The Stick

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“It’s a good stick.”

I have heard these words too many times to recall. It is undeniable: it is a good stick.

Many times I have walked along with her in Canada, and people have asked me what she is made of, hoping to get their very own stick. “I don’t know,” I reply, “I got it in Peru.”

“What do you use it for?” many have pondered.

“For everything.”

For the stick has not but one use, nor could her magical ways be called uses. She is a stick, and in being a stick, she is much more than a stick.

“Is it a walking stick?”

“Yes.”

“Do you use it to battle?”

“If battling needs to be done.”

“Do you do tricks with it?”

“Sometimes.”

You see, I am able to command the Universe with the stick. You can thank me later. In all, she is a stick of the most stick calibre. She is stick, and she is not stick, and she is everything in between.

“What is the story of the stick?”

Ah, now you have begun to ask the right question. The story begins most simply: Rowan went to Ica.

This was prior to my acquaintance with the stick. Rowan was sent to fetch 4 sticks; a most reasonable amount of sticks for creating shelter in the smoldering sand dunes. He returned, however, with but 3 sticks. They were once one huge stick, as tall as a house, and had been cut into 3 pieces for his purposes.

When Rowan brought the sticks back to Hanna and Theo, the trio attempted to create their shelter using only 3 sticks, but, alas, it did not work. They would instead each take ownership, as much as one can own sticks with such soul, of one of the sticks.

The fiery Viking warrior Hanna took hold of the thinnest stick; it was the one that had once been the top of the large stick. She would leave her stick in the desert.

The great Brit Rowan claimed the large base stick as his own.

And Theo, the stick master, well, of course you know the stick he chose; Theo had the middle stick.

Though Rowan and Theo both brought their sticks along with them, Rowan’s would disappear in the time of the thief in Mancora.

There was but one remaining stick. And this was as it was when I would meet the shining trio, and the stick in all its glory.

I cannot explain the events that drew me in to the power of the stick. I can only hope that you will understand without words. But the stick and I had a great bond, and when it was time for Theo to return home, I promised to care for the stick. I insisted that I would bring the stick home; the Peruvian stick would see Canada.

It was a 54 hour journey from Mancora, Peru to Bogota, Colombia. Through mountaintops and ocean views, we spent hours alone on buses, chasing taxis, and standing in immigration in Ecuador… The two of us made friends, and each friend seemed to understand more than the last: It is a good stick.

Eventually the stick and I would arrive in Bogota, and no sooner than our arrival would we depart once more. Whatever the cost, I would pay to fly the stick home.

The cost was $80. I paid it without hesitation. After all, it is a good stick.

Sure, the airline lost her for a day, and I was distraught as could be, but she was retrieved, and returned to my hands.

So you think you now know the story of the stick? Ah, but I have only touched the surface. There is much more to tell, but it does not consist of words. Perhaps one day you will be fortunate enough to meet the stick.

For now, here are the adventures of the stick. Enjoy.

5 Comments:

  1. This is incredible xx

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