Short Stories, Long Odds

Interstate 40 runs a long way across the United States and it bisects Tennessee from west to east, from Memphis on one end to Knoxville on the other. The distance between those two cities is roughly 380 miles, and Nashville sits in between, the Vanderbilt radius to the Volunteer diameter.

There are many signs as you enter Tennessee from the west, imploring you to try Memphis barbecue or to visit Graceland. Unlike Arkansas, where most of the billboards are either blank or an advertisement selling the billboard itself, Tennessee has plenty to sell you and plenty of things to do and see in metro areas.

Tennessee could use one of those signs at the state line to warn drivers that the highways are not lit and that modern infrastructure does not extend into the hills and valleys, but this is not the case.  Instead you discover this the wrong way, at 8:00 PM on a winter night when the sun has been down for hours.

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(This story was written just after the Austin Democratic presidential debate in 2008, and is truish.)

“Hot damn,” shouted Wilson. “I feel like, like an animal. I’m ready to do something wild.”

Wilson is a prime time politico, feeling the stirrings of excitement brought on by the rush of national politics. Nothing could stop the beasts that had put on their Sunday best in case they ended up on CNN after some event where a presidential candidate rallied the masses with a visitation and a little of the old laying on of hands. We were all touched by something special in our state – relevance, and import. We were at the downtown hotel with all the other Democrats, holding down the epicenter of what felt like a political nuclear reactor.
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Early May in New York state
my father on the edge of forgetting himself
and I, so sick I couldn’t see
did not understand where we were

A silver diner in the middle of no-where
two open-faced roast beef sandwiches
he talked about Rohack’s and his life as a child
and I, with muted ears, trying so hard to listen

more than anything
we should be square with ourselves
in the end

see this how I see it now

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Originally uploaded by jberthume

I was On The Road last week, going to Obama’s inauguration and writing a story for the Quorum Report. You have to subscribe to read it, but after the run is over I will reproduce it here.

This is a picture of what used to be Marine One but wasn’t when former President Bush rode in it on the way to boarding Air Force One. The whole trip was a wild ride, and I’m going to have plenty to say about it here in the coming days.

And I’m glad to be home, but the trip didn’t quell that thing inside that needs to travel and observe and relate. I think it only made it worse.

This is incredible. America has met in Washington and history is here, in the fluid present.

I hear accents from all over the world. So check that, I suppose. The world has met in Washington.