Susan Goes to Crawford

We went in to Camp Casey last night. Something about hot and humid darkness, where the air is no longer oppressive, but more like heavy silk that brushes your skin as you move through it. Sound is soft. Hearts are open. Something like love breathes in the air itself. A singer on a stage with a guitar and a single drum. Food and conversation and people.

I still couldn't tell you exactly why I came. What drove me to come. Who drove me is easy - Jenny. I wouldn't have done it alone. But why we came, I can't begin to wrap in linear explication. And so many of the people I meet, when I say that, reply that they too, can't quite say why they came. They only knew, as I did, that they felt drawn to come.

As we drove back to our Motel 6 after the concert last night, just before the turn onto the George W. Bush Parkway, we got stopped by a policeman. He was very nice, only gave us a warning because the tail light was out. On the one hand, he was pleasant and laughed with us about the dog. On the other hand, the tail light was just the excuse to check us out. But we were clearly sober, middle class and white, so we got away with only a warning. But this was his territory, and we recognize our privilege at being part of an acceptable group. On the way here we passed three cop cars with lights flashing at the side of the road, all looking like big doings. As we passed, we saw a lone middle-aged black man in the car ringed by troupers. Yes the cops are nice to us, but I am no surprised that few people of color have picked up and driven to the middle of Texas as we have.