Residency - The Arrival

This is for you, K.S.

I arrived at Portland International Airport a good thirty minutes before Stephen Kuusisto's flight was due to arrive. I browsed Powell's, got a sandwich, and sat myself near the security checkpoint. With Kwame Dawes' She's Gone in hand, I wiled away a good hour before I asked about his flight. The security guard was a pleasant older woman with prim makeup and hair. She was accommodating (she even went to the gate to check on the flight's status) and she chatted for a bit until I saw the yellow lab round the corner.

Stephen is an unassuming man, but his guide dog is a young three year old, full of energy and enthusiasm. They crossed the threshold to where I stood and Stephen and I shook hands and introduced ourselves. Behind him stood a lithe young woman, beautiful and earthy. Stephen introduced her to me immediately. It was Bonnie Jo Campbell. They had shared the flight and, instead of waiting the two hours for the shuttle, Bonnie made her way to my car with us.

The drive to Seaside via Highway 30 was uneventful in terms of traffic or flooding. The Columbia was swollen, overtaking trees on the bank, but the time went quickly as we marched our way west to Seaside and the impending residency.

Stephen is irreverent, charming, and a tad bit eccentric. Bonnie, a little reserved, is brassy and also charming. We shared book titles, anecdotes, political opinions, and soon we had arrived at Safeway inside of Seaside's city limits.

Stephen was smart not to pack dog food. Instead relying on the fact that his brand would be waiting for him inside the "stupor-market" as he called it. We browsed the aisles, looking for the pet food, Bonnie claiming that she wanted a bottle of wine, Stephen agreeing. It was fun, casual, reminded me of my college roommates on a similar "stupor-market" expedition.

When we finally arrived at the hotel, we were greeted by Shelley, the queen of the program, all smiles and welcomes. Our rooms were doled out. I'm staying on the third floor, in the corner room overlooking the beach. Not a beach front room. Those are reserved for faculty and students, but the next best thing. I am comfortable. The moment I arrived in Seaside in January, I felt the call of the keyboard. I felt the need to sit and be present. It's been nice to hammer out these few paragraphs, the first of many. I hope, anyway.

I'm missing some of the familiar suspects. I miss K.S. I miss B.R. I even miss J.W. To be honest there is a litany of people I wish could be here. S.R. with her fiery red hair. W.G. with his Magnum P.I. mustache. L.G. with her androgynous sexuality.

I will try and make the best of my ten days here at residency. I promise not to focus too much on the introductions. They are secondary to the content of the readings. I promise not to get swept up in the social life presented in these ten days. I promise to have the rough draft of a new story by the time I check out (a week from Sunday). I am looking to make good on these things and the thing that is necessary to make these things happen is a dedication to the idea, resolve to allow myself time, and an openness to the ideas presented in the craft talks, readings, and otherwise good mojo.

Love you, K.S., I'll keep you posted.