When Zeros Multiply…

Thursday, August 24 to Saturday, August 26, 2017 (Days 113 to 116)

We rose early and caught the bus in to Brattleboro. We had hardly slept; maybe an hour or two. We grabbed a coffee from the gas station and made the short hike to the bus shop. The bus arrived just as we did, and we were on our way.

Sitting at the local co-op in town snacking on fruit and drinking drip-coffee with shots of espresso, the hours passed effortlessly.  Soon it was time to catch the bus to Marlboro.

We waited and waited, but the bus did not show. Then, my brother spotted a friend of his. She was driving a van full of new students interested in working on the school’s farm. What timing! We climbed in alongside them. I felt like I was on a school field trip, seated in a large white van full of youth and novelty and scholastic adventure. The engine started, and we set off down the road.

They dropped us off at Marlboro College, and my brother went to fetch the key for the cottage he would be living in.  We walked the well-troddened trail that led from the campus, through the trees, and over a stream to a cluster of little homes soon to be filled with students.

What a beautiful cottage it was! All wood and windows and charm. There were four bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. We pulled two of the mattresses off of their metal frames and drug them in to the living room. We then positioned them side by side beneath the large window. “There!” we exclaimed.

We used our headlamps to follow the trail back to campus and put in a load of laundry. We sipped coffee and ventured in to a building for theatrical arts. We moved through a large dance studio in to a tiny windowless room; sound insulated, and enrirely white from floor to ceiling, save for the reflective black baby-grand piano that stood at its center. He sat at the piano and played, I sat on the floor, eyes closed, body swaying ever so slightly to the music of Beethoven and Bach.

We returned to the dance studio, extended our legs and arms, backs against the floor. We rolled and stretched and played on the floor, our surroundings faintly visible in the dark empty room. We were mysterious dancing shadows in the night.

Back at the cottage we phoned our mom through Facebook’s wifi calling feature. The conversation was full of memories and laughter, reflection and possibility. We spoke of the energy that connects us, dreams and spirits, and the latent potential of the human mind. It was a wonderful and meaningful conversation that will not be forgotten.

We ate a dinner of sweet potatos and brussels sprouts and tofu, and gazed at the night sky and fell asleep.

The next day my brother attended instruction for all of the school Peer Advisors, of which he is one. I lounged in a white adirondack chair, then moved to the grass, first sitting cross-legged and then on my stomach, sipping coffee and nibbling strawberries under the sun, looking out over the mountains, writing.

After he was finished we took a trip back to the co-op where I had cellular reception. We phoned our dad, Nana and Grandpa Chuck, and collected items for dinner. We collected water from a lovely spring along the road.

It looked as though I was staying once more.

The following morning I was dropped off in Bennington. We hugged farewell and I made my way to the post office to collect my packages: food stuff, and Super Feet insoles.

I was not satisfied with the amount of writing I had accomplished. I found myself in the Catamount Motel, again. I was tired, unable to focus. I switched on the television and stared at the screen of dancing pixels as the Twilight saga unfolded before my eyes. I ate microwaved brussell sprouts from the bag, rehydrated peanut butter by the spoonful, and sipped sparkling water over ice. I wrote during commercials until I had endured quite enough of the vampiric drama, and switched off the television all together. Focus. It was time to focus.

…or sleep.

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