A Road Trip Story

Aaron and I have finally reached the Pacific Ocean at San Francisco. Leaving home over eight days earlier (our senior road trip) we are eager to stretch our legs in the ocean-side air of the famed city. Our primary goal of reaching the Pacific Ocean was accompanied by a fellowship of other worthy goals. One such goal is more important than others. We are on a secret mission initiated by our dear friend and brother Troy. He gave us his "soul stone." This special among special objects was, to the eye, an eight sided jar - perhaps just smaller in size than a can of coca cola. It is made of clear glass and sealed at the lid with wax around what I recall a cork top. Inside it the all important "soul stone," which presently, glints black through the refracted afternoon light divided first by the long-thin cables of the suspended-bridge and second by the octagonal prism of the jar. Aaron and I walked and admired the artistry and unexpected grandeur of the postcard-friendly coastal monument. We walked and admired, unfortunately, on the wrong side of the bridge. Our task, as Troy specified on the eve of our parting, was to throw this sacred object into the vast Pacific waters from the center of the Golden Gate Bridge. So there we stood at the wrong side of the exact center of the aforementioned bridge, with sacred object in one hand and the strange recipe of adolescent laziness and desire for adventure in the other - the mingling of these elements left sound reasoning alone, not invited to the party. Our solution to this exciting problem was to throw the jar and its holy contents across the eight lanes of ceaseless traffic and into the great-deep beyond. So at the precise and unexpected moment a clear path across all eight lanes revealed itself... …well, all I can say is that was the most beautiful flying jar I have ever seen. The moment seemed unbuckled from links of time as the hurtling automobiles seemed to vanish during the jar's magic flight. Its spinning arching path bent through the impossible gauntlet of space shedding diamond flecks of heavenly light before its predestined decent into the unknown. It crossed out of view at the bright red-orange line of the distant handrail, and then, abruptly, the window into the beyond snapped shut with metalic jaws that reflected their own harsh light – threatening to obscure that divine image and its brief passing. Time though has preserved the crystalline beauty of the heroic toss - showered in perfect light – surpassing all obstacles. I see it as though it has only just happened. And I am still as full of wonder now as I was in the distant then.