LAWN CHAIRS AND LIGHTNING BOLTS
Friday night I was driving home with my takeout Thai and had put in an old Built to Spill CD that I hadn't listened to in quite some time. As the last song played, the music washed over me and I was taken back to the first time I heard that song.
It was the summer of 2001. I was living in Arizona and was in the midst of divorce paperwork with my husband. My heart was broken, but I also knew that in our hearts we both knew this was what was best for our own happiness. I was lucky enough to have two of my good friends from Washington who had temporarily moved down there, to help me keep occupied and laughing through it all. Tony and Chad, as well as their friend Justin, who became a dear friend too, would spend many evenings at my house where we would play in my swimming pool while drinking beer and eating pizza. Through all the sadness I was going through, I also found great joy in the simplest of activities with amazing people. Sometimes the most painful events bring the most beautiful experiences.
That was also the summer that my friends discovered Four Peaks. It was central Arizona's version of mountains and became one of our favorite destinations to play and hike at. I think my friends and Four Peaks became my salvation that summer. We would drive my friend's truck up the long, windy dirt roads then park and drink beer as we watched the sunset to the soundtrack we provided for the changing sky. I once showed them some of the moves I learned in the belly dancing class I once took. They would take me on walks through the desert mountain by headlamp. They found an old abandoned house and barn in the middle of the desert that we'd explore, most often with me hiding in the truck whimpering about The Blair Witch Project. We’d often encounter the strange desert creatures. There was tarantula petting; Gila Monster crossing; and once had a bat stuck in the windshield wiper. At the end our nights at Four Peaks we’d take turns sitting in the open back window, shirts off, laughing into the wind. They were some of the most fun moments of my life.
Then there was the night that reminded me of the Built to Spill song. This particular CD had just come out and Tony wanted me to hear it. So the two of us drove up to Four Peaks with lawn chairs so I could listen to it the way most things in life are meant, in nature. We didn't venture too far in because we didn't have four-wheel drive in that car, so we parked up in this clearing, set up the two lawn chairs and blared the new CD as we watched a monsoon roll in. We sat and drank beers as the music filled the desert and the lightning provided it's own show for us. It was almost as if the music and Mother Nature had perfectly choreographed the moment. No fireworks show ever compared to what was being provided to us.
And as the last song played, I told Tony about Flagstaff, which I'd recently been introduced to by my lovely friend Shana. I told him about the real mountains, clean air, and the green that we both missed from back home that was hiding up there. We both fell silent by the beauty of the song and the natural light show we were watching, and then BOOM! Lightning struck about a mile behind us and we both turned to witness the bolt hit as our hair stood on end from the charge. Eyes bulging in unison, we screamed and grabbed our lawn chairs as we laughed our asses off and jumped back into the car. And instead of heading home, the adrenaline spurred us to say “fuck it” to our lack of four-wheel drive, and venture deeper into the desert to the old, abandoned farm.
It was one of the best nights of my life, and one of those beautiful moments that I must have buried. But with the help of that old CD, the memory was unearthed and allowed to come haunting back into my heart. Thank god for friends. Thank god for music. And thank god for ghosts. Sometimes they bring back the past you needed to remember.
It was the summer of 2001. I was living in Arizona and was in the midst of divorce paperwork with my husband. My heart was broken, but I also knew that in our hearts we both knew this was what was best for our own happiness. I was lucky enough to have two of my good friends from Washington who had temporarily moved down there, to help me keep occupied and laughing through it all. Tony and Chad, as well as their friend Justin, who became a dear friend too, would spend many evenings at my house where we would play in my swimming pool while drinking beer and eating pizza. Through all the sadness I was going through, I also found great joy in the simplest of activities with amazing people. Sometimes the most painful events bring the most beautiful experiences.
That was also the summer that my friends discovered Four Peaks. It was central Arizona's version of mountains and became one of our favorite destinations to play and hike at. I think my friends and Four Peaks became my salvation that summer. We would drive my friend's truck up the long, windy dirt roads then park and drink beer as we watched the sunset to the soundtrack we provided for the changing sky. I once showed them some of the moves I learned in the belly dancing class I once took. They would take me on walks through the desert mountain by headlamp. They found an old abandoned house and barn in the middle of the desert that we'd explore, most often with me hiding in the truck whimpering about The Blair Witch Project. We’d often encounter the strange desert creatures. There was tarantula petting; Gila Monster crossing; and once had a bat stuck in the windshield wiper. At the end our nights at Four Peaks we’d take turns sitting in the open back window, shirts off, laughing into the wind. They were some of the most fun moments of my life.
Then there was the night that reminded me of the Built to Spill song. This particular CD had just come out and Tony wanted me to hear it. So the two of us drove up to Four Peaks with lawn chairs so I could listen to it the way most things in life are meant, in nature. We didn't venture too far in because we didn't have four-wheel drive in that car, so we parked up in this clearing, set up the two lawn chairs and blared the new CD as we watched a monsoon roll in. We sat and drank beers as the music filled the desert and the lightning provided it's own show for us. It was almost as if the music and Mother Nature had perfectly choreographed the moment. No fireworks show ever compared to what was being provided to us.
And as the last song played, I told Tony about Flagstaff, which I'd recently been introduced to by my lovely friend Shana. I told him about the real mountains, clean air, and the green that we both missed from back home that was hiding up there. We both fell silent by the beauty of the song and the natural light show we were watching, and then BOOM! Lightning struck about a mile behind us and we both turned to witness the bolt hit as our hair stood on end from the charge. Eyes bulging in unison, we screamed and grabbed our lawn chairs as we laughed our asses off and jumped back into the car. And instead of heading home, the adrenaline spurred us to say “fuck it” to our lack of four-wheel drive, and venture deeper into the desert to the old, abandoned farm.
It was one of the best nights of my life, and one of those beautiful moments that I must have buried. But with the help of that old CD, the memory was unearthed and allowed to come haunting back into my heart. Thank god for friends. Thank god for music. And thank god for ghosts. Sometimes they bring back the past you needed to remember.
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