The Open Road Before Us

“Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.”

-Walt Whitman

Mountains of words. Valleys of sentences. Rivers and lakes full of alphabet fish. Meadows overflowing with paragraphs. I’ve always noticed these things, but I’ve had no one to share them with. That’s probably because I traveled too much due to my father’s job.

Fun fact, I’ve never stayed in the same state for an entire year. I wasn't complaining though because I liked my life a whole lot; endless freedom, daring adventures, new people to meet every day, and a particular favorite of mine, stuffing myself with beef jerky strips at every gas station, it was great. I’ve probably never told you that my Papa was a singer but not the type that performs live on stage. You're probably thinking, how is that even possible? but hear me out.

My Papa and I lived with no limitations, with the stars and the highway serving as our road map. We’re like our ancestors, the nomads, who traveled the world as permanent wanderers. We never knew where tomorrow would take us, but everything sort of worked its way out for us. Living on the road was tough, but Papa and I managed.

To earn a living, Papa worked at numerous diners on the side of the highway by volunteering to sing, mostly during the nighttime, for the customer’s entertainment. Unfortunately for me, the innocent and carefree mind which should be expected at age thirteen, had been cut tragically short and the horrors of the world had long before been opened up to me.

***

As Papa offered his services at dusk, I waited just outside the warm and welcoming light of the diner while I practiced my lip reading skills. While I observed Papa enter and push open the door I listened to the tinkling golden bell perched on top of the wooden door, reminding me of a majestic golden eagle I once saw a long, long time ago. I reminded myself to shake off the memory.

I crossed my arms over my cramped and faded navy jean jacket to keep warm, my breath quickened even though the temperature had suddenly dropped at least twenty degrees. I then viewed the horizon and carefully watched the radiant orange sun sink into the dusty prairies, not daring to blink my watering eyes for fear that I might miss a second of feasting my eyes on such a marvelous sight. The bare and cracked simplisticity of the plains and littered cacti in Baker, California could even rival the Wonders of the World, the scene set before me was so breathtaking. So much indescribable beauty, too beautiful for my eyes to possibly face without blinding myself, bestowed me the sole capability to exclusively take in the fiery orb’s finale.

As the glowing halo issuing from the departed sun slowly diminished, night immediately consumed the remnants of light, distorting the once yellow and orange-ish tints into a mixed color palette of dark violets, crimson reds, and blue-black tinged shades which made up the majority of the sky.

I reluctantly lowered my gaze from the starry night sky to check on Papa. As usual, I observed him lean against the wall next to the Wait Here To Be Seated sign with his leather cowboy hat slanted at a precarious angle on top of his balding brown hair. He was waiting patiently in order to be noticed by one of the waiters in order to request to speak with the manager of the joint.

Once the information had been communicated to a young lady with dyed vivid pink hair and a fake gold plate attached onto her shirt bearing the name Chelsea, a common name for employees in Baker, the owner generally came out from the kitchen or office, if they were lucky to even have an office, and gestured for Papa to follow them. He nodded his head with much fervency, stood up from his leaning position with effort, and tiredly followed the owner with his feet slightly dragging behind.

I looked back up to the sky hopefully, but sighed as I realized that the night had already completely enveloped the colors of the fiery sun. As soon as Papa followed the manager, I don’t know what happened except that he asked the manager if he could sing and then they came out either shaking hands or with the manager pointing his finger angrily to the door for Papa to leave.

When the manager kicked Papa out, his head typically bent downward in a melancholy state which made him look much older than he really was. According to his attitude and behavior, I either knew whether or not dinner was to be served. When I heard the bell above the door tinkle, I moved toward the light of the diner as Papa approached me with his dignity restored to his soul and a beaming smile plastered across his face. As we greeted each other we smiled soundlessly and walked together to Alma side by side, who we usually left at the near deserted parking lot located at the back of the diner.

Good ol’ Alma always knew the way to enter our hearts and lighten our moods. Her colorful and tranquil baby blue curtains served as a hopeful welcoming to a peaceful sleep. Oh, it completely slipped my mind to tell you about Alma! You may be surprised about all my secrets, but I’m so sorry that I couldn’t tell you them…Well, Alma. Alma is our camper where Papa and I live. She is most likely the fanciest and expensivest of our belongings, besides Papa’s iphone, oh, and Mother’s jewelry but that’s not the point.

Anyways, Alma was a gift from Grandpa John, on my Mother’s side, after she passed which was about three years ago when I was twelve. John knew that Papa would do something rash due to his wife’s sudden death and he wanted to do something that would help me in some way, shape, or form. So, he decided to give us a modern camper which served as a house on wheels and gave us everything Papa and I needed to survive.

Directly after Mother’s funeral, Papa told me to follow him and I did. He led me to Alma, (her name was not given yet) placed some weather-beaten suitcases in the camper, turned the key in position, started the engine, and began to drive away from the memories, away from Mother, and away from his sorrow and pain. Grandpa John’s prediction was correct.

Papa was stuck in this emotional coma for about two months or so when suddenly he spoke a full sentence to me at a gas station while he filled Alma up with gas. The most he ever said since his coma were simple words like eat, bathroom, sleep, diner, or music. I remembered his first sentence to me very clearly: Look at this Iris. I looked up at the sound of my name and read the words MEET THE GIRL on Papa’s iphone.

The next thing I remembered was driving to New York City to meet a woman I knew nothing about except that her name was Rose Shirley. The funny thing is that I never became properly acquainted with Rose Shirley since Papa instantly put me into high school since he believed that they would be staying in New York City for a while.

It was a huge change for me: from rural and open desert, into busy and dirty paved streets. I couldn’t breathe as deeply and when I did, I often choked on gasoline from the tainted air. It was a life changing experience, but I knew that if Papa would be happy with Rose Shirley then I would be, too. So, I went to school to please Papa.

***

As you know, I entered Weston High School as a freshman where I met you. Adeline Lucy Roberts, the perfect name for you. I recalled our first encounter in math class too well.

During that lesson, we learned about trigonometry and since I had already learned this lesson when Papa homeschooled me in Alma, actually camperschooled me, on trig I thought that I didn’t need to relearn it so I pulled out Hamlet and began to read.

Mr. Girder, my math teacher, caught my eye and looked sternly at me, his face growing from a neutral color rising into a deep and unnatural shade of pink. I didn’t know what I did wrong and no one bothered to point it out to me until you came to my rescue, saving the damsel in distress. You kindly told me that reading was not allowed in class, unless instructed to do so, and that you would volunteer to show me the ropes of high school. I agreed but remained wary of Mr. Girder’s scarlet face the rest of the lesson, ready to help him medically in any manner possible.

***

The forming of our friendship passed in a blur. We continued to trust each other the longer we were together and were often thought of as twins separated at birth because of our close resemblance. I was able to share all my passions and troubles with you, but I could never bring myself to talk about my past with you for fear that I might bring rain on your sunshiney attitude and obviously because I made an oath to Papa to never talk about our past. And you know that I'm an honorable person and would not go back on my word.

Then, we were separated and it was Papa’s fault entirely. We had been in New York City for over eight months and I was even on the verge of asking Papa if we could settle and find a home near school to live instead of boarding at Shirley’s apartment, but I guess I spoke too soon.

It started when Papa woke me up at four a.m. in the morning, and I told him that I didn’t need to wake up for school for another two hours, but he didn’t listen. When I was more awake, I noticed that his eyes were red and puffy like he had been crying during the entire night. I was scared because I had never seen Papa so upset. He told me to go inside Alma with some of our luggage and wait for him there.

I’ll admit, I wasn’t thinking of you but the reason for that was because everything happened so suddenly that there really was no time to think. Once on the road, Papa drove silently with an occasional screech emitting from the tires. There was no music to break the buzzing noise silence creates.

After a few more hours of silence Papa began to speak. He told me he left because he found out that Shirley did not love him as he loved her. She had no affection for him whatsoever and told him this bluntly but kindly to his face last night. When he and a little girl showed up on her doorstep, she knew that she could not just leave them there, so she invited them into her house.

She never thought that he would become so attached to her and innocently believed that he was a poor relation sent to her, something which happened quite often to her. Papa had never told her about the app, so she never thought twice about it. Eventually, when he opened up his true affectionate feelings toward her, she responded in a gentle tone that she only liked him as a friend and that she already had a boyfriend. Papa then said that he found her account on MEET THAT GIRL and she replied tenderly and regretfully that she did indeed have an account, but that another lucky gentleman had already claimed her and that she had forgotten to take her account down.

I sincerely hope that this letter has answered any questions you have had on the tragic history of Iris. I’m sorry that I can’t tell you where I am, but Papa has made me swear an oath never to tell anyone our location, so it’s a miracle that I have written all this to you. You know that I despise keeping so many secrets from you, but Papa has ordered me to keep silent, even to you! Please don’t let distance cut our friendship. You know I never would have wanted this!

And so the next journey on the road began. Now, I am fifteen years old and Papa is still running from his sorrows and there is nothing I can do but continue to hope against hope that something will change in his behavior. I hope that this letter has explained some things. We are still the bestest of friends. Nothing will change that. Not distance. Nor miles. Nothing.

P.S - By the way, when I finished writing this letter to you, it stopped raining and a double rainbow appeared. That’s a lucky sign, right? I just thought that you would like to know and I believe that things are going to look up soon for me and Papa. Before I’ve run out of time and Papa discovers what I’ve been doing I just wanted to tell you …

Listen, we may never see or hear each other again but we can still write to each other in secret and be pen pals. Texting will never work because I don’t have a phone and even if I used Papa’s iphone he would eventually find out and at this moment he is not taking anything alright after the disappointment of the two people he loved most in the world. It’s amazing that he’s still able to sing and drive. Plus, even if I was able to text you, the messages would never have been as heartfelt and meaningful as an honest to goodness letter, as hopefully mine has served testimony to. I will never disobey Papa but he cannot stop me from communicating with my best friend. Don’t worry about the details surrounding our letter exchange, I already have it all figured out!

Your Dedicated Friend,

Iris

Adeline traces Iris’ beautiful handwriting and her tears that bedeck the letter with her fingers. She clutches the delicate letter to her heart, wishing with all her might that Iris would return to New York City. A small fragment of paper floats down from the letter. She places the precious letter on her bed and grabs the paper off the ground and turns it around. Adeline notices that it’s a piece of camera film with two girls who look so similar that they could be mistaken for twins, laughing and smiling with their arms around the others’ shoulder. She can tell that there is a sunset in the background, even though the photo is in black and white.

“Maybe we are not so far away,” Adeline whispers to the girls in the photo, “After all, we still see the same sunsets.”