I Want, to be, a Jedi (vandals)

      The house had a bald tree in the front yard. It was May, that strange time between seasons where it can rain 4 days straight, be hot in the day and windy goosebumps in the evening. It was that mid-time then, when the last crust of the sun was shooting rays faintly over the hills and the moms were rounding up their kids at the park. Helping them get sand out of their shoes and climb the tall deep stairs up to street parking level. The park sat at a slope, and at the top of the slope was this wide road, where cars roared down back and forth parallel to main street Figueroa. The houses across the road had witness several people get run down by these cars. The people in these houses had put up signs every few feet or so. These big poster board jobs with dripping spray paint tapped to telephone polls reading, "Slow the fuck down!". Laughing to myself, i thought of curse words being seen every few feet by small children, and then realized, it was always this kind of neighborhood, and that's why i liked it here.

       Oh, that's right, the bald tree. It was a small house. A decent house. Everyone always describes their house as being a modest home. That's bullshit, you don't have a modest  home. People can be modest. But homes? nah, save me the time. You know why a home can't be modest? - Every home is a modest home in relation to the block it's on. Ever seen a mansion next to a 800 square foot shack? Nope. So in relation to the other houses which are built to fit it's block, which is why it's called a neighborhood, they aren't even the least bit modest. They're decent. Decent is like eating a nicely put together sandwich. You don't hate it, and you aren't in love with it, you wouldn't shoot someone for a bite of that sandwich, and you're pretty sure the guy next to you has the same ingredients you're having, that leaves it to decent. 

       I can't tell you the color off bat, lets say it's that nice earth tone. They had a modest lawn. (heh). With the roots from bald tree creeping up and mounding the earth in some spots. The porch was a wrap around, with this long 6 seat cushion couch that you eventually soaked into when you sat down. You felt yourself being sucked into this giant void of pillows as you starred ahead at the bamboo privacy screen covered with black plastic. The trick was to try and make out designs and faces in the black plastic. At times i saw a totem pole with different faces. Some Aztec like, made me think of Montezuma. As you went further and further around the porch, less sunlight became visible, and it went from being mid-time to a warm night, despite the breeze. The drastic lighting change and warm corner nuzzled like atmosphere of the porch to front door end made you feel like you were walking into a cave. I removed my boots at the door and stepped through the blanket that was hanging between the screen door and it. 

      It was cool inside (like a cave) but warm and damp. The air was heavier in here, more viscous, I could feel it in my lungs, it was like breathing in butter. Rich. Yeah, that's the word i'm looking for, it was rich in there. I stood with my hands in my pockets for awhile just standing there breathing, soaking in atmosphere. Basking like a lizard in Death Valley. Or like Han Solo before they freeze him in carbonite. You remember that scene right? The air was thick in there too, the lights coming up through the grates reminded you of sun blasting through venetian blinds. Slits of light, heavy on the air. Enough about the air.

       I sat on the couch and laid my head back. It had been a hell of a day. Lots of things seen that made me feel not normal. Like putting on a new pair of jeans. It was foreign to me. The ceiling was covered in Star Wars memorabilia. I'm talking statues, plastic action figures, comic books in original plastic sleeves, Tie Fighters and Millennium Falcon strung on fishing wire in mid battle scene with the Death Star looming behind it all. 

"Holy Shit!", I thought to myself. or so I thought. I had actually said it out loud. I then had to flood into conversation about how all this looked. Just the shear amount of items strung, taped, and rigged up made my eyes wide. We talked then, about the movies, and the characters, our favorites and the ones we would fight hand to hand if they really ever existed. We talked about Darths and Jedi's, we wookie called, and made light saber sounds. All of us grown men. And not ashamed in the least bit. We were nerding out.

      I got up and lit a cigarette, stood by the door, hands in pocket again. Head tilted up chewing it over in my mind. I thought about Jedi's. I thought about Obi Wan. And in life there really isn't ever one Obi Wan. Our lives are flooded with several Obi Wans. We're all Jedi's, learning from different Jedi's and no Jedi Master seems to be apparent or visible. The voice in our head is made up of advice passed on from different friends and family members. Maybe something you hear in a song, or on the television. Life has it's influence on us, and we can pick and choose what we think is right, what we think is our Jedi way, and the line between light and dark is very thin, the more we press towards the dark side, the harder it is to come back over. Some people can ride that thin line and never topple over to one side or the other, some spend their lives trying to make it over, only to realize they want to come back, only to then realize that the way back is twice as hard as the way over was, so they just say fuck it and move further in towards madness. 

      I want to be a Jedi. And I want to help other Jedi's when they need it. The force is making the right moves. Be it whichever way balances out your selfless needs. At this time, I felt that I was in a room with other Jedi's who were willing to hear me out and help me if need be. I wanted to return those good vibes, but did not know how at the time. All I could do was wait, and enjoy our time together. So I did.