Not Even Once
Not even once.
This phrase was cut from sheet metal on a barn roof in Northwestern Montana. Each of the letters was affixed by nails whose heads probably rusted the same week they were installed, so it was hard to know just how long it had been there.
Although it wasn’t phrased as a question, it certainly suggested mystery. After sixty thousand miles and two years on the road, I had seen my fair share of roadside oddities, but did on this one. A look in the mirror confirmed it.
Not even once.
The “once” was the crux of it. Whatever didn’t occur, it was supposed to happen - and often. But instead, the unknown event was silent and still. It left a hole deep enough that someone lifted themselves out of bed and created this installation instead of watching TV or opening a beer or staring at the wall.
“This existential game of never-have-I-ever had me gripping the steering wheel to ground myself. ”
The words were carefully sculpted through time, patience, energy, and care. Its creator decided on the material, located the metal, measured, cut, and shaped letters large enough to be read from the road. Then they climbed a ladder and nailed everything down, paying mind to evenly spacing those letters. Maybe they did it under the hot sun or a coating of snow. Maybe they were buffeted by the winds that made this stretch of highway famous for tipping tractor trailers.
What could it possibly be referring to? Intense curiosity about the circumstances turned to frustration and in attempt to find an answer I asked it of myself. What scenario of my own would lead to the urge to create something like this?
I asked myself whether it was a place, a person, or a version of myself I never got to be. Maybe it was a feeling. I guessed at some answers and was mystified by my inability to provide others. This existential game of never-have-I-ever had me gripping the steering wheel to ground myself.
Only the metal roof artist will know why they did it. If I could, I would ask them whether making it helped. Whether pointing that sentiment towards the sky filled the vacancy. Whether they felt lighter when they took down the ladder and put it back in the shed.
I hope it allowed them to see whatever they were missing in their rear view mirror too.
Inspired by events in Northwestern Montana
which resides on the unceded land of the Kootenai and Salish nations.
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