The One – Song 6: Weighing Anchor, Segment 1

Originally published June 24, 2019...

Last time, our young heroes had just finished a meeting with their teacher who has encouraged them to reach for the stars – or at least spread their wings and learn to fly. All the planets appear to be converging to facilitate the launch of a journey into unknown territory. One might ask from what source young people feel such calls to adventure, exploration, and discovery. The teacher certainly adds speed to their trajectory. Then after months of waiting, as is said, “I feel like something’s bound to show up soon.” And it does in the form of – well no spoilers here. What does arrive, however, begs the question of the role of will power and intention and their effect on life events.

Weighing Anchor – Segment 1

The river runs silky against mud banks

Winter snowmelt hurries down a thousand

            tiny streams to feed the widening water

Months have been swallowed up since Hart and I

            sealed our pact to leave, but here it is Spring

                        again, and we remain in Chickopee

                        with only weeks before books are finished

                                    and not one rescuer that I can see

                                    to show us how to get away and free

“I feel like something’s bound to show up soon,”

            I say to Hart who sits beside me high

                        up the slope above the rushing river

“We can’t stay here forever,” he predicts

            but how to leave – where to go – I can’t see”

Hart purses his lips mischievously,

“For the first, I’ve heard walk, run, ride or fly

            are the usual means depending whether

                        you are a turtle, horse, human, or bird

            And for the second, I’d say, north, south, east or west

                        or finer compass points between those four.”

“You take this all so lightly,” I complain

            “We’re stuck here and that’s no joking matter.”

Hart sits up straight and studies me closely.

“Your seriousness is doing us no good –

            just taking all the fun right out of it.”

“If you want to know the truth, I’m growing

            more afraid we will never leave this place”

“Fear will keep us here,” Hart says carefully.

“I know. I know. I’m not afraid to leave.”

“Of course not, since it hasn’t happened yet.

            But staying is already here and this

            is what you claim to be afraid of now”

I say nothing and so Hart speculates,

“With ‘how’ and ‘where’ so unknown and mental 

            some fear may be the right thing for a while”

I stand up suddenly, and arch my back

            stretch my arms, “I wish someone would swoop down

                        and scoop me up and carry me away!”

“Then you should get a magic flying horse.”

“That would do,” I say slumping to a squat

“So, you think something magic has to happen?”

            Hart is only half-teasing as he asks

“Well, sort of, but that will never happen”

            I wag my head in deep resignation

“We could make some magic of our own kind”

I hear no joke. “What is your invention?”

“Well, first we must make a strong intention”

“Go on. I can’t imagine what you’ll say”

“Quiet. I’m thinking. It has to be right”

Anxiously, I stop talking – wait for him

            but I cannot wait, and explode at Hart

“What on earth does that mean, Hart? Intention?”

“Oh, something like, ‘we swear to leave this place

            or die in the attempt’” He’s not smiling

“Okay.  Then what, oh great and mighty one?”

“Now you say it.” Hart’s face is unsmiling 

“You just said it.” I think I call his bluff

“Not good enough. We both have to say it.”

“All right,” I sigh, close my eyes, head downward.

            “We swear to leave or die in the attempt

                        We’ll do it soon!” I add for emphasis

“There.  We’ve done it.” Hart thrusts his fist skyward.

“Done what?” Nothing has changed, and we’re still here”

“I can’t believe how dense you are sometimes.”

            Hart smiles and shakes his head in mock despair

“We’ve said some words, and now the rescue comes?”

“No, you fool! There’ll be no magic rescue!

            See, leaving means we will have saved ourselves.

            The first step is to know you are leaving”

“When did you become so wise and knowing?”

“While you were so busy down and moping.”

I leap playfully and knock Hart backwards

            straddling his hips and pinning his thin arms

“No fair picking on the poor crippled kid,” 

            he laughs and rolls me over on my back

We reverse our positions several times 

as we roll down the bank into water

where we dunk and soak each other laughing

finally panting, we kneel in the shallows

The spring-cold river spits us up gasping

We trudge drenched to the bank and strip our clothes

to bare decency, and hang shirts and pants

socks and shoes to dry on budding bushes 

“Brrrrr! That water’s cold,” I say shivering

“Good practice for our leaving here,” Hart quips

Two crows caw raucously in the branches

“See, they agree,” Hart says pointing.  “Maybe . . .

they’ll even point the way for us to fly”

He looks at me impishly as he hangs

his shirt on a raspberry bush and I look

up to the two black birds’ glistening feathers.

I catch a silver glint from one crow’s eye

and I remember a bird much like this

that I knew well – long ago before I

                                    knew true from false, or crow’s eye from starshine

                                    in a place far from here that I called home

                                    where I met a dragon, the first of nine

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More weeks pass and spring seeps into summer

The languid river long-since crested flows 

            with the shimmering heatwaves and we two

                        go there when we can to watch uprooted

                        trees float downstream, their bare branches wet-black

                                    drifting sodden in the river’s current

                                                like unearthed drastic corpses drowned and dark.

The day’s generous sunlight dances sparks

            off the ripples and eddies – small fish rise

                        and break the surface with gray flapping tails

We are silent with the day’s hushing warmth

My head feels heavy in a pleasant way

My mind settles into even humming

            unusually empty of scattered thoughts

I droop and doze as Hart already does

Then far upstream I see something bobbing

A tree trunk?  I wonder, shading my eyes 

            squinting out toward it.  A large box? A crate?

Now a glint of color floats up – dark red

This is no tree, I decide and jostle

            Hart who groans and fends me off sleepily,

“Something’s floating down the river. Look! See!”

He raises up on his elbows, blinking 

“It’s nothing.  Just another drunken tree.”

He flops back down to resume his napping

I wait several minutes staring raptly

            at the red approaching apparition.

When I am sure, I poke Hart’s arm again

“Now what’s up?” he testily rolls over

“It’s a boat!” I tell him standing straight up

Hart jumps up and we both scuttle sideways

            down the riverbank to investigate

The red boat is much nearer now, dipping

            its high-peaked prow gently in the current

                        as if nodding ‘yes’ to an unasked question.

The boat looks empty, and no one steers her

Hart and I know the current’s downstream path

            and so determine an intercept course

                        where it will most likely swing the vessel

                                    nearest to the riverbank and toward us

We scurry quickly along the shoreline

            navigating tree roots, mud and large rocks

Our pace is too slow to make the junction

At once, I see only one chance for us

            to capture this floating prize and beach her 

            With not a word to Hart I waddle in 

                        catch the current and swim with it to get

                                    ahead of the boat.  Hart shouts from the shore

                                                but I can’t make out his words as I turn 

                                                            to face the current – swim hard against it

Now the wooden boat is bearing down fast

I am in its path and mean to catch it

I can see a rope trailing from the bow

The last few feet close faster than I gauge

The bow slides by.  I miss the hanging rope

            but kicking upward I grab the gunwale

                        and hold on as the current carries us

                                    like driftwood caught and helpless in its flow

 Hand over hand, I reach the bow and grab

            the rope and wind it round my wrist and hand

Now, I relax and float with the current

            downstream closer to the bank where I will

                        pull this trophy onto shore.  I look back

                                    upriver where Hart is falling behind

                                                as the current and his crippled leg stretch 

                                                            the space between us.  Still, he is running

                                                                        scrambling along the bank as best he can

Soon enough I see the river curve where

            the current swings toward shore. I swim harder

                        toward the bank towing the boat behind me

The weight of her proves more than I expect

My arms tire and the shore seems far away

            I begin to wonder if I’ll have to

                        let her go – this certain way to freedom

I will not do it.  I will not let her go.

Background:

With the above segment read, it’s relatively easy to study the motives, the intentions, and the departure activities of these two young people. One might ask where their fears play a part; however, fearlessness, even in the face of some anxiety, appears to be the order of the day. In addition, there is considerable talk about being rescued vs. saving themselves. Hart will have none of either. A significant development of each of the characters evolves as the nascent adventure unfolds. Such a variety of views makes it easy to question our own youthful (and not so youthful) approaches to stability vs. adventure, self-sufficiency vs. dependency.

In my adolescent years, I couldn’t wait to leave my home town. The pull away from the town of about 15,000 people burned a hole in my psyche. Naturally, such an intense desire manifested and I did “get away.” Cosmic wit, however, exposed me to irony I could never have dreamed up, i.e. after college, I ended up back in that same town of my youth! I even immersed myself in the life of the community by teaching high school. As it turned out, now that I look back over the decades, that was the best job I ever had – so satisfying, such a feeling of contribution. In any case, I did make a second “escape” about 8 years later when I moved to San Diego, my other home town. But that’s another story.

Exploration #1: Is it believable that the red boat shows up just when the two main characters want so terribly to get away? What about the boat’s owner who the duo did not even try to locate? Could this be an early peek into the basic morality operative, especially in the main character?

Exploration #2: What differences are beginning to develop between Hart and the main character? Similarities? Who has the “healthier” approach to their joint intention to leave Chickopee?

Exploration #3: Early in this segment, a brief conversation takes place about the role of magic in adventure. The main character is prone to leaning toward magic, whereas Hart appears to be more practical and realistic. Are their views complementary or in opposition? Or is it too early to tell?

Exploration #4: In a literary device view, what does the red boat symbolize, in your opinion?