A Tribute to Hen

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She was hen. Her name Hen. Tan, brown skin, sleek and slender, but a weight of bulk with delicate touches of nimbleness. She was my Hen; a ’78 Volkswagen bus.

There were numerous trips; surfing, the concerts, the local drives. And there were the days of reckless youth; a smokehouse in fog. She treated me like the King, and I cared for her like my Queen. Inseparable, an image in my mind, in so many minds, we were a part of one another, yoked together with a bondage of Love, and now only ripe memories. They cut like knives.

It was once a dream, one finally lived. Dream turned reality, into further dreams that carried on into the depths of an imaginative mind. I dreamt with her, I dreamt of her, and she turned into a sober hotbox of sanctity—she was human. Inside, pieces of clothe and symbols of ordinary day transformed into gold as seats became thrones and benches beds; I combed it all like lover’s hair. For she was my lover, my Hen, and became respected among an ominous crowd as the woman who would never leave me, and I her, and so it all came to be. My Hen.

Yes, my Hen, my ’78 VW bus, my lover, my Queen: inside, silks lavished the compartments, threaded with fine gold—a fragrant perfume pervading—while her skin slick with aromatic oils and bronze glaze scintillating in the summer’s sun; her eyes windows, sparkling with stickers and glue of freedom, a passion for freedom, a rebellious drive toward Love & Peace, and a relaxation, slapped hard with “I’m here, here I am, and what are you going to do?” We did it, and we showed them.

Memories flash, our dreams blinking like spring’s butterflies, and a forgetfulness arises, knowing never again. The last I saw of her was the profile, long and extended, eyes trailing to her rear. And she was gone, embraced in other’s hands, shifted and thrusted forward, onward after all. My arm rose at our last sight, my two fingers splitting skyward, saluting peace to her name.

The day had come, one that I never, in all honesty, imagined, but it did come, leaving me shocked, stunned, blunted by the rapidity of its sudden, momentary arrival. The for sale signs up. The weeks of questioning calls. And then the visits; two visits.

We drove through the streets; I first, he second, the hills showing his inefficiency and pointing out my ownership—the Alpha—but he smiled like an innocent child, unbeknown to the history, the chemistry, and the action taking place before him; yet his hands gripped her pompous wheel and spun it like a lakeside dance, and his eyes absorbed the functions like rich cream sauce into soufflé while gears shifted, revving heavily in ecstasy—she cried out for more. Eyes obvious.

I knew it, she knew, and most of all, he knew; he being the fire-starter while we waited together. Holding one another, we waited for more of his smiles—superfluous they came—and then his word; poignant, clear, an affirmation.

Then he left, and Hen and I had our last week, wherein I first neglected her, found in denial with an imperceptibility. But I grew out of it blinking, and embraced the final days with her grease on my hands, then sponges to bathe. I tuned her, we tuned each other, and I washed her, she washing me at which she sparkled; one oiled, onto the next. Forgiven, loved, and re-loved, the hour arose, her secrets spoken to another.

Indeed, a full spectrum of remorse, but it was the smiles completing it. She had never looked so good, so shiny, and his excitement once like mine. She beamed, he smiled, and in that new bond there was an equal balance, passing an energy, creating a new love, where two met and joined; absolved history with a fresh moment and an unwinding future.

She was never my Hen, I suppose, only there, together, for a time being; that time was filled with Love. Hands full, the cup overflowed, time to pass her on. We were inseparable.

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Photos

The Hen
A road trip in Northern CA. Photo a reflection of the Hen in a bigrig's hubcap. Thank you Simon!

Comments

[Rosemary]

re: Hen
So clear, such a visual, sweet, percise bit of prose. I was with you with every word. I felt you....I felt the Hen....I was honored you called me after she left. Wow....this was beautiful. Love you....always....R