Saturday, October 9, 2010
Middle of Somewhere
Middle. Front or back, too. I'd be fine getting stuck there with her kind of somewhere.
A place too big to turn around in. A pace too slow to outstrip. A sun all alone in a sky so big that it's almost not bright enough to light up what's behind you, if you could ever turn around. I guess in a place so big, you're always looking forward. A place like Baie-Comeau, Quebec.
They have a town, sure, but it's broken in two. As though there was so much space that the town was afraid of being too small in it, so they made an upper, built a dam, then made a lower. All the same to me. The language didn't hurt too much. The gentility of that Quebecois warbling was a playful juxtaposition against the severed moose heads on the muddy pick-ups. The bleu-collar French. Open. Warm. Big. No matter where, the middle of nowhere has a way of making everybody big in the places of us that the most sought after somewheres tend to shrivel up.