Part 2: A Beautiful Testament to the Finality of Death
We set off for our grand journey. We drove towards Brattleboro, where it was agreed that we would stop for lunch. As we drove, I decided that I would count and mentally record each cemetery I saw, throughout the entire weekend.
I am a taphophile. This means that I have a great passion for cemeteries, gravestones, an epitaphs.While use of the suffix -phile may lead one to believe that this is a passion of a sexual nature, I assure you that this is not the case. I do not get aroused by cemeteries or graves, I merely have a love for them that borders on obsession.
We drove through Westminster, where I counted one cemetery, and then we drove through Putney, where I counted a second.
I enjoyed driving through Putney, there I admired old houses (including one that we had almost bought five years ago) and marveled at the campy splendor that is Santa's Land. As we barreled down the road, Katie snapped pictures with her camera.
At one point, we got stuck in road work. Summer in Vermont is road work season, and it is not uncommon to get stuck waiting for the road crew to wave you through. It is particularly annoying, especially when it's hot out, but I feel that the guys out there working on the road have a worse time of it than the drivers do. To combat my feelings of frustration as the traffic piled up and we sat boiling in the July heat, I squeezed my bright orange stress ball. It kept my hands busy but did not soothe my mind.
Eventually we were granted permission to continue down the road, but not before being yelled at by an irate road worker (I have no idea what we did to incur his wrath). We eventually made it into Brattleboro, where we would eat lunch.
This is where the trouble began. Mom suggested McDonald's . But no one (including she who suggested it) really wanted to eat there. We couldn't afford Friendly's either. I suggested that we eat at Burger King. Of late, we had been enjoying eating there, mainly because of the little Twilight: Eclipse promo they were running, which involved winning free food and even money. I hate Twilight with a burning passion, but I love winning free food.
The catch was that Burger King was all the way on the other side of town, and Brattleboro traffic is a bitch. An unrelenting, aggravating bitch. Brattleboro is also a confusing place when it comes to its traffic, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that we got lost. It wasn't anyone's fault; like I said, Brattleboro is just confusing and annoying. We drove through neighborhoods and through downtown (which always seems shorten everybody's temper), trying to get to The Burger King. I felt guilty. If I hadn't suggested that we eat there, we wouldn't have gotten in this frustrating mess. When we finally got to the restaurant, we ended up driving past it. More frustration. We pulled into a nearby gas station, turned around and pulled into the Burger King parking lot. We were all hungry, hot and angry with the town of Brattleboro.
We entered the fast food joint. The place was festooned with Twilight decorations, including two nearly life-sized window clings of Edward and Jacob, (the promo centers around choosing between the vampire and the werewolf). While I hate Twilight, I have to admit that the actors playing the two male leads aren't bad to look at.
Burger King was crowded, but not too crowded. It was mostly old people and families with small annoying children. We ordered our food, I used the bathroom and then we sat down to eat.
But something was wrong. I couldn't eat. I felt like I had to force my self to bite, chew and swallow. I felt claustrophobic sharing a bench with my sister. The booths on either side of us were crowded with families with loud children. The bad pop music that screamed from the intercom filled my ears, relentless and invasive. My food tasted strange. I felt myself descend into a full-blown panic attack.
I squeezed my stress ball frantically, my hand clenching around the foam orb like a claw. I began to hyperventilate, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Eventually my mother and sister noticed. They kept asking what was wrong, but I couldn't rightly answer. I felt like I was going to die. The dizziness felt like someone had broken an egg over my head and I put my head down on the table. I thought I was going to pass out. A feeling of pure terror washed over me, but I could not figure out why.
With some difficulty, I managed to explain some of what was wrong with me. The dizziness, the sudden loss of appetite, the fear. Mom thought it could be the noise and crowding of the restaurant. I wondered if it could because we were going to be around the extended family that weekend. It didn't matter what caused this inexplicable episode. The only cure was Ativan.
A couple of month previously, a doctor had obtained a prescription for me, to treat my bad anxiety. I use it whenever I'm particularly stressed out or if I'm having an attack.
Mom pulled my bottle of Ativan out of her purse (she keeps it for me, for reasons I would rather not discuss in this blog. I am sure you can figure out why) and handed me one of the diminutive white pills. I took it with some soda, and the effects seemed almost instantaneous. I calmed down enough to take a few bites of my chicken fries, though I would end up taking them in the car with me.
I still haven't entirely figured out what caused that sudden and frightening panic attack. It was one of the worst I have ever had, and there weren't any events preceding it, that would have warranted such a reaction.
We left Brattleboro, and drove west towards Bennington. We took long winding roads, where I saw old houses, cemeteries and beautiful rich green trees. The only drawback was that the people driving in front of us were slower than death. (though I often find that death, in fact moves very quickly.) Their slowness was caused by the fact that far ahead of us, was a truck that was moving at a snail's pace, in an effort to keep their cargo from sliding around and being damaged. It was all very frustrating. I put in my headphones and waited out this boring stretch of our trip.
Naturally, I do not remember every single detail of our trip. And even if I did, what would be the point of sharing it with you? I'm sure you're already bored to death with this blog, and wondering when the hell I'm going to quit this self-indulgent trip and write something with some goddamn substance. The trip was long. I counted cemeteries and listened to music. My sister took pictures. My mother did the driving.
When we got to Bennington, Mom wanted to get out and stretch her legs. She parked in front of the cemetery where Robert Frost is buried, The Old Bennington Cemetery. I desperately wanted to go in and explore, but Mom denied me such a pleasure, saying we didn't have the time. We had just ten minutes to stretch our legs. I spent my ten minutes running along the length of the cemetery's white fence, reading what epitaphs I could, and geeking out over the different carvings. Soul effigies, and vines, beautiful poems, all of them a beautiful testament to the finality of death. I even climbed the fence, in order to get a better view of a table tomb (and I don't mean that it was a tomb belonging to a deceased table. A table tomb is a marble slab supported on pillars). Inside the cemetery, I could see a family admiring the stones and taking pictures. I envied them, getting to explore more of the beautiful place than I was able to. There really were some amazing gravestones.
When our stretch was over, I reluctantly got back in the car. If it were up to me, I could have spent the entire weekend in that gorgeous necropolis.
We drove out of Bennington, and were treated to more familiar sights as we did, such as the creepy house across from the cemetery, the slabs of rocks that looked like Stonehenge and the strange metal sculptures that spun in the wind. I've said it once, and I'll say it again, Vermont is truly an amazing place.
Eventually, we crossed the border into New York. But we'll save that for the next chapter.
Coming up...New York yields some strange and entertaining sights.
Burger King was crowded, but not too crowded. It was mostly old people and families with small annoying children. We ordered our food, I used the bathroom and then we sat down to eat.
But something was wrong. I couldn't eat. I felt like I had to force my self to bite, chew and swallow. I felt claustrophobic sharing a bench with my sister. The booths on either side of us were crowded with families with loud children. The bad pop music that screamed from the intercom filled my ears, relentless and invasive. My food tasted strange. I felt myself descend into a full-blown panic attack.
I squeezed my stress ball frantically, my hand clenching around the foam orb like a claw. I began to hyperventilate, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Eventually my mother and sister noticed. They kept asking what was wrong, but I couldn't rightly answer. I felt like I was going to die. The dizziness felt like someone had broken an egg over my head and I put my head down on the table. I thought I was going to pass out. A feeling of pure terror washed over me, but I could not figure out why.
With some difficulty, I managed to explain some of what was wrong with me. The dizziness, the sudden loss of appetite, the fear. Mom thought it could be the noise and crowding of the restaurant. I wondered if it could because we were going to be around the extended family that weekend. It didn't matter what caused this inexplicable episode. The only cure was Ativan.
A couple of month previously, a doctor had obtained a prescription for me, to treat my bad anxiety. I use it whenever I'm particularly stressed out or if I'm having an attack.
Mom pulled my bottle of Ativan out of her purse (she keeps it for me, for reasons I would rather not discuss in this blog. I am sure you can figure out why) and handed me one of the diminutive white pills. I took it with some soda, and the effects seemed almost instantaneous. I calmed down enough to take a few bites of my chicken fries, though I would end up taking them in the car with me.
I still haven't entirely figured out what caused that sudden and frightening panic attack. It was one of the worst I have ever had, and there weren't any events preceding it, that would have warranted such a reaction.
We left Brattleboro, and drove west towards Bennington. We took long winding roads, where I saw old houses, cemeteries and beautiful rich green trees. The only drawback was that the people driving in front of us were slower than death. (though I often find that death, in fact moves very quickly.) Their slowness was caused by the fact that far ahead of us, was a truck that was moving at a snail's pace, in an effort to keep their cargo from sliding around and being damaged. It was all very frustrating. I put in my headphones and waited out this boring stretch of our trip.
Naturally, I do not remember every single detail of our trip. And even if I did, what would be the point of sharing it with you? I'm sure you're already bored to death with this blog, and wondering when the hell I'm going to quit this self-indulgent trip and write something with some goddamn substance. The trip was long. I counted cemeteries and listened to music. My sister took pictures. My mother did the driving.
When we got to Bennington, Mom wanted to get out and stretch her legs. She parked in front of the cemetery where Robert Frost is buried, The Old Bennington Cemetery. I desperately wanted to go in and explore, but Mom denied me such a pleasure, saying we didn't have the time. We had just ten minutes to stretch our legs. I spent my ten minutes running along the length of the cemetery's white fence, reading what epitaphs I could, and geeking out over the different carvings. Soul effigies, and vines, beautiful poems, all of them a beautiful testament to the finality of death. I even climbed the fence, in order to get a better view of a table tomb (and I don't mean that it was a tomb belonging to a deceased table. A table tomb is a marble slab supported on pillars). Inside the cemetery, I could see a family admiring the stones and taking pictures. I envied them, getting to explore more of the beautiful place than I was able to. There really were some amazing gravestones.
When our stretch was over, I reluctantly got back in the car. If it were up to me, I could have spent the entire weekend in that gorgeous necropolis.
We drove out of Bennington, and were treated to more familiar sights as we did, such as the creepy house across from the cemetery, the slabs of rocks that looked like Stonehenge and the strange metal sculptures that spun in the wind. I've said it once, and I'll say it again, Vermont is truly an amazing place.
Eventually, we crossed the border into New York. But we'll save that for the next chapter.
Coming up...New York yields some strange and entertaining sights.
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