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Chapter Seven: Good Friday

Previously: Back home in L.A., yet feeling as though he had no home, The Fool finally left the airport.

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I could see all the way to the mountains,

which was rare for L.A.

So I decided to just drive.

It was funny:

for the first time in my life I didn’t feel scared.

The sky was so pretty

I wanted to just drive right up into it,

but you can’t get there from L.A.

So I thought maybe I’d go to the mountains.

I didn’t.

But after about an hour-and-a-half

I ended up in the foothills.

It was still early, so I missed all the traffic.

And yet I didn’t miss it at all.

It was Friday morning.

I didn’t know till later that it was Good Friday,

but it seemed pretty good to me.

It was weird,

driving around in L.A. and not being scared.

I felt a little like a kid.

I understood for the first time ever, I think,

that I really didn’t know about “things.”

I felt empty inside.

But not empty like dead,

empty like clean,

or cleaned out,

or something,

because the good side of not knowing anything

was that I didn’t know anything wrong anymore either.

It was as if all this time I’d been running around

trying to find some missing part,

but now I suddenly realized

that I was the missing part,

and even if I couldn’t do anything about it,

knowing that was a kind of relief;

like the old joke about the moron’s head

feeling so much better

when he stopped beating it against the wall.

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