Dream of the Dragon

Month: January, 2012

January 10, 2012

The power just comes up through you!

by Justin

An old man, easily 70, jogged past me. It was a slow pace, but with good form and very light footfalls. I caught up to him on the boardwalk, at which point he was engaging a younger man in spirited conversation. The dynamic, at a glance, seemed to consist of the old man as passionate teacher and the younger man as over-achieving student.

“And then, the power just comes up through you!” said the old man, miming a ball of energy rising up through his feet and settling in his chest.

Out at the edge of the horizon, a massive cargo ship drifted south. The dull red and blue of its containers, stacked at least a dozen high, looked more like plastic Legos than welded steel.

The manhole covers in the area are inconsistent, some engraved with the names of local companies, others with only an “S” surrounded by a crude geometric sunburst. But a handful read either WATER or SEWER across the center, with this smaller engraving along the edge: “Made in India.” I like to imagine that the water itself was made in India, then imported to keep our sewers flowing.

 

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January 8, 2012

Vague decay.

by Justin

I wonder if the site of Richmond’s Belle Isle prisoner-of-war camp would have felt so ominous if I didn’t know what had happened there. Not that anyone really knows, as death tallies from both sides of the war are radically different. But still, walking where men died under conditions of abuse and deadly filth inspires unease. Long-buried lies and all that.

Behind a free-standing brick wall, the only part of a large house still standing, the ground was uncharacteristically lush and green – tall grass, full bushes, trees with low branches. The sun sat low in the sky, but peaked blindingly through an arched doorway that led out into that splendor.

At the back end of the island, still within earshot of the James River, sit the hollow ruins of an abandoned hydroelectric plant. Somehow, the bowels of these vacant buildings all resemble minimalist latrines. Dust and graffiti coat every stall, step, ledge, and outer shell of each building.

A teenager, spotting our approach, advised us that the knotted rope descending from one iron-barred second-story window was strong enough to support someone climbing. He had not climbed, he said, because he lacked the upper body strength. The boy was rail thin, long-haired, and armed with the kind of weird curiosity that likely cast him out of the Richmond high school mainstream. He also warned us about kicking up dust, as every particle was likely coated with old urine.

When I climbed the rope ladder I was greeted by a vague smell of decay, further faded graffiti, and a blue Pall Mall pack that looked as old as the crumbling floor.

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January 7, 2012

Definitely not Scatha.

by Justin

Two rope swings, usually reserved for leaping out into the bay, served only to carry children out over the water and then back within inches of hitting nearby trees. The original designs didn’t account for their use outside the summer months. To be fair, the summer months probably didn’t plan to make an appearance in January.

A white dog, much too tall and lean to be husky or malamute, won the day by fiercely resembling an arctic wolf and carrying no small amount of that mystique. It’s name was Dragon.

A young blond child, lagging behind larger and louder friends, stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled along. The boy, at most 8 years old, was in no hurry to catch up. “Man, I wish I had my cell phone,” he said.

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