Love and time or whatever

We decided to go camping in Wisconsin on Saturday at 10:59 in Taco Bell Cantina, which is a good as time as any to decide to go to Wisconsin. Rafting in Wisconsin is the type of idea that would usually be relegated to the world of “next time”  — “wouldn’t it be cool if we all went rafting — but we don’t have time to prep that this week. Maybe next time?”

With next time, the possibilities are endless and always a little ways away.

We were in Taco Bell Catina that night because Kenzi and Knives were visiting Chicago from Portland, and I am visiting The Ourside World  from my 2 years of self-imposed social isolation. None of us have real commitments, places to be, at least not right now. The pandemic, government checks and unemployment from jobs people just quit, the fact that it’s August, makes everything seem sort of permeable, easy. Plans can be made, we can do whatever.

So Erica’s proposal — fuck it, let’s go to Wisconsin — has a little more traction than usual.

The proposal, put into practice, turns out great — we go to Wisconsin.

We meet some weird old men at a bar, see the stars. Some of us go rafting and some of us don’t and everyone seems satisfied with this outcome.

Nothing transformative happens, but we listen to a lot of early 00s music and talk about the Ennegram. It’s a good trip and it’s good that it happened, instead of getting relegated to “next time.”

On the way back, we pulled into Six Flags to stretch and switch drivers, parking next to the sign on the chain link fence that says “no drones.” The park is closed for the day. There’s a bunch of trash inside the park, blowing up on to the rails of the roller coasters.

“Let’s do some stretches for mobility,” Kenzi said once out of the driver’s seat. They took off, running to the top of the grassy hill next to the chain link fence. We all follow them, moving a little slower.

At the top, Kenzi did some Spider-Mans. Knives rolled down the hill. Erica did one squat then scrolled on her phone.

I sat in the grass, unsure.

“Isn’t this like — isn’t this all you do? Weird bodywork movements?” Kenzi asked. “Give us a move to do.”

Kenzi is right — this is all I do: I spent most of my pandemic isolation Googling variations of the words “trigger point” “flexibility” “live forever stretching” “no health insurance mobility”

But I am sleepy and self conscious, so I shrug their request off.

“Nah,” I said. “I don’t really know any.”

Kenzi shrugs and keep doing Spider-Mans.

“Is anyone else going to roll down?” Knives yells from the bottom of the hill.

“Sorry I didn’t do any moves,” I said to Kenzi later as we trudge down the hill, back to the car. “I got too embarassed. But I’ll try it next time.”

“You’re right. Next time.” They said.

“Yeah.” I said.

“You can show us all the movements next time.”

I nodded.

“Next time we’re all together on a impromptu multi day camping trip and pull into an abandoned Six Flags parking lot.” Kenzi said. “That next time.”

“Shit,” I said.

“Yeah,” Kenzi agreed. “That’s why you gotta make time.”

—

It’s hard honestly,” Kenzi had said before they visited, “To remember Dany is dead. Because the times that were going to happen didn’t happen yet, you know what I mean?”

They continue. “It’s like —friendship fanfiction. When I visited—“

Kenzi had been planning the visit to Chicago, the one where we went rafting because we had time, with Knives for months before Dany died.

“When I visited, they were going to meet Knives. And they were going to flirt with them too much, and not talk that much to me, and then I was going to be kind of mad, and then we were going to make more plans to hang out while I was here, which they would flake on, and then they would text Knives but not me when we got back to Portland and I would be even more kind of mad. You know what I mean? That was what was going to happen. It was going to be “the time we visited Chicago and Dany was really annoying, but it wasn’t anything too weird, you know what I mean?.”

I do.

“But that time hasn’t happened yet.”

—

A few hours after we stop at six Flags on

the trip back from Wisconsin, an old country song comes on. Kenzi sits up a little straighter in the driver’s seat.

“Oh, I love this song,” they say.

“I know you do,” Knives says: they’re running the playlist on their phone in backseat passenger’s seat next to me. “That’s why I put it on!”

Kenzi nods at them through the rearview mirror. “Thanks Knife.”

Knives shrugs.

“Uh,” says Kenzi. “When I was real depressed in the pandemic, this song helped me a lot.

I listened to it every morning on our way to work.”

“You listened to this every single morning?” Erica asks. A banjo twangs on the track.

“Thats correct,” Kenzi says.

I look at Knives.

“You listened to the whole song every morning too?”

“It’s six minutes long.” Kenzi adds.

Knives made a kind of resigned grimace, not looking up from their phone.

“Yeah. Every morning.”

“Wow,” I say. I picture Kenzi driving along every day in the Portland winter, tears streaming down their face. I picture Knives staring out the window next to them in business wear with a big jacket over it, holding one of those goofy travel coffee mugs, making kind of the same face they’re making now at their phone.

Waiting patiently for the song to end.

“It’s a long song,” I say finally. The image of the two of them listening to this song every morning suckerpunched me in the chest too hard to think of anything better to say.

Knives looks up at me and shrugs again.

“I mean. It’s six minutes.”

In the driver’s seat, Kenzi is staring at the road in front of them, singing the song under their breath with a look of determination. Knives and I watch Kenzi for a second, then we crack up.

Then Knives says “I’ve got time. I’m in love, okay H? I’ve got time.”

—