Two Big Things

I drank a vanilla milkshake at the Dairy Queen, walked down the sidewalk to the liquor store and bought a fifth of Cutty Sark scotch, went back to my motel room, stripped off my clothes, and lay naked on the bed. I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol the whole way out here and I needed a shot or two now to fall asleep. For the past three days, all I wanted was to see the world whoosh by me from the cab of my pickup and let the steady growl of the motor calm my mind like a purring cat.

I watched the tree-filled Appalachians of Georgia give way to the black dirt of Iowa and dissolve into the shockingly flat scrubland of Kansas. Then, a hundred miles into Colorado and straight down Interstate 70, I saw the white nipples of the Rocky Mountains poking above the horizon.

But now, it is time to sleep. To enter a black velvet world that will heal my bloodshot eyes and refresh my weary brain. But first I needed to relax my mind, to ease my bent fingers that won't stop gripping an invisible steering wheel. I twist the top off my scotch bottle and take a swig like a soldier hunkered down in a foxhole with a buddy. It was good. I took another swig and set the bottle on the floor within easy reach. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t go to sleep.

Across the street, the golden arches of McDonalds glowed in my window. I draw the plastic curtain, but the yellowish light creeps around the edges and bathes the white walls. So, I reach for my bottle and take another swig, a big gulp this time. It tasted perfect. I closed my eyes to think about nothing, but I can’t think about nothing. So, I think about my drive and how it was supposed to be this big event, but it turned out to be a series of things that blended into the big event. Then I realized there is no such thing as a big event. Rather, one thing just leads to another and another and another until we mix those things into a cocktail and we call it a big event. It dawns on me, and I believe I’m right, life from beginning to end is the only event that matters. Everything else happens as part of that event. I now understand, or at least at this moment I understand, life is a blur, whooshing at us through a truck windshield at seventy miles per hour.

When I opened my eyes, the light oozing around the plastic curtain was different. It was whiter and brighter and happier than the glow from the yellow-golden arches. I checked my watch, eleven-thirty. “I’ll be damned,” I said in a flat, morning voice. I sat up on the edge of the bed, reached for my pack of Winstons, and lit one. I rubbed my head, it hurt; rubbed my eyes, they hurt; felt my hair, it was wild and hurt. I took a long shower. I stood under the hot water until it petered out. Then I turned on the full cold water and ran it over my head till my eyes and brain cleared a bit. It felt good being naked and clean. Three days on the road, nonstop, living on coffee and French fries had played hell with my armpits.

Feeling human but slightly hung over, I went to the front desk to check out and ask where I might pick up some Goodies or BC powder. “Got a headache?” she said, possibly catching the sweet smell of scotch still seeping out my pores. I laughed, “You got a good nose.”

She frowned but nodded. “King Soopers.”

I frowned and shook my head.

“King Soopers,” she said with a grin. “It’s a grocery store, a nice one.”

She told me how to get there. I parked in the King Soopers lot next to a green and white Volkswagen bus, I guessed it to be a 1972 or 1973 vintage, in good shape. I went into the store and walked through the aisles looking for the pain reliever section. Found it, bought a package of Goodies and a quart bottle of water, and paid for my purchase.

When I got back to my truck the VW bus was still there and a fine-looking young woman, with thick blonde hair, was sitting in the driver’s seat staring at a newspaper laid across the steering wheel. She held a cup of McDonald’s coffee to her mouth but wasn’t taking a sip. Her window was open; I could hear Paul McCartney singing The Long and Winding Road on the radio. I wanted to tell her I especially liked that song, but I didn’t. She looked peaceful and content, and I didn’t want to disturb her. But really, I did. Maybe I wanted to hear her voice, or maybe I just wanted her to hear mine.

So, I took a seat in my truck, and, from the King Soopers parking lot, I could see the Rocky Mountains splayed in front of me like a three-D picture postcard, only real. I heard that Denver was at the base of the Rockies, now I know what that means.

I opened my bottle of water and sprinkled the Goodies powder on my tongue and took a big drink. I love Goodies because it works so fast. I knew in ten minutes my headache would be gone and the caffeine in the powder would give me a boost of energy. While I waited, I pulled a Texaco roadmap of the United States out of my glove compartment and opened it. I had drawn a line along all the highways from Blairsville, Georgia to Denver where the line ended, and where I am now. No more line to follow but the map was folded over.

I got out of my truck and spread the map onto the hood to explore my travel options. The fine-looking young woman with thick blonde hair looked at me, which wasn’t my intention, and she smiled. “What are you doing?” she said.

I smiled. “Nice bus.”

“Thanks, I’ll be livin’ out of it for a while,” she said.

“I’m figuring out where to go next,” I said answering her question.

“Where you from?” a breeze caught her hair and ruffled it out the window.

“The South…Georgia,” I said.

“And you?”

“I’m from here. Well, not here,” she smiled. “From Colorado Springs."

I nodded, not knowing where that was.

“What brings you to the Centennial State?” she said.

“The mountains, I’ve never seen the Rocky Mountains.”

She got a wild look on her face. Her eyes bugged out like an arm was growing out of my forehead.

“They’re big, huh?” she said.

“From this distance, they look small.”

She huffed, “We’re more than fifty miles from the base.”

“So where are you headed?”

She got that wild look back on her face, “You’re not going to believe it. I’m headed east to Tennessee. I’ve never seen the Great Smokey Mountains.”

We both just sat there for a second, looking at each other like we’d heard the punchline to the same joke. I shook my head. We both smiled. I folded the map. “Guess we’re all lookin’ for something.”

Coincidence? I think not.