At first there was a promise: The Bearer of Glasses layed his hands down onto the letters, he held his breath then closed his eyes and mumbled: I will not even try to write the „right“ English. How could he? How could anybody? This interpunction was made to illiterate the literate. A voice of many in the back of his mind whispered along: Then why even do it? He opened his eyes: For the sake of the stories being told right.
Three days in he was still struggeling with language. Or so he felt. He used prepositions and tenses as they were coming along. Everyone who he spoke to seems to be understanding. But, surprisingly, not the other way around. The Bearer of Glasses had been certain that he would understand everything; listening to John Oliver for years had to be any good. But as soon as the others suspected he would understand them they were doing their thing. It was pretty hard to follow. But he was assured the coming days and weeks would do their parts.
In review, his escape from DC was thrilling. After he baptised himself in front of Lincoln near Constitution Avenue, he took the next evacuation road north and stayed the night in Maryland next to the Potomac. After just a couple hours of sleep he went for his first little hike and was blown away in an instant: The Great Falls at the border to Virginia literally took his breath. Only more, he inhaled.
He considered himself lucky as he drove out to the Heartland. It was easy to tune everything out. Driving up and down the roads made him wonder no more about the myth of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He turned on the Car Radio. Still there were talkshows on out of DC. He switched stations one by one: Diversity and AI, talks about Chris Paul being traded around the NBA. And news about some submarine that took five passengers to the Titanic but never brought them back. As he heard the news about Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg fighting each other in a cage match soon he switched over one last time: WPER. Coming to him from Fredericksburg VA. It took him two songs to get the idea of the program: If you’re lost you will be found. Almost every song, every jingle, every little story was singing about salvation. The Heartland sounded like a bunch of proud sinners. But good ones.
Next day in the morning he drove, as soon as he was awake, straight into the Shenandoah National Park, taking the only proper road in and out the misty mountains. Only minutes after entering the Appalachian Trail for a short hike his grandmother was with him. They stepped on and over small and big pieces of slate and all kinds of roots. Back home they had done this throughout all summers of his childhood. Several rabbits invited him to follow. He was looking out for two radio stations just to send pictures home to someone who knew this places from a famous video game: No Supermutants to raid over here. Later he sat down on a rock, smoking Marlboros, drinking water and reading about „Wanderlust“ which he knew was a common loanword.
Back on the road west he was rolling through some place he never imagined. He had expected something quite similar to his home, and in a way it was, but everything was wider, higher, greener. Even the grey sky seemed to be higher, somewhere way up in the clouds. And that was exactly where the Bearer of Glasses was in that moment. All along the roads he could have stopped any minute to capture the landscape or count the houses he could see. There seemed to be no real cities, just malls every five to ten miles, next to gas stations, insurance companies and agricultural needings of every kind, sometimes a school was nearby. Everything else was widespread housing, gardening and living a life.
He took short breaks in Charlottesville, Lexington and Covington and was shocked about the fact that a super massive coal power plant was situated right in the middle of the Washington and Jefferson National Forest.
He looked up as he entered West Virginia. The sun was lurking through the clouds. Yet not for long.
Later, as the sun broke through for good, he was all sweat in a matter of minutes. He turned on the AC and felt quite privileged once again.
Next down his route was White Sulphur Springs, which appears to be a beautiful name for a lot of reasons. What he found was a huge resort centered by an extraordinary huge white 5-Star-Hotel. There was an empty tenniscourt with seats for at least 500 people, horsetrails galloping their way through cottages, all looking like mansions, families were walking around like it was the summer holidays forever. This place simply smelled like money. There were carriages, a stunningly white chapel and employees in countless numbers. None of them were white. Everything looked like the Kellermans from Dirty Dancing, but for very very rich white people. He decided to run. This America was not his to see.
That same night he stopped his van at the side of the Kanawha River, right across the town of Chelyan. Little mountains of black matter were piled up around huge coal conveyers. There was a port and trucks taking black dust to the boats on the river, the rain in the puddles around was shimmering black too. After sunset he was reading Jerry West was born here. Jerry „The Logo“ West! The face and body of the NBA before and after the 80s hit. The Bearer of Glasses stayed the night at a parking lot in front of the departments of State Police and the local Sheriff. His mom rested assure back home.
As soon as the sun went up for one last fight with the clouds he took his van and all of his havings to Charleston to find a Coal State Capital still in decline. Sure, it was high summer, a friday nontheless and early hours, but at last it dawned on him this city must have sucked. There were middle aged ladies powerwalking circles in the local Mall, there was a guy who told him he once had those sneakers too, Vans, Off the Walls, black. High on the ankles. He asked for german cursewords the Bearer of Glasses kindly refused to tell. The only vivid place that morning was Capitol Market. Fresh flowers, fresh bread, fresh green. And fresh funny papers, including single issues of „Crossover“ which the Bearer of Glasses left behind sighing as he left with a copy of „Rick’s New Hat“ (Rick of „Rick and Morty“).
His first full stop was Milton. West Virginia. He arrived at noon what had to be too soon but nobody cared. A young man gave him the ropes for it was his first time camping in the US. Everything was the opposite of what he hours ago saw in White Sulphur Springs, except the purpose of the place: to let loose. To blend in with yourself. Grown girls were playing volleyball in front of motorhomes and trailers of any kind. The air felt humid, the sun burned, now every cloud was a good cloud.
He tried to listen to Taylor Swift as he started writing but soon ended up listening to Benton Falls. Three cans Lite were waiting in the fridge reminding him of 1997 when in Germany Karlsquell was the beer everybody could afford. He was writing while listening for train signals somewhere out there. And fireflies were dancing in the trees.
***
Hinweis:
Im Manuskript auf meinem Notebook steht hier noch eine weitere Hidden Story, aber aus Verantwortlichkeitsgründen kann ich die (noch) nicht publizieren. Ihren Titel verrate ich Euch aber sehr gerne:
Blunting In (hidden story 6b)
***
„On a Sunday
go once around.
‚Cause when the ride’s done
the hopes that you have carried
they fall out from your hands
back to the ground.
Live with that,
with that.“
(Jimmy Eat World. 1999)
He was up at seven. Two hours later than the first few days. Time somehow felt in time again as he was settling in. All around him everyone else was still asleep. Sunday morning, the summer holidays. Before he was heading to church he had breakfast. Toast, ham, Jif, half of an apple, coffee and a smoke. His destination, Bedford Chapel upper Milton was nine miles away. There were no trails, just a single road gently crawling up the mountains. So it was more of a march than a hike. But quite a long time ago he has fallen in love with the colour of the road markings dividing the two sides. A yellow line on the road leading out of every misery.
An hour into the run he remembered his dad calling him two days ago as he sat in front of a Walmart using free Wi-Fi to send pictures home. Never was there a time when both of them doing something simple together, like hiking, marching or even walking. His dad was happy though his son was lucky, but he took the opportunity to ask for a favor. The Bearer of Glasses was disappointed but also glad his dad even called.
He balanced on and off the sides of John Morris Road. Soon he was able to locate where the cars were coming from and easily could switch sides in time, as long as there were any sides. Some parts were washed away by the creeks over the years. He was nodding at any car, most people just nodded back. Two were asking if he was alright. He smiled and answered he was. At Bedford Chapel he rested for a little while and was having some kind of lunch on the stairs of the abandoned house of god. At noon he started his way back, this time ready to take pictures of everything that awed him, which was a lot. From beautiful houses to rotten ones, roadkills, car graveyards, billboards quoting the bible, people who mowered their lawn. The sky was getting grey, the temperatures were in the low 80s. Rain was heading his way.
Back at the Kampground he was greeted as he belonged. Or was it „saluted“? He still was unsure when it came to the details of meanings. He rested his legs and closed his eyes for half an hour. Then he took a cold shower, had another coffee, and another smoke, and was going back to his writings. Unwillingly. Because of anything he should not forget.
Warlog. On the road. Going west. In solitude. Woche 69.
Die Gegenoffensive stockt. Und Prigoschin is on fire. Montag: Selenskyj fordert Moskau auf, die Bevölkerung auf Gebietsverluste vorzubereiten. Belgorod wird weiter beschossen. Scholz kündigt an, der Krieg werde „noch eine Weile dauern“. Dutzende große internationale Unternehmen haben sich bereiterklärt, in Europa über 250.000 aus der Ukraine geflohene Frauen sowie Geflüchtete aus anderen Ländern auszubilden und einzustellen. Am Abend lässt Kiew verlautbaren, die Gegenoffensive verlaufe planmäßig, die Lage sei „schwer“. Dienstag: Erneute Drohnenangriffe auf Kiew. Die ukrainische Vize-Verteidigungsministerin Hanna Maliar teilt auf Telegram mit, dass Russland alles aufbietet, der „größte Schlag“ allerdings noch bevorsteht. Heftige Explosionen erschüttern Lwiw. Ukrainische Kamikaze-Drohnen greifen Nowa Kachowka an. Schoigu warnt davor, die Krim mit „Storm Shadow“ oder „Himars“ anzugreifen, die Vergeltung wäre enorm. Die europäische Ratingagentur Scope ist überrascht, wie stabil sich die russische Wirtschaft hält. Parallel bietet das ukrainische Verteidigungsministerium allen russischen Soldaten Amnestie und Vergütung (knapp 50.000€) an, wenn sie mit weißer Fahne nach vorne treten und das Codewort „Million“ sagen. Moskau rekrutiert jetzt selbst Straftäter. Selenskyj sagt, die ukrainische Streitkräfte „vernichten sehr aktiv“ die Feinde im Süden und Osten des Landes. Mittwoch: Die Ukraine sagt, Russland hätte das AKW Saporischija vermint. Weiterhin schwere Kämpfe im Osten. Über Moskau werden wieder Drohnen abgefangen. Selenskyj stellt klar: Die Gegenoffensive ist kein Hollywoodfilm. Die EU beschließt neue Sanktionen. Donnerstag: Selenskyj bei der BBC: Langsamer als gewünscht wird der Feind vernichtet. Die Tschongar-Brücke (Krim) wird von ukrainisch/britischen Geschossen (Storm Shadow Raketen) beschädigt, die Reparatur wird Wochen dauern. Prigoschin spielt vermehrt Rumpelstilzchen. Selenskyj warnt vor einem „Terrorakt“ am AKW. Scholz ist sich sicher, dass die Bürger*innen die Unterstützung für die Ukraine noch lange mittragen werden, sogar die im Osten. Momentan erfüllt die Ukraine zwei von sieben EU-Beitrittskriterien. Freitag: Geschosse fliegen auf Saporischschija und Cherson. Die Gegenoffensive scheint jedoch vorerst verpufft, beziehungsweise wird das „Schlachtfeld noch vorbereitet“, oder, Präsidentenberater Podoljak: Der Westen ist schuld, dass es nicht voran geht. Wolfgang Thierse stellt fest: Russland ist militärisch nicht zu besiegen. Rheinmetall kündigt trotzdem 20 Marder für die Ukraine an, sehr bald. Prigoschin erklärt, die russische Armee zieht sich aus Saporischschija und Cherson zurück. Dann, am späteren Abend: Prigoschin geht all in: Die offizielle Kriegsbegründung ist eine Lügengeschichte, Verteidigungsminister Sergej Schoigu hat einen Militärangriff zur Zerstörung seiner Söldnergruppe Wagner befohlen, wofür er Vergeltung ankündigt, die er „Marsch für die Gerechtigkeit“ nennt. Der FSB reagiert und eröffnet ein Strafverfahren gegen den Söldnerchef. Kadyrow und Achmat dürften bald konkurrenzlos sein. Samstag: Moskau fordert die Söldner zur Festnahme von Prigoschin auf. Der rudert kurz zurück: Von Aufstand oder Bürgerkrieg hat niemand was gesagt. Die Generalstaatsanwaltschaft droht mit bis zu 20 Jahren Haft. Dann überschlagen sich die Ereignisse: Vor der Duma und in Rostow (wo Schoigu momentan weilt) fahren Schützenpanzer auf. Wagner Söldner sind Prigoschin zufolge in Russland „einmarschiert“ und bereit „bis zum Äußersten zu gehen“. Ein Militärkonvoi fährt Richtung Moskau, Pigoschin bietet Verhandlungen an. Putin hält eine große Ansprache und verspricht die Betrafung von „Verrätern“, sowie Amnestie für Söldner die sich gegen Wagner wenden. Volker Weiss schreibt auf Facebook: „Heute in Moskau: Uraufführung der bislang unbekannten Wagner-Oper »Wallenstein«!“ Der UK sieht Unruhen in ganz Russland. Gefechte in Woronesch (zwischen Rostow und Moskau). Kadyrow bietet Unterstützung gegen die Dolchstößler an. Derweil erwartet die Ukraine von Deutschland eine Beteiligung an der „Kampfjetkoalition“. Russische Raketen schlagen in Kiew ein, es sterben fünf Menschen. Am Abend ist der Bürgerkrieg, den die Hysteriker in Europa schon herbeigesehnt hatten, aber schon wieder vorbei. Prigoschin und Putin haben sich „geeinigt“. Mindestens einer von beiden hat viel zu viel Macht. Sonntag: Wagner zieht sich in Feldlager zurück. Prigoschin soll in Belarus unbehelligt bleiben. Achmat hatte 3.000 Soldaten in Moskau bereit. Eine deutsche Russlandexpertin weiß, dass das Ende von Wagner gekommen ist. CDU-Röttgen und FDP-Strack-Zimmermann sehen Putin geschwächt. Die Ukraine rückt bei Donezk und Bachmut vor. Russland schlägt sie zurück. Die „Kopenhagen Konferenz“ fordert die BRICS-Staaten auf, aktiver auf Frieden hinzuwirken. Selenskyj telefoniert mit Trudeau, Duda und Biden. Es geht um Langstreckenwaffen.
The Bearer of Glasses not only struggled with language. He had broken his promise to detox the News, especially those from home, after just some days. But it was easy to fade them out as he went for compromising, doing some kind of News Light knowing everything would gotten worse when he would be back home. Rammstein would be touring, the fascists of the AfD would have gained more power, as they just did in Sonneberg, Thuringia. And all of them clever writers and commentators would still be explaining the rise of the party without changing anything about it, like in the old times, before the last great war.
But it was the news from friends and family that occupied his mind. Bad or good, he did not bother. He had needed just a couple of days to figure out that a man is whom he misses the most when he is over the seas. But he also enjoyed his solitude nevertheless and tried to avoid calling it therapy for he was not yet sure about it. For now he was good blending out into the country of his dreams. Even if he now knew who he was missing the most. He was humming along as he switched the radio back on while planning the coming days of his very own american summer.
„The rhythm of my footsteps
crossing flatlands to your door
have been silenced forevermore.
And the distance is quite simply
much too far for me to row.
It seems farther than ever before (oh no).
I need you so much closer.“
(Death Cab for Cutie: Transatlanticism. 2003)
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