The lady at the seminar was trying to help us see our highest, best selves.
I was there only because my husband had changed his life because of this thing and he wanted me to have it, too. I figured I owed him for all the years he's listened to me talk about transformers, all the jokes he's shared with Imaginary Megatron or Starscream, the times he's told people so proudly that I've written books about these bots. This seminar was the type of thing I would normally avoid like it was poison. But I was there, I was willing to participate and try to get all I could out of it. (If I was going to take three days off of work and leave the kids on their own till the evening, I had better try and make sure it was worth it!)
I thought a lot about what I would wear each of the three days of the seminar. Most of the time, I wear clothes as utilities, thinking only of what I need to do that day and what would best serve that purpose. I'll go so far as choosing a color to fit (or fix) my mood, but that's usually it. Sometimes though, my clothes and my accessories are tokens. They are roots and reminders of the Me I want to be that day. The toughest times – the most demanding situations – they are armor. This seminar was an armor/token/utility/tool situation. I needed all my resources. So I wore red. I wore jackets. I wore my Matrix of Leadership shirt, my 'Transformation' necklace a friend got me to represent Prime&Elita&Megatron in my universe. If I had been a knight, I would have come into that seminar mounted on a big draft horse, with heavy sword and tower-shield, in full plate-armor, with my lady's token tucked into my wrist.
My main worry was brainwashing. Not that I thought these people were going to full-on hypnotize me into doing something that I didn't want to do (that was a different seminar he went to!), but it did have a worryingly cult-like feel. So while I was willing to try things for the sake of my husband, I was also determined that nobody-no one-nothing would persuade me to do anything I didn't choose with both eyes open.
So in this particular class, the lady (graceful, gray-haired, tall and slender like an aspen all in white) was leading us in a 'guided visualization.' She was trying to help us find and see our "highest selves." She started by telling us to imagine we were barefoot on a trail out in a forest, had us listen to the birds, told us to walk.
Well, I already know who my best self is. It is Prime. Prime is the shorthand anchor I use to mean me as a courageous, loving, honorable, strong, and faithful person. So I took off on vacation. And I felt myself begin to smile. This is the story of where I went, and with whom.
The lady was trying to get us all to feel completely safe and peaceful in imaginary nature. "Where would I-Prime feel completely safe in nature?" I wondered. Most Earth-places I'm too big; I break stuff just by walking. I have to move carefully every moment I am here. I feel like I bring 'unsafeness' with me!
But the Salt Flats, now… (seriously, Google them. I'll wait.) That's the place where people bring their fastest land-speeders to test out on miles and miles of flat white salt. I could do anything I wanted there, and leave no mess. That sounded perfect. And the funny thing was, it was absolutely opposite of where the lady wanted us to go – as a human, I find the Salt Flats to be terrifying. I get terrified of not having enough water, of car-breakdowns; I am always sure I'll end up dead and pickled. The vast white wasteland overwhelms me. But to Prime, it's an alien playground he can't squish.
"Megs!" I called. "Want to go trukkin' in the Salt Flats?"
He was game.
When Dark of the Moon came out, I teased my bond-brother mercilessly for adopting an also-truck like I had. I mean, when has Megatron EVER wanted to be like me? (Answer: a lot; but he would die before admitting it.) But we both know (and of course he will remind me on every occasion) that his truck is much more hardcore-MadMax-awesome than mine ever is. So we're even, I guess. Anyway, we both pulled on our movieverse truck-modes (NOT the new bulbous Prime one; I hate that one; it has three smokestacks and is thus reminiscent of that compensating upstart, Roddy!) and we dieseled off in engine-growling glee.
We stayed far way from the Bonneville Racetrack: our tires would have left ruts for decades on the carefully smoothed surface. We went instead out to the miles and miles of "useless" emptiness, where no one would see us cavorting. And then oh reader, verily we did cavort! The good thing about being a TRUK is that, sure, you might be heavy and sink into the deeper, softer salt; but you have really, really low gears to dig out of it. And the good thing about being a transformer is, if you get reeeally stuck, you just transform, walk out, and shake it off! (Though if I'd blasted Taylor Swift through my speakers, I think Megatron would have tackled me to the ground. Which means I probably did it just to annoy him!)
We drove around with abandon – watching our tracks loop into figure-eights, spirals, and zig-zags. Oh, it was fun! We felt the hot white sunshine on our metal backs. We watched it glint off each other's windshields. We felt the salt beneath us crunch and crumble and sink down in sudden, unexpected softness of soupy water underneath. We got filthy, and didn't care. I mean, we've survived a gazillion years of all-out war; a little salt ain't gonna hurt us.
After trundle-driving for miles in aimless meanders, whooping and hollering and "Watch this!"-ing to each other till our voice-boxes were sore, we both transformed and flopped onto our backs, and let the vastness and the stillness take us.
I looked up into the blue-white sky, at the sun shining there like always. I listened to the ticking of my cooling engine, felt my metal plating soaking up the rays, felt strong and whole and utterly at peace. Not much lives there in the nothingness of white. Maybe a seagull or a buzzard flew disinterestedly overhead, but that was it. I listened to the silence and the soft brush of the wind. Without thinking, both Megatron and I reached out to hold each other's hand. And we just lay there, being still and safe on an alien planet. It was blissful.
Finally, feeling salt-stiff, we lumbered to our feet and stumbled off to fall headlong into the Great Salt Lake. Its brackish waters only changed dry salt for wet – with added tiny mussels and brine-shrimp for extra crunch – but we played there like children, whooping and splashing and making a mess. We'd have to shower for about a month, but it was worth it. Besides, we've got practice helping one another reach the tricky bits, heh heh.
At the end of the exercise, the lady asked if anyone wanted to share what they had seen. What they had learned about their highest, truest selves. I smiled, and kept silent. If my highest and best self is a muck-covered robot-truck, so what? It's a HAPPY, healthy, brave, and honest muck-covered robot who just had the time of his life.
I treasure this memory like it's real.