Highway Connection

One crisp autumn Saturday morning, the falling leaves were forming a colorful quilt across the ground, and the promise of winter was in the air. The sweet pungent smell wafting from my neighbors burning leaf piles was also a reminder of the season. I was setting off on my periodic road trip to visit family who lived three hours away. I made this trip three or four times a year and it was always long and uneventful. I decided to follow m routine and purchase a cup of coffee to keep me company along the way. I soon spotted one of those gas-station-store-type places that carry everything from hair curlers and fishing worms to master brake cylinders.

I rolled in passing a young lady drinking a Dr. Pepper and pumping diesel into a tan Peugeot 505 turbo sedan. I parked, but as I got out of my car, I found myself inexplicably drawn to a second look. She was in her mid '20s, wearing purple sneakers, baggy jeans, and a brown suede jacket. She wore a baseball cap with a dark-colored ponytail flowing out over the size adjustment tab in the back. Something about her intrigued me.

I put her out of my mind, entered the store, and scouted out the coffee area, eager to get back to the road. I was sure that a young girl driving a car of that sort had other ties and a life already mapped out. I thought to myself, “Just two ships passing in the night with different schedules, agendas and destinations. Never to meet again.” I poured my coffee and hesitated over the stale donut display just for a moment before moving on. I stepped up to the counter to pay and noticed the young lady had come up behind me in line. As I fumbled for my change, I chanced a sideward glance at the face in front of the ponytail. I nearly dropped my coins. I was looking into the most beautiful face I had ever encountered. She did not have the fabricated beauty of Hollywood stars or television beauty queens. She had a natural beauty that was from another time and place, though I knew not when or where. There was a peculiar intimacy about her that touched some deep long-forgotten nerve in me.

The checkout person asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

Dazed, I paid for my coffee and went out the door, having no words for that face. Miss ponytail, as I came to call her, was right behind me as I made my way to what I called “The Boat,” my old Pontiac Catalina. I paused at my door and glanced her way as she walked past me to her waiting Peugeot sedan. Once again, my soul was rocked by her incredible radiance, and I lost all memory of the English language. Our eyes met for one brief eternity, and volumes of communication took place. My heart described the wonders of a universe made for two and the indescribable familiarity of the moment. Then suddenly, she was gone.

I got into my car, feeling as though I had just completed some noble adventure that made everything right in the world and in my heart. A warm, bittersweet sensation seemed to permeate my whole being. I was only partially aware of where I was as I drove through the lot and stopped at the entrance to check for traffic. Before merging, I reached up to adjust my rearview mirror, and there she was. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that tan Peugeot with Miss Ponytail waiting to pull out after me. Suddenly, the story wasn't over but merely beginning. Renewed and endless possibilities flooded my mind and gave me a new vision of the road ahead. My direction was clearer, the day was brighter and I grasped at the promise of connection.

I now entered the flow of traffic secure because I was not alone in my journey. Miss Ponytail was right behind me, and somehow, at least for the moment, our direction, as well as our destiny, was entwined along this beautiful highway we call life. We were no longer single entities shuttled about in separate vehicles to different destinations, but together we were ready to face whatever roadblocks might crop up to impede our progress. We traveled the open highway, hardly aware of the many miles we were leaving behind us. I was leading as she closely followed, trying not to lose sight of me. She seemed content to follow my lead at this point. She was a joyful addition to the road trip, and her presence gave me renewed confidence in my direction for life itself. I felt more able to meet the detours and avoid the potholes that clutter our paths from time to time.

Life was good, and pure, and right just as God intended it to be. In the book of Genesis, God said, "It's not good for man to be alone." And I was in total agreement. Yet, for all the good feelings I was having, there was a slight anxious tug at the periphery of my thoughts that I could not identify. I was not sure if it was real or imagined. A few miles later, it became painfully apparent as a highway sign came into view, announcing my eastern turnoff. I suspected that not only was it my turnoff, but also a parting of the way for Miss Ponytail and me. I was afraid that our time together was coming to an end. The odds of her continuing to follow me was remote at best. I exited the road we had traveled together in harmony with a heavy heart. But, looking back, I was glad for the memories and the smiles we shared.

I traveled my new route in deep contemplation of how Miss Ponytail had made my normally routine journey so much more. I was still smiling, thinking of the previous miles when I heard a horn and was shaken from my reverie. The creamy tan Peugeot passed me and playfully cut in front of me. My heart soared, and my thoughts were fueled by the goodness of life. We played leapfrog for the next 15 or 20 miles, passing one another and testing our horns. We were giggling children again with childlike trust. We displayed a friendship born out of a shared need for intimacy based on the fact that we were strangers. We had nothing to hide and nothing to lose but our anonymity, which was mutually protected by the steel tonnage that separated and carried us along. We were on that road by sheer freedom of choice, arrived at by our compelling need of the obscurity our proximity afforded us.

The road was, once again, filled with promise and delight. It became narrow at times and challenging as we deferred to and made room for each other. Then it would open wide and inviting, enabling a view of one another. There were interludes when things became bumpy, rough, and nearly impassable. There were surprising curves and bends where we would lose sight of each other. We experienced construction zones, detours and low visibility at times, but we managed to ride it out together. No matter how bad the road became we would eventually always come to a welcomed bridge that spanned the troubled waters and valleys in our journey together. It was a fantastic dreamlike odyssey we played out along the highways and byways of life.

We were moving along a four-lane highway side by side, warmed by the nearness we shared when I saw a fork in the road ahead. I cast desperate, furtive glances at Miss Ponytail, but she would not look my way. I believed she had some sixth sense revealing to her what was about to happen. Just as we entered the fork, she headed north and I south, I thought I saw a solitary tear rolling forever down her cheek. Then she was gone.

Once again, I was alone on the highway searching out my own peace of mind, feeling a little richer for having known Miss Ponytail. Yet, I refused to acknowledge the deep, penetrating void she had left in her wake. It was time to get on down the road. I began looking for a place to buy a cup of coffee to go. The feeling of deja vu brought a smile to my face, and sure enough, there it was—one of those gas-station-store-type places that carry everything from hair curlers and fishing worms to master brake cylinders.

I rolled in, passing a young lady drinking a can of coke and studying a map she had spread out over the hood of her fiery red, fuel-injected, Jaguar SKE. I went on by and parked, but as I got out of my car, I found myself inexplicably drawn to a second look.