Sanctuary, eh?

The yellow lines on the highway sped by in a blur, and we flew through the night, and we felt free. But we weren’t, and we knew it. We were running away from something, and running away was never the path to freedom. I thought about telling John to turn back. I thought about suggesting to stop at the next Rest Area because I really had to piss, but I know he’d just toss me an empty container and sarcastically say: “You’re welcome, dude.” Besides, I’m sure all the Rest Areas were closed. I decided to bypass that conversation with him, so I just wizzed in an empty Gatorade bottle. He turned up the radio with a scoff to drown out the sound of my tinkling. An oldies station was playing Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees, how fitting! haha.. I barely made it without spilling it all over the Cadillac’s purple velvet upholstery. Luckily, we didn’t hit any potholes, or I’d be hearing John’s wrath. I noticed my urine color was a healthy shade of pale yellow, so I felt a rush of relief knowing I was hydrated. We had to ration our limited drinking water. Well, Gatorade was our closest alternative. Tastes like watered down juice to me. Not my first choice, but as my Granny always says: “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Her wise words of advice couldn’t ring any truer than right now.. hope my sister and brother-in-law are taking care of Granny. She’s a gem. She lived through the Great Depression and I’m sure she’ll just add this hiccup to her Survival Stories to entertain us grandkids and great grandkids.

As John stopped at a red light in Seaford, I took this opportune moment to empty my piss bottle. How I differentiate between my piss bottle and drinking bottle is one has a label wrapper and the other doesn’t. Kinda like a spit bottle, haha.. but not. Fortunately, I never touched the stuff. Tobacco that is. Well, I’ve never drank piss either. Not my bag. No golden showers for me either. As if on cue, John absentmindedly adjusted his ballsack with a grunt and then blew a puff of Black & Mild cigar smoke in my face. I coughed into my bulging bicep and gave him the death stare. My phone alarm went off to remind me to take my vitamins, fiber supplements, and probiotics. As I silenced the noise, I muttered to myself: “Ugh, time doesn’t exist anymore..” As I began to open the childproof cap, I remembered that I cannot take these on an empty stomach, so I broke into my stash of MREs and grabbed the one on top.

I prepped my makeshift food station by wiping down my seat area with 90% rubbing alcohol because.. anti-bacterial wipes/sprays are sold out everywhere. My dinner tonight: veggie burger in BBQ sauce cooked with a flameless heater, lemon tea brewed with a hot beverage bag, dried fruit, chocolate banana muffin top, wheat snack bread, and a piece of gum. I leisurely consumed the contents. Under normal circumstances, I naturally engulf any food in front of me, but now.. I savor every bite. It was quite satisfactory. Surprisingly not bad. I’d give it a solid C+ on the Taste-O-Meter. I stared out the car window at the passing street lights, their luminescence was hypnotic, and the soft sultry song soothed my soul into a swift slumber.

We hit a pothole that disturbed my dream of having a round of drinks with the guys at a random dive bar. Suddenly, I felt an unexpected pressure on my protruding abdomen. Ugh, I had to make. I grabbed a stack of my old Auto Trader magazines. These will have to do.. doo.. because TP is outta stock everywhere!

“Hey, yo, man, I gotta build a log cabin. Pull over, dude,” I thumbed to the shoulder.

“Make it quick, Dick,” John said with a yawn as he put the Caddy in park. He then realized he unintentionally rhymed and choked laughing at his impromptu joke.

“Rule 32: Enjoy the little things,” I chuckled to myself.

I decided it was time to break out my N95. We just happened to park next to an empty bus stop with a trash can so it helped when I needed to change my blue nitrile gloves. I cautiously finished up my business and returned to find John drooling all over himself. I nudged him with my elbow across the long front bench seat and whispered, “C’mon, my turn to drive.” We did a midnight Chinese fire drill and John fell back asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. His deafening snoring prompted me to crank the music, which didn’t seem to stir him at all. I decided to take the scenic route so I could have the windows down and feel the chill air. I’ve always found driving to be relaxing. Before I knew it, the Sun began to rise. My stomach growled, which oddly awoke John. Guess he was hungry too. Our internal clocks were the only things on time nowadays.

“Coffee?” John asked with a yawn and a stretch.

I ducked out of his stretched reach. Guess he’s just thirsty. “I see a drive thru cafe up ahead,” I said as I pointed to an orange brick building down the street. As I pulled around, I noticed a chalk outline of a woman with a steaming cup of o’ joe. Go figure the cafe was closed, as was almost everything else around, so we had to make do with MRE instant coffee. It just wasn’t the same. We utilized this time for some recreation. John decided to walk around the block a couple times while I stayed inside the Caddy. I listened to some Miles Davis on my iPod and organized my scrapbook. I took a photo of the chalk woman with my Polaroid camera and slid the picture into the designated corner slots. I wrote a couple sentences about our pitiful breakfast.

I could hear birds chirping and the wind whistling. The world was alive, but silent with the absence of homo sapiens. Mother Nature knows what she’s doing. She’s restoring balance. Letting nature repair itself while we, neanderthals, re-evaluate our priorities. This was our reminder to “Slow down and be grateful.” I finished scribbling my Mother Nature thoughts in the scrapbook. Since John wasn’t back yet, I decided to venture about for a bit, stretch my legs, and take more photographs.

I remember passing through Dover, Delaware yesterday afternoon because we got stuck behind a horse and buggy. John recited some fun facts about Dover’s Amish community to me as we decreased our speed. I voiced my concern for the Amish’s well-being considering they are cut off from the modern world and may not know about what’s going on. As we slowly maneuvered around the horse and buggy, we noticed they had handkerchiefs tied around their faces, covering their nose and mouth. Kinda like Amish robbers.. especially since they were toting several large packs of.. TP! We determined they were indeed informed and well aware of the current state of the world. We simply waved and drove ahead of them. I think that was the first time I heard John laugh!

As I exited the vacant parking lot, I walked upon a patterned path, half concrete and half grass: where nature and man intertwine. They seem to be shaking hands. This analogy reminded me to change my gloves and to bring an extra pair along with me.. just in case. A parking pass dispense machine caught my eye on the way back that I didn’t notice before. I looked around and thought: “Hmm.. Meter Maids have bigger fish to fry right now than to give me a parking ticket.” But you’d be damn sure, I locked up all of our provisions in a large charcoal trunk in the backseat. I locked the car doors too. I decided to take a different way out of the parking lot the second time round. A dirt path led toward a bridge that I just had to cross. A plaque on the side of the stone entrance read:

"The town of Crawford in Washington County, Maine, United States was incorporated in February 28, 1828. Named after William H. Crawford, the Secretary of the Treasury. Population 105."

It wasn’t saying much that we upped Crawford’s population to 107. We.. I haven’t seen a soul.. yet. Well, I ain’t counting the chalk woman, haha.. Whoever drew her may be around here. Hiding. Or they perished from the pathogen that’s sweeping the nation.. the world. John and I were the only soldiers to escape the Seaford National Guard Military Base.. alive. We’re MIA, we’ve gone AWOL, Desertion; whatever you wanna call it. John’s only family lives in Nova Scotia on a remote island. His aunt, Zoe Lucas, has spent more than 40 years living on Sable Island, a large smile-shaped sandbar measuring around 26 miles long. The only other residents on the patch of land are around 400 horses, 300,000 grey seals and 350 species of bird. She has assured us our health and safety there. The closest thing to freedom we’ll ever get. We couldn’t pass up this opportunity.. to survive. You cannot put a price on that.

After I walked the bridge twice, I explored their quaint “downtown” area; I snapped a photo of an alluring segmented three story building. One section was cathedral-esque stone with a triangular top. Another section was a newly renovated rectangular modern white storefront. The end section was rounded and red bricked. What a unique cluster of architecture! The street was deserted, the potted plants were wilting, and the traffic lights were still changing. Guess they didn’t get the memo, haha.

“Hey, yo, dude,” a booming voice echoed through the empty street.

I jumped and turned around, while almost dropping my camera. “Dammit, John!” I exclaimed as I clutched my chest and sighed. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry, Dick,” John apologized as he patted my back a little too hard. “Did ya know we’re only twenty minutes from the border?”

“Ya don’t say?”

We gathered together to look at his wrinkled Maine state map. “Yeah, look,” John pointed with his index finger. “If all goes well at Customs and Border Patrol.. it’s about a.. six hour drive to Nova Scotia. Aunt Zoe said she’ll meet us with a boat when we’re about.. an hour out.”

“Sounds good to me,” I replied as I put my Polaroid camera strap back around my neck. “I feel like a real tourist now.”

“You sure look the part. Let’s go,” John and I exchanged looks and he shook his head. I bet he smiled under his N95.

I took a final scan of our surroundings as John was unlocking the Caddy. I snapped one last photo of a nearby building. I lowered the Polaroid camera from my eye slowly.

“J- -John?” I stuttered.

“Dick?” John mocked.

I pointed up. “Do you see that top middle window?”

John gasped.

“It’s open.”

“And the Christmas lights are on.”

We exchanged looks again. “L- -let’s g- -go,” I stuttered again. I unlocked the large charcoal trunk in the backseat while simultaneously conducting a routine check. “Whew. Rule 31: Check the backseat.”

“What?” John asked in a panic.

“Nothing,” I breathed. “Let’s go.”

HOURS LATER

Two Canadian officers in bright red uniforms with tan ranger hats approached our vehicle, one on each side, and they both motioned for us to lower the windows. We obliged.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” John greeted them as he presented his dual citizenship paperwork.

I followed his lead, “Afternoon, gentlemen.” I presented my US Passport.

Each officer thoroughly inspected our documents and handed them back.

“Sanctuary, eh?” the younger officer asked us in a hushed tone.

“Yessir,” I politely answered.

“Godspeed, gentlemen,” he replied with a salute.

We drove through the gates, over the border, with the United States in our rear view mirror.