Somewhere between Cannon Falls and Rochester, I was hit with
the feeling that this trip was significant. Back it up a little bit; this was
my fourth trip down to the Fillmore County area since my release from prison,
but the first time I had ever brought a companion with me, other than my mom.
This trip was special for a few reasons. Most importantly, I
was bringing Heather down to meet my friends, and show her the beautiful town
of Lanesboro that I talk and write about so much. In the decade that I’ve had
and known my associates down there, I have never had a significant other that I
could introduce to them, and I was proud to do so on Tuesday.
We began the journey at 11am in my Ocean Blue Mini Cooper.
Normally, fear takes hold of me on the outskirts of Rochester, remembering that
I was arrested there, and driving by so many familiar small towns on the north
end that were common stops in my drug dealing days. Every exit can trigger a
negative memory, or thought of the “good times” I occasionally had while strung
out on meth. As we approached the inner city, I was able to point out some of
my more common stops, such as the Motel 6, and the Super 8 in which I was last
arrested on December 20th, 2013. I showed her the corner just after
the intersection with I-90 at which I woke up going backwards at 70mph in a
dazed spiral of lunacy that landed me in a ditch in the middle of a cold winter
night. And as we drove through Chatfield, I gave her directions to a house at
which I stayed for a while just before prison.
Instead of these thoughts, and memories floating around in
my head like they normally would on a drive, I was able to verbalize (with a
subject, of course, making the sentences complete) them, and process them more absolutely
than I had before. I didn’t feel any of the consternation I normally associate
with passing through to Fountain.
And then there was Fountain, the town where it all began,
and descended rather quickly. There’s a shot in my head that I didn’t capture
with my camera that I see now. To my left is the apartment in which I lived
above the pizza place for a couple years. Across the street in front of me is
the Bent Wrench, a bar I’ve written about frequently. I can picture myself in
so many drunken stupors and mind bending meth binges. I could see my old self,
walking across the street; clothes torn, shoes worn through, eyes bloodshot for
numerous reasons, and a stagger in my step caused by the same intoxicants that
would ultimately get me fired from that job. For a while, my life was contained
in those two buildings, and eventually just my apartment.
I lived in fear there for months while my life was overrun
by addicts taking advantage of my kindness, and my own brain; afraid of what
might happen if I stepped out into the light, or asked my friends for help.
Quickly, the power was shut off, and everybody moved out. But I stayed,
stubborn as always, and lived by oven light and fire. I had no job, no friends,
and no motivation; I was lost, and alone in the dark.
That was nearly four years ago, and a lot has changed. There
have been some ups and downs, but after prison, even the downs are better than
the ups I had while using. Seeing those places didn’t make me depressed, rather
it confirmed the worth and value of all the hard work I put into my recovery,
and I could instantly see the results sitting beside me in Heather. Four years
ago I was not capable of having a relationship. That was the significance of
this trip; I needed to see how much had changed, and I saw development from
what I was all around me, in everything I did and saw. I saw progress.
More pictures to come via Facebook album. This is the duck pond in Sylvan Park in Lanesboro. I absolutely did harass the ducks.
