to the clearing, as we saw a house with people walking around it, but I wanted to see if I could get into one of these. 

I saw an old decaying barn and other small dilapidated buildings going up a hill behind the house where we parked by. I walked alongside the property, the one that was slanted had a fence around it, but the fence ended besides and behind the one where we parked by. It was perfect.

There was a small road that led to a small gate that led up the hill besides the house and I walked back to tell Ryan to move his car. I walked back into the backyard and into the backdoor.

 

There were wooden planks laid up besides each other in piles in another room but the main part of the house was open. It had looked like an abandoned house project; we assumed that it had been so for maybe 20 years.

The floor felt stable enough to walk on and I walked straight to the living room which was empty. The whole house was completely empty. 

The deck in front of the front door was slowly rotting away and I walked into a small bathroom and only found insulation all over the floor.

While I was coming out of the bathroom, Ryan pointed out some scribbling on the wall; ''Guys we're being haunted. Help us'' said Ryan as he read it out ''Ur Next''. He said that he saw that the entire second floor was only catwalks for whoever was last working on it. 

I found a narrow staircase, with a door to a dirt basement under it, and slowly walked up the stairs. He was right. I spotted a small hallway in front of me, blue tarp covering the doorway, and thought that it wasn't probably stable enough.

Part Three: 

The Bare Cheeked Riders

The air was warm and the sun was hot on our bodies. We drove lazily up and down the highway, we passed farms, towns, and fields of endless grain. The roads would wind and rise around the lonely road. 

We passed a rural four way intersection, there was a guy sitting on the flatbed of his truck, nursing a few beers, and watching cars drive down the hills. He nodded at the tractor in front of us and took another sip of his beer. 

It was like a summer day. The towns we would pass, strangely, would have not a soul out in the streets or on their lawns. The work day seemed to make the little towns ghost towns as they probably had to travel a couple of miles for work.

The guitar of Willie Nelson purred softly in the car and I yawned softly as I watched these places before my eyes disappear out of the passenger window.

I saw streams of bikers all over the highway. They made their leather look small as their large bodies stretched the clothing so much that it stuck on their bodies while others waved loose in the waves of air. 

Ryan switched the music to The Beatles so he wouldn't fall asleep and we took to mockery; '' my friend works for the national health, mr methead, you'll pay money just to see yourself with mr methead..mr methead, he sells whatever he can...well, well, he'll see your veins are taunt, well, well, well, I see the plunger coming down''.

It was an unbelievable relief when I saw it on the lonely road. Most of the day had been quick disappointments and long periods of having our backs stick to the seats. 

The house was in the middle of a huge cornfield, solitary, and only a little dirt road leading up to it. It stood out like an island in the sea of nothing. In the distance, I could see farming vehicles doing their normal job in the field. It was like it's own little oasis.

Ryan pulled right up to it, just before the overgrown lawn, and looked at me. I admired his audacity and got out. 

The property had a large, brick, barn to our right and a pile of rubble just a few feet in front of it. In front of us was the house; surrounded by large trees. 

There was still a powerline that was connected to the house though it had long been shut off. The lawn was clean except for normal tree foliage and whatever had fallen off the house. There was a large deck that had collapsed in front of the house. There were no doors and even a sewer or a well was built into the foundation. 

I was hesitant to go inside since the place had looked like the oldest house I had seen. I walked to the right and wanted to loop back around before figuring if it was safe to go inside.

I could see from the outside that it wasn't. A huge tree had collapsed in the backyard and glass was all over the ground. I peered inside, through the windows, and saw that the place was stripped. Ryan figured that it had to be maybe 70 years old. 

The floors looked long rotted, the paint on the walls had been curled and the whole house had the color melted off of it. I saw inside the small living room, which was covered in pieces of the ceiling and a rotary phone still on the wall, there was a bathroom with the toilet smashed out of its place. There were holes in the walls that revealed wood and brick foundations. It looked so strange. There were few doors inside and the whole place was entirely open.

''This is where you get Hepatitis G'' said Ryan as he watched me walk all over the broken glass of the windows. I saw that there were holes in the concrete on the ground and saw that some parts of the basement windows were just holes. 

Ryan pointed out that the main staircase basically floated in the air as the floor beneath it was hollowed out. We wouldn't have been able to even get past the front door. 

We walked towards the barn and there was nothing but old tires inside. I looked at the rubble not too far away from it and assumed that it had either been another barn or smaller house. 

We slowly drove backwards, the house getting smaller and smaller, and we drove off into the country road.

It simmered in the sun and it always seemed all so distant than before.

Part Four: 

It's Almost Too Hot

The road was quiet, not so the driver, the night was long and mysterious.

Downtown was eerie. Only the veterans bar was open.

We couldn't shake off a car filled with ''good ole boys'' until we drove straight out of town. Redneck country. Dimly lit houses, metal farm fences, and two headlights right from behind.

We turned back, shaking the kids, and with the dark country road all around; the driver was spooked. 

The car was falling apart, sounding more like the chopping of a mower, and the moonshine had taken a toll.

Almost outside of town now, I remembered the gravel road leading out of the back of the local high school to where a graveyard lies and where I thought the schoolhouse was.

Stomping inside the graveyard, a small site built upon a hill, I took a flashlight and scoured through the graves to find my grandmother's grave and a better site to see where the school was.

You could see the edge of the sky around the edges of the trees that surrounded the graveyard; the cities water tower loomed over the tree line like I remembered years ago.

Directly outside the graveyard was the back of the high school. I remembered decrepit greenhouses, an overgrown field, and the old elementary school in the distance like something far off as the funeral procession ahead of me; the quiet burial and the strange feeling in the air.

When I looked out at that field now, the school was gone, the greenhouses were limited to one but completely remodeled and the land where the old school lied on; a new football field.

The lights around the box office were still on, mosquitos buzzed around the source of light, and the nearby highway quietly dissipated by each car that passed by.