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  • Writer's pictureMichelle Meyer

Miss Direction

Niña” Interpretation by Elizabeth Trumble & Darcy Knight

Niña (written by Michelle Meyer) She traveled 25,000 miles during her lifetime. In the beginning she saw the Bahamas, Cuba, Haiti, and Portugal. But when she discovered America no one believed it. Everyone gave all the credit to some white guy named Chris, even though he kept getting lost and refused to ask for directions. ******** We all know a “Chris.” That person who turns down the wrong road, gets more and more lost, starts waving his arms around, and refuses to consult anyone or anything except for Google maps. I kind of get it. I’m a midwesterner and I hate to impose. But I happened to marry “The Anti-Chris.” My man is not the least bit afraid to ask for directions. Of anyone. Ever. Even that six foot three inch tall guy who is standing in some random parking lot dressed in black leather pants, black combat boots, a black spiked dog collar, and a black leather vest with nothing underneath but lots of fire-breathing dragon tattoos that are highlighted by lots of arm bracelets and skeleton rings. “Roll down your window and ask that guy!” The Anti-Chris said to me on that particular road trip. And I’m like… “THAT guy? Um…no. We’ll figure it out.” Which means—I’m the “Chris” of our family. But my Anti-Chris husband wasn’t having it. He likes to know where he’s going. Scenic routes are only appealing when they are taking us in the right direction. So when I would not roll down my window and ask directions from the devil, The Anti-Chris pulled over, parked, walked his 5’7″ self over to that 6’3″ monster and…got directions. Meanwhile I pretended to ponder the map. But I was actually watching the purple spikes of the devil’s two-foot tall mohawk nod in the affirmative and point a finger (whose nail was painted black) in the direction that we were going to go anyway. See? I thought to myself. We were already going the right way. Then The Anti-Chris shook the hand of the devil and they parted ways—both of them smiling. “Great guy. Super nice guy,” said The Anti-Chris as he started our engine with the confidence of knowing where we were going because he wasn’t afraid to ask directions of someone who simply made different fashion choices than most people. “Tell me everything!” I said, and off we went. In my defense, I was young. I needed the money…No, wait—that’s a different story. I was young. I needed to learn a lesson. And I did—Mostly. Be The Anti-Chris. Or marry him.

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