Week 3 - Tone/Travel

We were Portland bound on a new adventure once again, only this time it was to modify some part of my flesh.  The amount of time I had waited for that day was nothing compared to the reality that it was actually about to happen.  I am terrible at saving money, it literally burns a hole in my pocket but for once I was able to hold onto enough cash to begin fixing my chest tattoo; a piece that is a dedication to my family.  The amount of trouble and damage I have gone through simply to get this artwork conveyed and finished is amazing, what’s even more amazing is why.  My boyfriend and I left Old Town at 12:30pm the day before my appointment since I had to go in for a consultation to make sure I liked the ideas and so the artist could get a good look at it.  Plus, I thought it a good idea to be more familiar with the area in hopes not to get lost and be late the next day.

The ride out of Old Town was a familiar one, nothing new in the slightest: two Dunkin’ Donuts in such close proximity that it makes little sense to have them both, Sullivan’s garage and the parking lot out back stuffed with totaled cars and trucks,  Hannaford’s, and multiple other fast food establishments and gas stations.  The trees were almost bare and the sky was clear – it was the end of October, right before Halloween.  Traffic plugged on monotonously but even though, I still tried to speed through town as if it would’ve shortened the two hour ride by any amount.  Eventually the road split into two lanes and most of the congestion cleared into the opposite throughway, leaving me a straight shot through the last two lights and onto interstate 95.

Coasting along down 95, we listened to 105.1 TOS as the scenery flew by.  A combination of deciduous and coniferous trees lined the right side of the highway, the former looking very lackluster just as they did leaving town.  Cars were scarce once we passed Bangor, which appeared to be bustling with people from our perspective.  Between watching for police at the well-known emergency turn-arounds and sporadically commenting on the music or the people in traffic who irritated me with their asinine driving, there wasn’t much else to do.  The smell of the mill in my hometown was behind us and the sight of the expansive tree lines of the pine forests between Bangor and Waterville were vast. 

 

Augusta was steadily approaching and the excitement began to well up in my stomach again.  Becoming antsy, I decided to set the cruise control in order to avoid speeding.  An occasional eagle’s nest atop power lines dotted the highway, along with desolate marshlands scattered amongst the foliage holding only fallen and dying trees.  Every mile marker along the interstate was evidence that I was getting closer to my goal; it was then that I started worrying. I had begun hoping that the artist I had picked would understand what I wanted to come of the artwork versus the last two “artists”: One of which intentionally fucked up the initial design for petty reasons, and the other who took my request and skewed it into what they wanted.  In turn, both left my skin marred and the original purpose of the piece which was to commemorate my family, tainted.  We passed through Augusta and headed onwards.  The truck stops randomly lining the interstate were stirring with truck drivers taking breaks from their extensive journeys, vacationers relaxing from the long trip ahead and of course, deep fried and greasy concoctions and the tired, worn from living wait staff serving them.  I realized I wasn’t alone in my strife.

The closer we got to Portland, the more my anxiety faded and the anticipation took hold.  Regardless of any qualms I had been having at that time, the moment seemed surreal as we crossed the bridges leading towards the Portland exits towards the center of the city.  I glanced around taking extra care to watch for the exit we needed.  The highway began glutting with cars whizzing in and out of the three lanes and the pressure was on.  As the sun set over the bay, we frantically searched for the exit we needed, exit 6A, and merged as soon as we could.  The exit put us right around Congress Street, which is where the shop was located. I took extra precaution to listen to the directions read by my boyfriend that we printed off mapquest, but in my experiences mapquest isn’t very precise which was the case yet again.  City driving is no fun task and as I searched for the turns listed in the directions, the sweat began pouring from my forehead and upper lip.  The other drivers were anything but lenient; for every mistake I made, a horn was honked and an occasional middle finger was also given.  After several panic attacks and a few wrong turns, we finally made it to the shop.  The one last hurdle I had to face was the dreaded parallel park, and traffic wasn’t any less relentless, but I made it after only two attempts.  

Nothing like parking meters to remind you you’re in a city.  I got out of the car and saw that I needed to pay for the spot, which was typical but something I had forgotten over the amount of time I had lived in Old Town.  As we crossed the street, hand in hand, all of my fears, joys, and emotions in general washed away.  What was I to expect?  What was to happen?  I would only know if I opened the door and went in.  I took hold of the shop door handle, and never looked back.