last night

It was just a little rebellion, not much. Enough to release some steam and feel a smile pulling at the mouth's corners.

It started with this sad song I watched on YouTube. One of those pleasantly sad songs that retells part of your life and asks the hard questions (to which the answers were... no, not really). A girl is recording it and my favorite part is when you hear her small voice sing a few words, despite herself, "with a tear in her eye." I must have watched it 5 times. Then knew it was time to get out.

He and I had talked about breaking into the hot tub of Boulder's finest hotel several times. I was ready- he had other inclinations, so I got advice on how to sneak in, slid on my bathing suit and a fancier outfit so I'd fit in with the decor. Their lobby had a beautiful older man playing piano, singing just like John Prine. I sat down hard on their plush chairs and just breathed in his notes, the way he leaned into the microphone with his eyes shut, unaware and uncaring who was listening and who was clinking wine glasses. Almost didn't get into the spa because the inside door required a key. But on the way back to my car, noticed a balcony, its gate swung open, its door leading to the pool. Unlocked. An older woman popped her head out of the changing room when I entered but apparently no one was alerted. The hot tub was huge, lined in tiles that shimmered in the spotlights. The jets were powerful and turned on a fountain that shot from the wall. I stayed in for over a half hour, sometimes wading, sometimes just dipping my head back onto the side, arms outstretched, buoyed up by the jets. Thought about how, in foreign countries, it's easier for me to sneak in and do this because I'm white and look like I belong. How it was so wrong to have that freedom when others didn't, but I'd act on it anyway. The shower was strong and hot and they had great body wash. I pretended not to know where I was going, but it had been decided before I left the house.

There's one good radio station in Boulder, 9.73 and it was pumping out some song I used to know, every word, but couldn't remember from where. Fugs and I zipped past the street home and on to the next small town, where there's a western bar that reminded me of what the song reminded me of. I knew they had wine and a wide menu, some of it fried just right. I had my information of the geological time scale and some catch up to do. The moon! The moon, was rising over Denver- huge, deep yellow. I had to pull over and stare at its obscene beauty. There were only locals at the bar and only seats in the middle open. The bartender was gruff and her boyfriend was on the side, calling her baby and asking for kisses. I spent most of the time studying, some of the time talking and left before it got too late. All on my own time.

I am so grateful for this new-found freedom in wheels. I want to respect and use it rightly, responsibly, for those moments that lift up the next several days. Got a sticker from Oskar Blues, this bar in Lyons, and pasted it to the back as a momento of our first rebellion together. And in hopes for many, many more...