Flying Over

I had this great idea.
It started one night when I took a different route home from work. Rather than exiting Loop121 like I usually do, I decided to head on to I-35 instead. It was after dark, and as US 190 intersected with 35 I saw the most beautiful view of city lights stretching from Belton to Temple and beyond. The interchange is elevated and sits on a slight hill, so it's almost like you're on an overlook. Unfortunately, the sight lasted mere seconds before I was on 35 and on my way to my 6th Street exit. But my soul yearned for more.
There's just something about city lights that moves me, makes my heart leap into my throat. I can't really explain it, except to say it's wonderful. It makes me feel hopeful and alive, like all the wonderful things of the world are just at my fingertips.
The highway department is in the process of building a new flyover from 35 to 190. It's not open yet, and it's just been sitting there, like a giant Stonehenge, since I moved here. The view from that flyover, which is even more elevated than the old interchange, would be phenomenal. I had this idea that maybe I could find a way to get on the new flyover, from the end where it meets 190. If so, I could sneak on there at night and walk to the highest point. I could bring a thermos of coffee and some snacks, and a blanket to sit on while I enjoyed the view. Just thinking about it made my adrenalin pump - the intrigue, the sneakiness, the city lights.
When I got home, I thought about telling Chuck about my idea. But as I imagined our conversation, I realized he probably wouldn't understand. I decided to wait until I had all the details sorted out before springing it on him. The next day, as I headed to Killeen, I scoped out the end of the flyover where I thought I could perhaps walk on. But alas, my hopes were dashed when I realized that end was not connected with the rest of the highway yet. That end also loomed several hundred feet in the air. Without a crane, there was no way to get to my dreamy view.
Last night, I worked late again and took the same route home from work. Entering the curve that leads to 35, I slowed down and stared out at the bright lights. My heart leaped and my blood pumped. For mere seconds, I felt like all was right in my world and that anything and everything was possible.
My soul, crying out for more, yearned for wings.

Top Shelf

Once, for a short time, my husband and children and I lived just down the street from the house I grew up in. Not long after we moved in to the rent house, I found an unusual box hidden in the hallway linen closet, on the very top shelf that couldn't be seen when the cabinet doors were open. The shelf faced the wall, but if you reached between the shelf and the wall you could easily hide things there.
The box contained a complete set of tools for cutting, measuring and weighing cocaine. I didn't know they made such things for such specific uses, but apparently they had been produced as a matching set. Very pretty, by the way. Now, you may be asking how I recognized such tools. I don't blame you. No, I was not a drug-user myself (for real), but I had been around them some, occasionally, enough to observe how things were done. And of course, I watched lots of movies and TV. There's much to be learned on the big and little screens, if you pay attention.
So I found the box, and I couldn't quite figure out how to dispose of it properly. I mean, I couldn't see me selling it at a garage sale, although I'm sure it would have sold fast. I thought about just putting it in a bag with the household trash and placing it out for garbage collection. But then I imagined a stray dog or cat knocking down the trash can in the middle of the night and leaving the paraphernalia strewn across the driveway for the neighbors to see bright and early the next morning. Ebay didn't exist back then, or else I might have considered putting it up for auction. Now wouldn't that be something. Do they have a category for drug paraphernalia?
In the end, the only safe thing I could think to do was call the police. They came and fetched it without asking questions, and I was off the hook.