SUGBU

I was off to Sugbu with four men and a lady. At the strike of midnight, Lee piled us all into his Crosswind and ten minutes on the road into a nearby city, the jutes came out and the chatter of anticipation heightened.
There was a number of quirks and little nuggets of what-of-its I came to know about. The gang of course are Lee, visual artist, fully developed person and gracefully managing a sickness. Redd, visual artist, ending a term of office and keeping a tight grip to his beliefs. Iwi, production person, young and almost exotic, forever on the verge of something. Mary, community worker, homemaker, with much too many sentences to complete. And Bobok, performing artist, director and losing completeness.
My little tale unfolds its canvas of impressions in four strokes...
The first stroke is on a length of road, about 8 hours worth of. Funny how the prospect of travel frees the mind. The anticipation of what might happen that is not a normal occurrence is high. This feeds a healthy dose of excitement on an otherwise fairly regular trip. Lee for one has taken to full speed on an open window filling up his lungs with white smoke mixed with the more invigorating cutting wind of a very young day. Iwi, flexi time, life and all, gulps in the same poison with a straight face, masking the high with a measure of normalcy. Redd, surprisingly uncomfortable with speed on a dark highway keeps sleep at bay through his customary outrageous pronouncements in high octave. Mary, deep in the homeopathic road was goaded to a full lecture, filling up the gaps of restful silence. Bobok, of course, has commandeered the back seat and has stretched his slight frame for an uninterrupted drunken stupor.
Stroke number two is during the conference, the high purpose of our little expedition. Due to lack of planning from one late area, we had the morning and the assembly to ourselves to do as we please. Lee claimed the microphone and worked his way from top-of-the-mind to an approximation of the planned discussion. Redd, the actor in him acting up, checked with me for an appropriate character to use and awoke the attendees into neutral attention, you cannot dare take sides in front of Redd unless you are brave and ready, as is a hefty middle aged lady who dared challenge a deadline. She survived, our deadline didn't. With Lee's urging Mary and I had to join the company in the middle to complete the presentation which came midway up down next to center and back until everyone was sufficiently satisfied, Iwi committing on video what he could and Bobok on a reconnaissance mood, never in one place long enough to merit another dagger glare.
The third stroke is in the mall. Lee operates with the efficiency that would shame any Ms. Mall Rat. He strides off taking in all areas of interest, descends on several shops, each with a sure wave to hasten service, chose his wares with mafia gusto and wham, bam, thank you ma'am, he's done. Coffee next? Oops, the gang has broken up behind him and has taken to serious loitering. While Redd looks for his flaming wallet and settles for a giant zippo, Iwi has renewed alliances with a female artist, given an artist talk to her class and fall out all within the span of a longish, tiredish, slowmotioned twenty-four hours. Mary and Bobok barely left footmarks in a locale which cannot quite agree with them.
The fourth stroke is none other than over bottles of wine. Inviting an attractive lady in a little black dress did the trick to lift everyone's own version of spirits, never mind that the lady is steeped in ninth moon serenity. Tsik, after all, only looks decidedly pregnant in front view. Redd takes to wine and mistakes it for beer, thereby facilitating a rapid loss of balance and clarity but allowing in return a corresponding amount of jovial machismo. Iwi, on the other hand, stretches a barely touched glass of wine as he stretches each thought, sentence, look and movement to maximum slowmo mode. Playing the perfect politician, Lee drums up the conversation, plays bartender and subtly removes himself for a hit and the sack. How Mary did her alcohol justice, squaring her shoulders stiffer with every glass. Bobok, of course, like a duck to drunken water, drowns the world and everything in it.
I was off to Sugbu with four men and a lady. One I can talk to, one I like, one I like mothering over, one a favorite relative's mate and the last one, the one who stalks the periphery, I cannot quite figure out how I ever dared pledge to honor.