Spencer said I should lay low for a while. At first I thought laying low meant shutting things off, crawling back into confined spaces but I was wrong. Laying low means long afternoons writing longhand, drinking coffee and milkshakes with the people who mean the most. It means chipping at walls to find calm spaces. I'm subsiding into a lit room lined with books and one uncluttered desk. There is space in here for everything that matters like new words scrawled on lined paper and tea and sandwiches on a tray. Laying low means shutting out the bullshit and digging foundations for the things that are good. It seems strange that I didn't notice how all of this was already here in The Peach.
Sometimes it takes an outside hand to bring me to a halt. Sometimes it takes a kind voice to tell me to stop kicking. Sometimes it takes a plane crash to notice the drop in altitude. I'm just glad that this time all it took was a ham sandwich, observatory hill and a telephone booth.