A memory

The stars twinkled down, from the inky darkness where they nestled most comfortably, happy in their setting. The moon eschewed the night sky, for the time being, so, was presumed to have snuck off for tryst with its lover, the sea. At least, it was one explanation of why the water shimmered so.

Down below the stars, to the left of the sea, or the right if you are facing in the other direction, across some tracts of forest where coniferous trees cavorted with wolves, or, perhaps, vice versa, and all the way down a very dark, cracked, asphalt road, a gathering was underway.

This was not the formal gathering of a clan, or the semi-planned gathering of friends, or, even the normal, every day gathering of family, however, for the rest of the clan, if a clan could be said to exist for any persons involved in the gathering, was far, far away, though mostly in the same galaxy; and, no one being gathered were friends, though, some, those who were already at the spot, where the gathering occurred were family.

The rest were tourists, and, their guide, and no one, not the family, not the tourists, not even the guide or the driver of their great tour bus, had the slightest idea of why they were gathering together, at all. None of them planned it, nor, did the driver remember making a decision to stop the bus on the side of the highway, as he had done, so that he and the rest of the occupants of the bus could traverse the distance, which was mostly downhill, between the bus and the shabby little trailer-fronted abode that sat in a very wild looking yard, which ran alongside the very badly kempt highway.

Lest the reader be confused, or, later, disappointed, this is not a tale of a great adventure, alien abduction, or any other grand and unusual happening. This is the tale of a very ordinary, beautiful, happening of life. It is a memory of a night that sparkled, conversation occurred, strangers were semi-met and never to be seen again, and, yet, despite the suspected lack of importance to the universe, the night was beautiful, odd, and, the memory lingers.

The gathering occurred around a fire. Who started the fire? More than likely, the father of the family. Who heated the tea over the fire? The mother of the family was the culprit, it is presumed. What is known as fact is the existence of the fire, with the rocks around it, and, that, this fire was different than usual. It was larger, more neatly piled in the wood, with bigger rocks and a more uniform circle made by them, surrounding it. The flames licked higher, the light they gave was brighter, the sparks shot straight up instead of into someone’s hair, and, the smoke utterly failed to waft directly into anyone’s face.

That, alone, was enough to startle the girl, who sat there, huddled between her siblings, but, even stranger, were the words spoken by the foreigners, -some of whom were from so far away that they even understood that they were foreigners, which was another unusual event, since most foreigners thought they were from close enough near that they belonged.

These were the words: “Alaskans are so friendly.” Oh, yes, there were other words – many, many words – but, those are the ones best remembered, as said by the foreigners. Her mind was numbed from the shock, and, reeled about inside her, trying to find purchase, trying to find feelings and thought, like frozen feet in wintertime, trying to find purchase on glare ice.

She thought of asking her sister, who sat near her, but, was afraid of being overheard, and, possibly slapped for being rude to guests. Instead, she sat and pondered what these words could mean. As she pondered, she reviewed things in her mind, which related to the possibility of Alaskans being friendly. Or, more to the point, which related to the improbability of said friendliness.

She thought of her neighbors, who argued over their respective dogs, sometimes stole dogs from each other, and, often ended sentences with “I wish … would die!” “…” being a variable, depending on who was doing the talking, about whom, and, why.

Moving on, she pondered the two families who lived down the road, the fathers of them being persons who often took potshots at each other. As they lived on opposite sides of the badly kempt highway, that meant that, whenever she or her siblings wished to walk in that direction, they had to make themselves known early, so that the men would call a cease fire until they passed by.

There were other neighbors, other activities, some dark and ugly in a familial way, some dark and ugly in a suspected militantly foreign way, and, as she pondered these things that she knew of, she continued to attempt to find purchase for logical belief of friendliness, in spite of all. There was none.

Only, something niggled, and naggled, telling her that they appeared to be as sane as people are apt to be, and, that, perhaps, there was something to their assertion, if only she could see it.

Finally, yielding to her need, she braved the potential slapping, and leaned toward the sister closest to her and asked "What do they… " and, at the same time, the sister, perplexity wrinkling her brow, began to ask “How could they think ..?” A brief pause occurred. The sibling continued. “I was thinking, that, maybe, they mean, to them.”

The little girl recognized this as the logic that she had been hoping for. “Oh good!” she replied, “Because, I was thinking about things and wondering, what the hell those people are doing to each other, out there, that they think we are friendly!”

“Yeah, " said her sister. “They have to mean the way we treat them, and, not the way things are done between our own.”

And, as the little girl’s brain uncramped, recognizing this as the logical explanation it had been hoping for, so that the weird other possibles stopped malforming in the back of her mind, the one sibling moved away, and, another, also a sister, sat in her place.

“Alaskans really are so friendly!” exclaimed another foreigner.

The older girl leaned toward her younger sister, a quizzical look on her face. "I was wondering., " she whispered in the girl’s ear, “what they could be thinking, when they say …”

The little girl laughed.

The memory is over.