As much as I'd like to begin this story at the begginning, I can't. I will get lost in the chronicles and never begin to tell it. I have to start now, with the idea of it, the initiative to create a way to enjoy it, and to then start doing it. With time the details will be told, but not in order. I almost started with the title "not yet titled" but then, I can't really have an unfinished story with no name. That would be nothing. This will be Her Leaves of Grass. Her Manifesto. Her Bible. Her Koran. It will be added to, subtracted from, there will be accidental snares woven to kidnap the verses as they say, and they say it best. There are many people who know her almost as well as I, and many better writers of them, but I figure, hell, someone had to take the reigns on this ol' dog of a tale and it may as well be me.
After all, I am Her father.
Mother's Day 2013 Greenpoint, Brooklyn, New York.
As what I am calling now an "Old Girl" She seems more mature these days. She comes from a broken home like many of us do. She has been through some uncertain times in Her short life so far, but like any father, I always try to do what's best for my girl, and most times I am able to provide that for Her. She has an impeccable sense of what's going on in my life and She speaks volumes with her big brown eyes. She is extremely patient in her dealings with her father like any young adult learns to become. She accepts me for who I am and does not judge me. At times I dissappoint. I fail. Sometimes I try, sometimes not hard enough. Sometimes I am selfish, and sometimes she deserves to be. She is the best thing that has come in to my life and has been a constant. She was born from a time of young exploration and excitement for the future of things to come. She traveled to New England from Texas in a van full of long-haired skateboarding punk kids with only a few hundred dollars between the whole motley crue. She has been to Maine, Mass, and Mississippi. She's been from Florida to Jersey, Hotlanta to Houston, from Philly to Cape May, She's done the 450 mile yard sale, She's traveled with bands, merry pranksters, and bago brothers. She has traleved by foot, skateboard, bicycle, motorcycle, car, truck, van, bus, train, plane, and boat. She has never been to the moon. And does not yet have a passport. She may or may not be a border jumper, but then I may become one, so it all works out in the end. I'm just now trying to calculate how many states She's been to. 22. Wait 23. Yep. Almost half the lower forty-eight. She still has time. This year will be huge for Her. She will be adding many notches to Her belt. Her suitcase is going to tell many stories. Her eyes will see new things. Her dreams will always take Her home but my dream is take home with us.
There is a long soundtrack to Her story, and one tune that comes to mind right now is Motorhead's We Are The Road Crew. She saw her Uncle Blake today. It was a great surprise. Some of his friends didn't know how we met, and as he spoke, it was evident that he felt a strong kinship when explaining the story of how we found Her. It's a story for another day, when I have it in me to tell it right, but during those days it didn't seem to be such a big deal to take a dog from the side of the road and bring her home. After all, I had a check waiting for me in Houston. The next day I was instantly going from dirt poor, to becoming a thousandaire. She would be rich! I instantly called home and broke the news. I had become a father and on the other end of the line was the equally unexpectant mother of what would become our little one. The naming was an after thought, circumstantial. and it just kind of happened. Another uncle of Hers is credited with uttering it for the first time. This thing that no one was ready for, no one was prepared for, just happened to us all. And She became part of the road crew that very day.
Her name is Ana Bones.
She is missing her mother today, and I mine.
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