So here we are at Day 60. Two months. My how time doesn't fly. It seems like it's been so much longer. I don't even know why I still count the days. Maybe it's a sign I haven't completely abandoned hope - people facing the possibility of parole probably count the days, people on death row probably don't.
When we first moved here I kept picturing myself as Meryl Streep in "Out of Africa". Gay, I know. Bako was playing the part of Africa, minus the charm, but with indoor plumbing. I related to the story of a woman moved against her will to a strange and primitive place, facing hostile colonials and scary natives, utterly lost. But she picked herself up, dusted herself off, grew a little coffee and ultimately got to go home. Of course the analogy fell apart once we got to the supporting cast. The boyfriend would end up in the Robert Redford role, and things didn't really end well for him. But I kept searching for the perfect film to mirror my own predicament. "Too Wong Foo". "Midnight Express". "Aliens". I went through quite a few.
But I finally settled on Tom Hanks in "Cast Away". Marooned on a deserted island, presumed dead to all who knew him. Fighting for survival and his own sanity. He builds a raft to try and escape, but without any means to sail it he's constantly met with failure. Until one day, after a storm, a plastic Port-a-Potty washes ashore. He fashions the flimsy plastic into a makeshift sail and is finally able to escape and is ultimately rescued. He finally makes it home. Sure, he's lost everything, but he's alive. And he's lost an amazing amount of weight. I should be so lucky.
But the thing that sealed the deal for me?
That Port-a-Potty that washes ashore?
It had a name printed on the side.
The name of a city.
B A K E R S F I E L D
