The New Warrior Weekend

The New Warrior Weekend

As the time comes for my New Warrior Weekend with the Mankind Project, I grow increasingly uneasy.

Clyde and I rise early, making our way to the airport by 7:10. An hour later, we land in Atlanta.

The day blurs by. We eat lunch at Cowtippers. We make our way to John and Jeri’s condo. We let ourselves in. We watch the clock tick down the seconds to my departure time.

About 2:00, I decide not to go. “It sounds like you guys are going to have an incredible weekend,” I say. “I’m staying.”

“Really?” Clyde asks.

“There’s no way this New Warrior Weekend can give me a greater benefit than a weekend in my favorite city with my best friends,” I say. “That’s it. I’m not going. I’ll lose the deposit. I don’t care.”

“That’s fine,” Clyde says.

“I’m really not going,” I say again.

“Okay,” Clyde says.

I stare at the clock. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen.”

“Neither do I,” Clyde says.

I think about my friend, Turpin. Turpin, whom I admire a great deal, worked hard to convince me to try the New Warrior Weekend. “I gave my word,” I say. “I promised Turpin I would go. So I can’t not go.”

Clyde frowns at the double negative, but nods. “Okay.”

“I need to keep my commitments,” I say.

“Okay,” Clyde says.

“So I’m going,” I say.

Clyde shrugs. “That’s fine.”

At three o’clock, I make my way to the parking lot of St. Mark United Methodist, where Bob, another participant, waits for me in his car. Bob looks exactly like he sounds on the phone: comfortable, easy-going, dependable, smart. He has streaks of gray throughout his wavy hair, and a friendly, earnest face.

Andrew shows up a few minutes later, younger than all of us, bearded, and full of energy. He hands out squares of Ghiradelli chocolate.

With everyone introduced, it’s time to go.

As the time comes for my New Warrior Weekend with the Mankind Project, I grow increasingly uneasy.

Clyde and I rise early, making our way to the airport by 7:10. An hour later, we land in Atlanta.

The day blurs by. We eat lunch at Cowtippers. We make our way to John and Jeri’s condo. We let ourselves in. We watch the clock tick down the seconds to my departure time.

About 2:00, I decide not to go. “It sounds like you guys are going to have an incredible weekend,” I say. “I’m staying.”

“Really?” Clyde asks.

“There’s no way this New Warrior Weekend can give me a greater benefit than a weekend in my favorite city with my best friends,” I say. “That’s it. I’m not going. I’ll lose the deposit. I don’t care.”

“That’s fine,” Clyde says.

“I’m really not going,” I say again.

“Okay,” Clyde says.

I stare at the clock. “I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen.”

“Neither do I,” Clyde says.

I think about my friend, Turpin. Turpin, whom I admire a great deal, worked hard to convince me to try the New Warrior Weekend. “I gave my word,” I say. “I promised Turpin I would go. So I can’t not go.”

Clyde frowns at the double negative, but nods. “Okay.”

“I need to keep my commitments,” I say.

“Okay,” Clyde says.

“So I’m going,” I say.

Clyde shrugs. “That’s fine.”

At three o’clock, I make my way to the parking lot of St. Mark United Methodist, where Bob, another participant, waits for me in his car. Bob looks exactly like he sounds on the phone: comfortable, easy-going, dependable, smart. He has streaks of gray throughout his wavy hair, and a friendly, earnest face.

Andrew shows up a few minutes later, younger than all of us, bearded, and full of energy. He hands out squares of Ghiradelli chocolate.

With everyone introduced, it’s time to go.

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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Who Wrote This?

Mark McElroy

I'm a husband, mystic, writer, media producer, creative director, tinkerer, blogger, reader, gadget lover, and pizza fiend.

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