Round and Round She Goes

I was at a Hardee’s fast food joint in another city when it happened. “There he is,” my brother said, but I didn’t believe him. A red bandana disguised his hair, but it was the same lanky stride, same smile, same voice. Four or five years hadn’t changed us that much.

Terry.

I can’t remember what I said other than small talk. Then goodbye. Glad to see you, we’ll probably never see each other again, have a good life. I meant it. I really wanted his life to turn out better. I like to think that he graduated, got a good job, found something meaningful to do in life, got married, had kids, and lived happily ever after.

I have my doubts though. Cycles are hard to break.

It was a dump, the home he lived in when we were in school together. Tall grass, weathered paint, rusty hinges—probably had plastic on the windows, though I don’t remember for sure. I thought it was abandoned, but apparently his family lived there along with some mangy cats that Terry wanted to show me. I don’t think his parents wanted to be poor, but they seemed content with it.

Terry’s was a cycle of lower class poverty and social misfit. Not an easy thing to overcome without some catalyst to break the spell.

I have my own cycles. Middle-class comfort. Educated arrogance. Poverty blindness. Many more. They too will roll on endlessly without some outside force at work.

I’ve finally found the magic that breaks the enchantment. Stick around and find it too.

But first, a few more stories. It’s all part of the journey.