Fortunately, for me, my grandmother has always balked at the idea of pumping her own gasoline. She has never learned this simple task, has no interest in it, and appears to have no reason to since someone, usually me, ends up filling the tank for her. No worries. She always ends up getting where she needs to go.
Today was no exception. She called me from her errands, telling me that she had let the gas light come on and would I please get ready, she'd be there in a few minutes so that we could go fill up. I knew it was a little chilly, so I pulled on a flannel. What I wanted to do was slip on my sandals with my socks already on and leave my hair unkempt as it was, styled in a fashion that only pillow and sleep could ever provide. I figured I'd be looking crazy, but then thought better of it. I'd look as perfect and badass as was necessary. As if it ever would be! So, I went looking how I looked – (mis)perceptions be damned!
I was blessed there at that gas station, while I stood waiting for the tank to get its fill. I stood slightly elevated on the little step, closed my eyes, put my forehead against the dirty pump's wall - and felt Love. That fierce wind blew until it was almost all that I could hear, and of course was all I needed. I felt it against my thinly covered feet, blowing up my legs with my baggy shorts expanding like a miniature parachute going nowhere. Man, it blew straight through me. It became me or I became it - same thing. Time suspended just for me. My clothes blowing away from me as best they could, having me feel like some awkward flagpole. And at the same time - a god.