There is an Ass on Every Corner
By: Tracy Stengel
Tags: Nonfiction, The Bad Influence, Life Lessons, Humor, Self

There is an Ass on Every Corner

Just your average asses on the street. Photo courtesy of author

I grew up in a small, quaint Michigan town much too small for a girl chasing big dreams, boys, and adventure. Upon graduation, I moved to the outskirts of Ann Arbor to attend college, discover jazz and blues bars, and have some nightlife. It was great … but not that great.

I wanted more. Or less. I didn’t know what I was searching for.

Lights were calling my name

After several more moves through small towns, I took the leap and headed to the beacon of Las Vegas. What a wild ride! A ride so fast and furious it left me breathless and wanting, yet still unfulfilled.

The bright lights were mesmerizing, but they cast a huge shadow. The city’s underbelly was seedy. Men throwing money at me in casinos, looking for a payback for which I didn’t comprehend and was ill-prepared. Parties with stagehands of rock stars in hotel rooms and dozens of so-called friends who swore they would look out for me. Wanna-bes and up-and-comers who tried enticing me to join them in their ascent to stardom.

And nothing felt right. Their promises felt as stark, dry, and insignificant as the grains of sand in the Mojave.

My aspirations fell flat and I realized I wasn’t suited for a 24-hour circus in the desert.

My spirit was dehydrated

I was thirsty for water in that dry, parched land, so I packed up a chest full of fun, quirky, and often dangerous memories and headed back to Michigan.

Back in the Great Lakes State, I bobbed around from town to town, without an anchor. I trolled through villages and townships, fishing for the perfect spot. It eluded me.

Frustrated, I moved to Ohio to finish my degree and further my education. I lived a short walk from Lake Erie, yacht clubs, and bike trails. I enjoyed meeting new people and seeing new sites. One of the top ten small zoos in the country, a fabulous museum of art, a top-notch sports arena and concert venue … I drank them all in.

Like all the cities I’d lived in, I saw the ugly side — the stuff they don’t talk about on the Chamber of Commerce and tourist websites: human trafficking, rampant drug use, violence and crime. I became involved in programs structured to solve problems brought about by the human condition and hoped I was making a difference.

I was busy. I worked as a secretary, bartender and waitress all at once while in college. I had so many balls in the air, I tired of juggling. I went back to editing and writing and slowly learned to balance my time with work, play, and championing human rights.

The things I saw on the streets I cannot unsee. Sad stories piled up on my heart from victims of sexual abuse and violence. Of addiction and poverty. Of the lack of basic needs for people who were lost. There were never enough resources to stem the tide of hopelessness I encountered.

Then there were the people I dealt with who fueled the problems for their own benefit: pimps and dealers, con artists, thieves, and manipulators. They stole souls with abandon. Unapologetic, they arrogantly defended their right to screw people over.

It was exhausting.

My personal life left a lot to be desired as well. A broken heart. A crushed spirit. A string of false friendships.

I got a second chance

Through some miracle, I reunited with a man I’d had a crush on decades earlier and he wooed me home to Michigan. He lived on a lake less than an hour from the one where I had been raised.

I had come full circle.

The first week, I tried to reacclimate myself to the slow rhythms of country life. I borrowed his bicycle and took a ride around. I had planned to stick to the streets hugging the shoreline to see the beautiful views and check out the area.

Midway through my ride, a took a left when I should have taken a right. A dirt road was calling my name. A few miles off-course, I began to smile, thanking God I had found my way home. Here, it was safe. Peaceful. So different from the city.

I finally learned my lesson

I spotted two figures ahead strolling down the middle of the road and squinted to make them out. They weren’t people — animals of some kind. As I grew closer, I realized they were donkeys. I looked around, but no one was in sight. The animals moved with purpose, and at a fast clip, as if they knew where they were going.

I eased up on the pedals, not wanting to get too close. I’d been around horses before, but knew nothing of donkeys. They were unfamiliar beasts.

They kick, right? Do they bite? Attack? I knew they were stubborn. No! That’s mules! But donkeys and mules are related, aren’t they? My mind was pilfering through all the dusty files in my head filled with useless facts. There were too many cobwebs to sweep away.

They eased over to the side and appraised me as I cautiously passed by. My heart was in my throat. Previously unimagined bloody scenarios raced through my brain.

Perfect example of two asses. Photo courtesy of author.

Once they were a safe distance behind me, I realized nothing had changed.

No matter where I roamed, there’s always a couple of asses trying to stop me from getting to where I wanted to go.

That was the last time I let them intimidate me.