Malcolm Part 1, Pre-Malcolm

Malcolm Guite, british poet, singer-songwriter and priest has arrived in our country today from Cambridge, UK. As I know of him so far through a mutual friend, he’s brilliant, he’s captivating, he’s the epitome of cool, he’s funny and most importantly he rides Harleys. He even owns one. So what would a trip be like to the States if Malcolm doesn’t get the opportunity to rent and ride? In a word, devastating. And if I didn’t get to take a ride with the Malcolm? Tragic. So I shall be his passenger and handy human travel map. For anyone who doesn’t know, I’m pretty good with directions, truthfully, very good with directions. I’m the voice on the tom-tom stuck to your dash but better; I’m stuck to your waist and cute. I’ll wrap my long fair arms around his waist and say “I’m ready,” and give him directions to ride off on the asphalt. I imagine we’ll go to Pinehurst or Apex or Holly Springs. Somewhere that is a long drive so we can feel the humid wind in our face turn cool and the heat hum from the bike below. My hair will be tossed about in the wind and I’ll later worry what the ride has made it look like. The bike will rumble and feel heavy between turns. I'll feel a bit like a bad ass for being on one, a real biker chick - for a day at least. And I'll even get up the nerve to pass along the 'Harley Hello' to another Fat Boy rider. I’ll ask him to recite poetry while we ride. Maybe his own, maybe his favorites of others - I’m sure he has them memorized. He might even ask me to recite some too. I’ll go blank trying to remember anything impressive or anything at all. Maybe I’ll come up with a haiku I read once, or maybe I’ll just say “oh, no.”

When we get hot or tired or run out of gas, we’ll stumble upon a quirky little stop where we’ll pop the top of a cool southern drink, perhaps Sun Drop, as I’m certain I’ve somewhere heard we like that down here. We’ll chat about semi-private things as we neither know when the next time is we’ll see each other. I’ll be honest, as I usually am, and he’ll have some friendly insights into my life, spiritual and all. Perhaps he’ll notice that I’m not the average woman I may appear to be and he can dish out all the literary and spiritual references he wants - as I listen shoulders back, wide-eyed, neck forward and jaw-dropped, I’ll lap them up. I’ll look up to him eyes locked and ears perked, being the good life-long student I’ve committed myself to be. He’ll say some things I never expected and some that I did. And the ride back will be a freeing one. I’ll have heard some nugget to let my mind wander on the good things and let loose from the bad, as he will have said enough to sooth my deep-rooted worries for the time being.

The best part will be where it all sets in. When I realize what is happening and that I’m pretty well off for just having spent time on a bike with the great Malcolm Guite. I have yet to figure the greatness of Malcolm. I’ll need time to perceive such an impression. I should meet him first. I haven’t yet. He’s busy doing what work he came to the States to do, teaching of some sort. But free of charge, I'll have had my own private session.