Borax Mines

Four deep, rich eyes filled with curiosity watched me as I answered their questions one by one.

“Is there Borax in America?”

“What kind of cars are in California?”

“Can you send me pictures of the big cities?”

“What sort of music do you listen to?”

“How do you solve a Rubiks cube?”

“Why do you have to leave?”

I’m rarely at a loss for words. And I definitely wasn’t here, but at the same time, it gave me pause.

Why do I have to leave? If I really wanted to, I could have stayed.

And then I remembered, I don’t want to stay.

I’m not good at hiding. Or being quiet. Or subtlety. I hate feeling stuck. I am constantly aiming to expand the places I feel at home so I have more places to return to. I’m addicted to thinking and consequently I always see the possibilities beyond my current place.

With each home my roots grow, and the rest of me shudders with the anticipation of my next move.

Yes there is Borax in America. I’m pretty sure the mines are near where I live.

I think there are more kinds of cars in California than here.

Of course I can send pictures.

Not the kind of music you know well.

You memorize steps and practice.

Because I was not created to simply stay.

.

.

.

And because I’m getting emails from the New Zealand Department of Immigration saying I have to leave…

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I Got a Milkshake Out of It

“Oh you used to install these? Can you break mine?”

I curled against the car door, my head braced against my stuffed Eeyore and the glass of the window. Drunk backpackers, teenagers, and homeless mingled in the 3am fluorescent lighting of Taupo’s McDonald’s. My eyes drooped shut as Moritz and I sat waiting for our coworker to come back with food. We were not planning on being awake this late…or early depending on how you look at it.

We’d had wonderful intentions for this outing. My roommate’s friend, Natasha, from his Fiji visit had come to visit National Park and we quickly grew to love her. She extended her stay and one of my coworkers, Amy, offered to take her to Taupo to catch the 1:20am bus to Northland. She figured we’d stop at the local hot springs first and be home by 2:30am.

I’m learning that if you don’t have a plan, it’s a lot harder for plan wrecking shit to happen.

Because, uh, I crawled in bed at 5am that morning.

Taupo’s hot springs are lovely. Even at midnight. I highly recommend it.

Making it back to the car with 20 minutes to spare before someone has to catch a bus and realizing that the alarm is refusing to let you turn on said car is not quite so high a recommendation.

Thankfully, Natasha caught a taxi to her bus and made it with time to spare.

We sat at the end of a back road and wondered what the f*** we were going to do.

Roadside assistance gave us quotes of $800-$1000 and our first call to a friend came up empty-handed.

Throughout this process I thanked my lucky stars that time zones exist and one of the most practical people I know was awake 6 hours ahead of us. She had immediately began throwing out suggestions for dealing with the car.

We managed to get a hold of someone willing to drive the hour and a half to pick us up. Practically singing his praises, we relaxed into the seats, well aware that by the time we got home, we would be exhausted. Hell. We were already exhausted.

My friend in New York was still giving us ideas of possible ways to fix the vehicle. We had come to the conclusion that it was pretty much definitely something to do with the alarm system, but it was suggested that we check our battery cables anyway.

Amy stepped out of the car to lift the hood.

Now there aren’t many people out at the end of Spa Road at 2am on a Friday night, but thankfully, the two guys who did find themselves out there were kind and willing to help. Well, more importantly, one of them knew how to help. I watched the four skull rings on his left hand as he dismantled the alarm system and rewired the car to function without it. “Do you have a screwdriver?” Uh…no. “All good. I might have one.” whew. “How about a piece of wire?”…probably not. “I’ll take one from my speaker. Now when I put these wires back in and jostle it a bit, the car should turn on and work. You won’t have an alarm system, but if you want to put it back in, put these wires back in this order. Here, take a picture.”

I’m pretty sure our jaws hit the floor when he turned the key and the car coughed to life.

I delegated the job of letting our rescuer know our new situation. I had woken him up. I didn’t really want to let him know that it was highly possibly his early morning drive had been for nothing.

“Meet me at the McDonald’s in 30 minutes.”

Adventures like this are never convenient. They can cost money. They stress people out. They are unexpected and frequently tiring.

But they make damn good stories.

And hey, that’s all we have aside from the present anyway. Stories.

I liked this one. I got a milkshake out of it.