missed opportunity

No one disturbed my rest all night – except the cigarette smoke wafting into my windows that are lowered to allow the barely cooler Virginia nite air into the front seat as I sleep.

I get up, step out the truck into a still hot, still dark, still early morning, and immediately about 3 or 4 young, skinny white males begin sauntering over the steaming asphalt towards me. Hmmm – which way will this go, I think.

“Rad, man” I hear them say as they approach. “We LOVE your truck”.

They are all smoking, casually dressed, and smiling broadly – yet there is an intense air of seriousness about them. Several more young guys tumble out various cars & join us.

We talk – and talk and talk and talk – about the war, about stopping the war, about their desperation & despondency. They say they are on their way to bonnaroo – like I should know what that is. I don’t but they repeat ‘bonnaroo’ as if they’re saying ‘tree’ or ‘morning’.

They each talk about the renewed hope they have, seeing my truck and me. I ask them what they’ve been doing to end war. They admit that since the 2nd stolen election, they’ve given up.

I challenge them to stop waiting for someone else to step forward; to be the leaders, be the activists – that it is up to them to stop this war. They can’t wait for someone else to do it. They can’t fall under the spell of those in power making them deny their own power.

I realize, after they’ve each hugged me awkwardly, promised me to become active, & told me ‘peace’ in their barely adult voices, that I missed the opportunity to begin my new video.