On the Road

Life on the Road…

Part of this journey, has also been one of self-discovery. Driving is an ideal venue for this; the mind numbing monotony of the tires on the tarred asphalt and the drumming to the wheels on the pavement allows the mind to wander. Admittedly, it returns to several singular thoughts, my family, my writing, my emotional turmoil. 

  Have you ever tried not to think about something? No matter what, it will seep in in like water under the door, flooding the basement of your mind. I drive and images float across the crevices of my mind like a monarch butterfly dropping down lighting on every flower and creating new life.  When this occurs it’s time to turn on the tunes, blare out the memories and check on my social media family.

Frequently, I am checking in on my social media family. The new trend this week are people are posting anonymous threads. Some are funny, some are sexy, some are heart wrenching, some are mean. The group members comment or like or even ignore. The amazing aspect about this group is that through it all we fight, support, defend and love because that’s what family does and that’s what these anonymous posts are: they are life at its different points and the responses are what family members do. We laugh, we flirt, we, cry, we ignore, we bitch, we complain, and then most of all we love.

I chose this group because of its familial feeling. Part of my interviewing process is to ask what other groups people belong to. I myself belong to several. Nothing out there compares to this. This twisted group of freaks. The more people I meet, the more commonalities I find between the underlying threads that connect us across state lines. Many of us have come from alcohol, drug, and abuse home-life and relationships. Many of us have had suffered some great losses in our lives. Many of us suffer from some kind of addiction: drug, alcohol, sexual, gambling. Many of us have questioned our sexuality. Many of us have contemplated suicide. Through all of these struggles and continuing struggles we have found our way into this twisted family of hope and understanding.

My first night out: 

Night One:The first night I was sleeping in a rest stop. It’s one thirty in the morning and I’m checking in with the group. The windows on my eclipse are extra dark, so I don’t realize a black man has walked up to the window of my car and knocks loudly. The sound explodes through the car causing me to grab the small 32 in my lap and aimlessly point in at the blackened window. I can’t see what I am pointing at because the light of the cell phone has blinded me on top of the darkness.

The man is a pan handler, a beggar, he asks for money or lose change. I’m so irate and scared, that I grab a dollar from the toll money in the center console, slightly roll down the window, aim my gun, rap star gangster style side cocked and hand him the dollar. He just stands there afraid to come closer.

“Here, take it” I yell. Gingerly, he moves forward, quickly grasps it and thanks me and apologizes profusely.

I believe I am the only 40 year old white woman in history to hold a gun on a person and force them to take cash.