The King of Colorado.

I was waiting for the bus on that Saturday afternoon, having earlier slept and dreamt and thrown up, worrying about the fate of my friend who might go back to prison. The bus stop was at 12th and Grant, in front of the Division of Employment office. It was hot and the sunshine intense. Almost no one was out.

I had dreamt earlier of a large, almost empty Victorian mansion, an intricately carved wooden interior, and steep, steep steps, easier to climb than descend. The steps themselves grew, trapping me, at one point, on the top flight. I was unable to leave the house. The steps eventually relented, and I ran outside.

I was greeted with warmth, a light breeze, the song of the birds, and my friends in the distance. They were under a pavilion, having a picnic, waiting for me. Kim laughingly scolded me for being so late, and said others would be there also. I awoke soon afterward.

I had visited my friend in the county jail earlier that day. His incarceration stemmed from a violation of the terms of his agreement with the halfway house program of which he was enrolled. His well-being was of great concern to me. So there I was, at the bus stop in the sunshine, waiting to go to work, lost in thought, saddened by circumstance. I felt very heavy.

At this time, my eyes scanned left to an apartment building the same moment some guy with a road pylon began to yell out to anyone within earshot. “I am the KING of Colorado! Bong hits for everyone! You are my people, my minions…” Then, from the balcony of another apartment, “SHUT--UP!” Then, quickly and much more quietly… “Ok. That is all.”

That guy probably spent a lot of time out in the hall during school. Sometimes one pays the price for being funny. But laughter is a great gift don’t you think? It’s enjoyable, brings you right into the moment, and is fondly remembered, almost always. At least it does for me, anyway. Because on that day, I remember feeling hopeless and powerless and nauseous, but I don’t remember how those emotions physically felt. They were over-ridden by the release of laughter.

I do remember how that felt, and how much, at just that moment, I needed to laugh that hard. And I remember how much I appreciated that smart-ass on the third floor. By mouthing off, he cleared some of the negative hanging on me, enough so I could think that, maybe everything would be all right after all. Of which it was. I guess the King is still around, king-ing it up somewhere in Denver. Good for him.