"(Giuseppe Niccolò Vicentino)(After Parmigianino)
(Previously attributed to Circle of Ugo da Carpi): Hope
(Sixteenth Century)

"We were never caught once."

We entered our Exile curiously hopeful. We had every right to engage in despair, for we had fallen far. We'd been within a month of moving into barrels, becoming cartoon-character destitute wearing barrels with suspenders, yet we felt hopeful instead. Obama had just been inaugurated, and Hope was in the air. We would be there, near where the upcoming miracle would happen, next to ground zero of the transformation. The Muse would even participate in her role in the bowels of The Department of Energy's Biofuels Development Office.

My role was unclear. I had packed up the house while The Muse attended to her first few weeks on the job. A pattern had begun that would replicate across the following years. She intensely focused on her career while I contributed as The Invisible Husband. I'd stock the larder and ensure supper was on the table. I'd meet her at the Metro at each day's end and accompany her there each morning. I spent my days foraging, learning the lay of that alien land, feeling fortunate when I returned to our temporary housing more or less unscathed. I found better supermarkets than that Sorry Safeway across the street from our sad transition apartment. I remembered The Eastern Market and even found it, dragging home provender like a Neanderthal with a fresh kill.

Those were days before smartphones and GPS. No experienced voices were guiding me on my forays. I'd refer to the map before leaving and recheck it when I became irredeemably lost, but I'd otherwise trust my spider senses to guide me. I didn't yet understand the process by which I would come to know that city. My knowledge would not come from diligent study, for I was never anybody's diligent student. It would come from experience, from repeated experience in getting myself good and lost. This provided a more perfect context within which I might create more memorable discoveries. I'd often know almost the moment I'd go awry but continue anyway. I'd watch my known world slipping away behind me as I slipped ever deeper into a fresh, great mystery. I'd continue, sometimes even managing to accidentally find my way out, though usually, I'd have to resort to stopping and referring to the damned map again or, shudder, asking somebody for directions.

None of that process would have seemed possible without my possessing a preternatural kind of hopefulness. It would have otherwise seemed like serial iterations of manic despair, for the two certainly appear more or less identical. I often felt as though I was slamming my head against brick walls, but I persisted. The Muse continued engaging in what was at first a distinctly unpromising new job, and I owed our partnership at least that sort of engagement. Fueled by Hopefulling, I guess, we somehow stood the test. I was secretly pleased that nobody I knew ever noticed just how inept I was. Nobody needed to know how many times I circled my prey before finally succeeding. My successes were exclusively of the extremely limited sort at first. I mastered nothing but my reticence, and that remained a relative measure. I never once felt the least little bit courageous; I just continued administering the self-punishment until I produced results. It was a frightfully productive time. I scared myself through it.

I've always marveled at how anybody came to feel at ease in any big city. Being a small city boy, my DNA seems more effective in bite-sized contexts. There were places I would not go, for no amount of positive thinking seemed capable of rendering them safe. I avoided all freeways, with particular aversion to The Beltway, a parking lot that completely encircles the DC Metro area. I would drive long distances to avoid attempting to drive a few short miles on that monstrosity. I also avoided what I came to call Tourististan, that portion of the National Mall where tour busses congregated. It was a food desert, and parking was usually nonexistent. Few who visited there seemed to understand the basic rules of engagement. The Muse's office was adjacent, but I almost always rode the Metro if I had to meet her there; otherwise, I'd create some crisis. I never learned to feel comfortable there, though I succeeded at survival.

We counted our blessings. With most of our belongings in storage, we began again from next to nothing. We embraced a simple life. For entertainment, we'd take long walks. For suppers, we invariably cooked something for ourselves, sometimes taking advantage of the grills the apartment complex maintained next to the pool we never once swam in. Our life had been ground down to essentials. The GrandOtter visited, continuing her usual summer pattern. She helped me discover other things besides survival. We'd go out and try to get ourselves into trouble. We once tried to wade in every fountain on the National Mall, though some signs said we weren't supposed to. She was just a kid. I figured we could always plead innocence if caught. We were never caught once.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Exiled, #PureSchmaltz