Adventures in America

A story because I can't sleep

Hope. Is like a chronic injury. Pounding on it day after day causes it to hurt even when I don’t think I am using it. Hope. Makes me smile and then cry.
I promised someone something ages ago. Nerve-wracking to get things going again. Somehow I found myself driving north on the highway that night during the snowstorm that always follows the January Thaw. That morning I saw my neighbor running in cotton terry baby-blue shorts. She waved to me as I got the paper from the bin at the front porch.
I walked back up through the hall that was much too warm since the weather had taken to acting up over the past week. I set the paper down on my counter and looked at the small apartment. Boxes lined the walls – but I had managed to unpack the kitchen. Instead of utilizing the work, I settled on a bowl of cereal before realizing I didn’t have any milk.
Water and cereal make for a bad start to any day. I had moved in the afternoon before and was awed to see that I managed to pack up as many boxes as I did. I never realized there was so much that I had been living without the past year.
The best way to get over something is to go abroad. At least it worked in a movie I saw – several actually. In my case it only served as a distraction. The something found me, indirectly, after I got back to the states.
A postcard had managed its way to my parent’s house. I got it last week. Six months after it was sent. There wasn’t anything particularly important about it, except that somewhere in-between the buildings that lined the old down town I found an opportunity.
It was a chance I never took when I should have. Life stops and restarts, resets and reasserts itself. After a year abroad, I finally understood that it was ok for me to, as well.
Thinking about the postcard, I dug through a box marked “College” and dragged the dusty book out. It was all I had left, and I felt like trading it in.
So that day I left my boxes half opened and unemptied to make an unexpected trip. His parents were shocked that he should have a visitor here. He only showed up for holidays anymore. His mother was hesitant to give out an address, she didn’t recognize me after all; we only met once anyway.
I started on the road after lunch and ended up visiting with an old friend along the way. She smiled at me. Who wouldn’t at such a long-shot? Four hours is a bit much to drive, and a lot of pressure for a book I could have left with his mother. When I left my friend, with promises that I would fill her in on the story, we had both neglected to discuss anything that had happened in the long year we had been apart. Such is hope. It clouds vision too.
But after just a few minutes the snow was rolling and dancing across the highway. Things had turned slick in the time I had been off the road, and the trees – so vulnerable at the thought of spring – had to take hold and bear the freeze. Those that bloomed too early faced a tough spring, and those that were too brittle had limbs all over the road.
Cars moved like slow, white cattle and three hours soon stretched into five. I looked over at the book, still dusty except for my finger-marks, and wondered what was worth this. How would he view this – crazy is how. Crazy was how I felt. I had been back for just over a week. I was barely over the jet-lag, and the temperature change was killing me. At least I would have a nice tan when I met him.
I looked down at the address his mother had scrawled. By now she would have called her son. Would he know it was me? Perhaps he would assume I’d mail the book. Maybe he would imagine I’d drive up at some point – but not that very day.
The great thing about unemployment is that time isn’t a commodity. It is, instead, just a concept of how you divide the world. Who cares about five or six hours (even if they turn into half a day or longer), it was a wild exciting chance to take. My once-in-a-lifetime moment. I was making up for something I should have done long ago, something sensibility and society frowned on.

Frown on.
I’ll smile until it is time to join society in that endeavor.
The directions indicated a right turn, but really it turned out to be a left. I found a place to park the icicled car. It dropped a little slush as I slammed the red door.
I brushed off the dust from its jacket with my furry gloves as I made my way to the entranceway. What if he wasn’t home? I would have to drive back empty handed. But no – I wouldn’t do that. I would have to wait it out somewhere, until he got back. I began to think if there was anyone I knew up here. I remembered one person, but I wasn’t sure if I had her phone number anymore. I quieted my thoughts, tried to brush away my doubts, and walked to the doorway.
They had buzzers. I pressed number five. “Hello?” I recognized his voice over the cracking speaker.

posted by Melissa @ 3:18 AM