When Justin was visiting me, he bent down at one point, in the brilliant Oklahoma sunshine, and came up from the bottom of my car with a tiny yellow pill. "What's this?" he said.
"I don't know," I said.
"Let's look it up!" he said, with the vim only someone with an iPhone can display, and he signaled to the Internet Gods. Who failed him as only the rickety Cingular network can, and we forgot about it until we looked at his iPhone later and discovered that what he had plucked from the bottom of my passenger seat was a single serving of Ativan.
Since I don't take anti-anxiety medication, and neither does he, we guessed it had come from one of my ride-sharers. No wonder everyone seemed so calm; they were probably doped to the gills. The Ativan is sitting on my dashboard now, as a reminder that everyone needs a little help sometimes, and just because someone needs medication, doesn't make them dangerous or crazy or worthless. Not that I needed a reminder. Or maybe I'm keeping it in case I need it someday. :)
This for some reason reminded me of trinitite.
Trinitite is a manmade rock; green glass, fused by Oppenheimer's nuclear testing in the New Mexico deserts at the so-called 'Trinity Site.' It's not always green. Sometimes it's red, coloring from copper wires from the bomb itself or gauges on the tower; sometimes it's black, because of high iron content from the tower itself. It's all superheated in the core of an atomic explosion and re-crystallized.
I am fascinated by this stuff. For one thing, I am positive this is what Neil Gaiman was talking about when he wrote of an ancient desert, full of pieces of green glass left over from when a city destroyed itself. That is what would be left if we blew ourselves up: the fused remnants of what used to be civilization.
Gives you pause.