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Elegy for Elbow
Had to wake up at 5 AM to catch a 9:30 flight because the airport security blokes were getting all panicky. It took me less than 5 minutes to get through check in, and left me with 3 hours to kill in the airport, during which I was too exhausted to do much other than walk up and down the corridor to stop myself from dropping off and missing the flight.
Several hours later, when I pulled my luggage out from under the seat in front of me, I discovered that Elbow was missing. By "luggage" I mean a very small canvas backpack containing a toothbrush, a shirt, spare undies, sunblock, tarot cards, playing cards, a mini etch-a-sketch, and meditation balls. Usually it also holds nail clippers and a pair of chopsticks, which I took out to avoid security entanglements, and sometimes a Go board. This is about all I ever travel with, along with the ubiquitous notebook. Elbow was my bag's protector and bosom companion, an elephant stuffed animal given to me by Khirsah and affixed with a "glam rock" button. He was supposed to be a reassuring totem, but mostly he just startled me by swinging around and hitting my arm when I wasn't expecting it, particularly when I was already spooked.
I was rather fond of him.
We've had some good times, in our few months of cameraderie. We've been to Atlanta, and back and forth to Boston on half a dozen jaunts. We've spent nights at Val's, at Patrick's, at Uncle Rex's, and God only knows where else. That bag has always stayed packed, always, with the essentials so that I can walk out of the door any time I need to. And through it all, that goofy elephant has smiled at me foppishly.
Now he's gone, without a word, and he stole my damn glam rock pin, too.
So fare thee well, Elbow, wherever you are. Perhaps someday our paths will cross again through an odd twist of fate, (like for example my having simply left you in my car). If not, I'll know you're out there, living the high life, hitching rides off of old baggage carts and spinning yarns of the good old days when men were men and tigers were just an excuse for a pool party. In the meantime, I won't begrudge you your abrupt departure -- it's okay, man. I understand. It's just your way of reminding me that physical posessions are fleeting.
Several hours later, when I pulled my luggage out from under the seat in front of me, I discovered that Elbow was missing. By "luggage" I mean a very small canvas backpack containing a toothbrush, a shirt, spare undies, sunblock, tarot cards, playing cards, a mini etch-a-sketch, and meditation balls. Usually it also holds nail clippers and a pair of chopsticks, which I took out to avoid security entanglements, and sometimes a Go board. This is about all I ever travel with, along with the ubiquitous notebook. Elbow was my bag's protector and bosom companion, an elephant stuffed animal given to me by Khirsah and affixed with a "glam rock" button. He was supposed to be a reassuring totem, but mostly he just startled me by swinging around and hitting my arm when I wasn't expecting it, particularly when I was already spooked.
I was rather fond of him.
We've had some good times, in our few months of cameraderie. We've been to Atlanta, and back and forth to Boston on half a dozen jaunts. We've spent nights at Val's, at Patrick's, at Uncle Rex's, and God only knows where else. That bag has always stayed packed, always, with the essentials so that I can walk out of the door any time I need to. And through it all, that goofy elephant has smiled at me foppishly.
Now he's gone, without a word, and he stole my damn glam rock pin, too.
So fare thee well, Elbow, wherever you are. Perhaps someday our paths will cross again through an odd twist of fate, (like for example my having simply left you in my car). If not, I'll know you're out there, living the high life, hitching rides off of old baggage carts and spinning yarns of the good old days when men were men and tigers were just an excuse for a pool party. In the meantime, I won't begrudge you your abrupt departure -- it's okay, man. I understand. It's just your way of reminding me that physical posessions are fleeting.
no subject
losing a stuffed animal is one of the saddest things in the world. i hope you return to find him in your car. otherwise that's simply just depressing. a story which perhaps could only be topped by khirsah losing the stuffed!dee.
no subject
My stuffed companion, Forsythe, a rabbitish-looking, fuzzy white lump of plush that I picked up at a truck stop in Minnesota a couple of years ago, took off at a rest stop in Kansas this summer. Such a loss can be difficult indeed.
But, on the bright side, look!! Dancing hampsters!