The Fountain

I knew today wasn’t an option, the flight had arrived late last night and the tall, slender, dark skinned gentleman at the hotel desk, whose hair looked more like a coating of gloss black paint than anything natural, and who was effeminate to the point of being comical, informed me that they were over booked and he was sending me elsewhere, and that he, personally, would be orchestrating the event.
After the complimentary dinner at the lobby bar, It took nearly half an hour for the cab to transport me to the alternative hotel, which I discovered the next morning to be only nine blocks away, with all of the streets apparently being one way, and all in the wrong direction. It had been after eleven when I finally inserted the plastic card into the door, saw the flashing green light and heard the distinctive snap of the electronic lock.


I got a bad feeling when I arrived at the booth space the next morning and found it empty. A visit to the ehxibitor service desk only confirmed my fears. There was no record of the shipment even being in town. I calmly sent the local labor home, knowing I had three days until the show opened, and spent the next two hours on the phone, walking back and forth between the desk and the space (not a short distance by any means) until I was satisfied that the freight would be arriving that afternoon, four days after the promised delivery date.

With my work day thwarted I decided to explore the city, my only two other visits here being twenty nine hour days between flights, but first I had to figure out what to do with my luggage. The second hotel had not been a permanent move, only available for the one night, and I’d checked out and was dragging my rolling suitcase around with me. It really wasn’t an unusual sight in this part of town, being so close to exhibit halls, but it was a bit annoying. I decided to wander over to my original accommodations, knowing it was far too early to check in, but wanting some reassurance that I had a place to sleep for the remainder of my stay, and hoping they had somewhere I could leave my bag.

The aquarium was only a few blocks away so that would be first. I could make amends for missing out in San Francisco at the whim of the seven year old dictator. I walked over, passed through the weapons screening (apparently the confiscation rate is high), paid my twenty four dollars and went in. It was worth every cent, the place was spectacular. I spent a couple of hours wandering through past the sea horses, sharks, whales and otters until I was satisfied that I’d missed nothing and then exited into the heat of the day through the gift shop, the only way out, thinking very briefly about picking something up for the girls as I passed the stuffed seals and dolphins, but abandoning the idea as quickly as it had come. It would be meaningless since they weren’t here with me.
I still had three hours before I could check in so I walked the streets of Atlanta, investigating the surrounding neighborhoods, looking for what might be real, for what might give this city its character, moving away from the downtown area where roving bands of teenagers wearing pink t shirts with Jesus emblazoned on them try to convert passers by.
I didn’t find much and at three as I nearly considered taking the CNN tour, the front desk called and I would be allowed upstairs. I only stayed long enough to retrieve my luggage and then went back over to the hall to make sure that I would, in fact, have something to work with the next morning. It was nearly six when I finally locked the door and climbed into the recliner by the pseudo bay window.
The next morning I woke with with aching shins and calves and it took me a little while to realize that I’d walked around town for nearly ten and a half hours the day before. The soreness shouldn’t have been surprising. There would be no running today, and probably not tomorrow either. This wasn’t good, and the problem was compounded later in the day when I offered to assist a couple of women across the aisle who appeared to be struggling and managed to do something unpleasant to my left hip in the process. Now I was a wreck, hunched over and limping. That night at dinner I had serious doubts that the Atlanta run that I had planned was even possible.
Thursday brought more pain and a workday that went well past eight. Most of my body parts were complaining now and the hotel bed wasn’t helping either, with the overly soft mattress contributing lower back pain to the mix.


The view from my fourteenth floor window offered the pristine Centennial Park and the fountain that had been built for the infamous ninety six Olympics. It consisted of a series of evenly spaced water jets at regular intervals in the form of the five rings that comprised the symbol of the games. The jets and the drainage grating that made up the actual circles were flush with the paving stones and were now utilized by the local population as a public sprinkler. During the day screeching children ran in and out of the programmed sequences, none of which sent the water spouts more than six feet into the air.
Three times daily, familiar concertos and pop tunes were pumped through nearby speakers and the water would dance to the music. The public was asked to stay out of the spray during these performances. I’d witnessed a portion of one of these as I passed one evening, promising myself that in a final tribute to this city I would dash through the fountain at the end of my run.

Friday morning had arrived, this was my last day here, and my last opportunity. The show opens at nine so there would be no calls from the client and my flight wasn’t until after six that evening. I stood at the window and stared out at the gradually brightening sky, the park and the cranes, wavering, wondering, still feeling the pain in my calves and my hip.
If I was going to do this I would have to get out there soon, before full sun and the rising temperature, maybe just a lap around the park, maybe half an hour, maybe three miles, I could manage that under the worst of circumstances.
I made my decision, brushed my teeth, threw on a pair of shorts and a t shirt, made my way down to the lobby and pushed through the revolving door to the sidewalk, walked the block that took me to the first path, turned left into the park, and I was off. The pain in my legs and my hip seemed to evaporate almost immediately… I knew I could do this.

The edge of the manicured lawns and pathways ended quickly and I exited, crossed the street and continued behind the aquarium where one of those pervasive, poured concrete buildings was under construction, there were many here. I thought I might circle back at the end of the attraction, but felt all right now and continued on, into the neighborhoods where the sidewalks were cracked and broken and graffiti strewn retaining walls rimmed empty parking lots.
I had no idea Atlanta was so contoured, these were not the gentle rolling hills of Central Park, they were steep and long and unforgiving. I tried to Rook my way along, take part of a hill and then turn, moving along a flat or a down slope.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, relaxing, this has become a symbol of the two mile mark, always occurring at the same distance, without fail and without deliberate thought.
I didn’t know the streets, coming upon dead ends and more construction, and there was traffic, and there were people on the sidewalks, and I had no idea where I was, but I kept going. My hotel was at the CNN center, if I could see the letters I could navigate back, and it would be a few more blocks of climbing before I spotted them. Now it was a matter of finding the next overpass to cross the highway and make my way back to the far end of the park. It would be down hill all the way to the edge of the grass where five flights of stairs would bring me back to the paths and the last part of the journey where the fountain was anxiously awaiting my arrival.
I was moving uphill again as I got closer. I’d been concerned when I’d begun that the fountain might not be operating so early in the morning, and it wasn’t when I’d left, but now I could see the spouts, and the ever changing landscape. I passed it by this time in favor of the upper tier and the stage where last nights revival meeting made itself known through the sealed, thermal panes of my room’s exterior. I passed it again on the way down, one more lap around the lower field and then I would make that last dash through the rings that would bring closure.
The first series of jets dropped as I entered, then jumped up as I got to the next, obviously controlled by sensors below the grating. There was just enough room to squeeze in between, and I was in the fifth circle when one of them caught me up the left side, giving me a good soaking. I walked away... and then back, slowly, into the center of the third ring, and stood still as the mist from the much tinier, perimeter jets enveloped me, the only person here, blocking any view of my surroundings and shrouding me from anyone that might be passing by.
After a short walk to cool down I went back to the lobby, sweaty and chlorinated, but content, and wearing a smile that probably would have appeared a little bit odd to anyone who might have noticed. I could leave here now, I was done.