Medicine Park Magic: EPTOM Tries to Catch UP

The twilight air of December 19, 2015, was cold, clear, and tightened every square inch of my exposed skin. Cyndi Hardesty and I had spoken for a good ten minutes before realizing I had gone to high school with her.  My daughter Rachel, who had been wandering down the sidewalk earlier that evening, had chatted with her even longer than I.

Ten minutes prior to this point in time, Rachel had run to our hotel and said, “Mom. There is a really nice lady — she’s cool — down here. She could be our Medicine Park interviewee.”

My daughter stumbled across a high school classmate and had deemed her “cool.”

I thought THAT was cool.

My cold cheeks smiled as I listened to Cydi’s stories while simultaneously managing flash back memories from the late 70s and early 80s.  I had been a drum major; she, an energetic twirler. And, thirty years later, we stood together wrapped in the narrative she so generously shared, the blankets and jackets from  a site like this one we were wearing, and a sense of familiarity — both of place, and of person.

To those who read this post, the audio quality is unfiltered, and unsupported with the high-density audio file I recorded.  After our move, I’m missing data. I panic thinking about it, so I ignore these facts.

Rather, I close my eyes, and send the fragments of our time together your way — so you can know a semblance of the night, the topics, the street side campfires, the spontaneous singing of Elvis, and spontaneous Christmas carols.

And of two girls, now women, who reconnected for a moment in Medicine Park.