A sorted tale; built of drama, adventure and love-lost. So I tell of my odyssey west into America and the tragic loss of romance between two lovers.
The first day; and a plot device builder!
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May 31st, 2007, Mary Esther Florida: Early morning, I rise- quivering with apprehension and a great need to pee- as is common in the morning. Sleeping on the floor and stealing my blankets is Charity, my girlfriend of the time. You inquire as to why she is sleeping on the floor? I answer thee; I had only moved into the apartment a week before from Alaska, and all my things were still in boxes. (I don’t own any furniture yet...) Anyways… The day prior she had revealed to me stunning a trust crushing news of relationships with past friends of hers of an…intimate nature. (I’ll use the word intimate as a general term for a lot of bad stuff people do with each other.) A reaction, I put the comment off as inconsequential initially, something of a defense mechanism, I suppose. It was pretty much exactly what I didn’t want to hear from her. In the months earlier we had come to be closer to one another, more than ever before we were intimate with each other. Sometimes in ways I considered immoral and wrong before, but in this case I justified it under the grounds of love. Was it ok? I’m still not sure…but I don’t think so, and after several weeks of thinking about it, I had hoped each time maybe it would suddenly feel and be ok…It never really was, what she shared with me was the end of it all. I became aggressive in our intimacy as a consequence to my justifications, hoping again that it would somehow be ok. (No more into detail you sickos.) Lets just say God and I speak a great deal these days, and I have never felt worse in my life about anything. I violated my own standards. I officially am in my own crappy guy box.
Our Couple status is currently unknown; it’s awkward like that. /cry
To end the rambling, and carry on with the narrative, I woke feeling apprehensions about having to leave my new home of Florida to go train in New Mexico. 350 yays to that, it’s hot out here, and dry…I’m going to hate it. I always try to make the best of it; I grew up in Phoenix- so maybe I could make the best of it as I had out there! I’m not a pessimist though I might sound like it because of a finely edged sarcasm; I always see the end result as good and fulfilling…whatever the drudgery in-between.
Day 1: We packed, ate and attended to our various details. Prepping ourselves, at least for Jared, my hetero-life mate (reference Jay and Silent Bob) consisted of the clothes smell check and brushing our teeth. We were not out to impress anyone. Besides, I was still bitter that I had to throw away an almost new gallon of milk! *CRY* I thrive on cereal and it seemed almost blaspheme to do so. We attack the road! After smashing Jared’s bags, which were modest, and my own which were modest for 3 months of being away from home, and a woman’s- which are never modest, even for a week long trip into my two door slightly blue shade 1990 Honda accord, we hammered off onto the Florida roadways. We aim directly for the first hurricane scarred Super-Wal-Mart, to gain provisions. Most notably goldfish (Charity), granola bars (Jared) and cream-soda (Sean). After an hour of fiddling in the store of stores, we leave and repack the car, gaining maximum space and ease of unpacking, a true feat.
Then the bloodied odyssey begins; the car doesn’t start. So, we play nose goes and Charity awkwardly asks a mom to jump my poor little over loaded old car. This was after I manned up asked and was promptly driven off on by a scared looking redneck woman who didn’t approve of me approaching her car and knocking on the window. She could have just pepper sprayed me instead of lying and saying she had a doctors appointment…we officially hit the road after a successful jump. Several hours pass wordless, but full of laughter. Charity wedged in a pile of her stuff in the copilots seat, and 6’2’’ Jared sitting in a nook in the back, with his legs enveloping the seat in front of him. Did I mention Dane Cook is fantastic for hours of laughs? So it wasn’t quiet at least.
We enter Mississippi, and stop and Cracker Barrel for some AMAZING pancakes. Lunch proceeds with much conversation and us waiting for the Charity to smoke… yuck.' We go outside to leave, and again…the car fails to start. At this point I begin to plot the doom of the horrid little blue car, which up to this point had survived 4 years of Alaskan winter, two of them at my hands- that’s saying something, as I’m a pretty terrible driver in general. Anyways, I direct Jared and Charity to continue begging for jumps while I move off across Mississippi to find an auto shop; I find one across the street. God smiles on us some times when we REALLY need it. I am endlessly appreciative of this bit of luck, and him I promise to pray more. After an hour and a half of standing awkwardly of the auto shop, they come back to me and give me a bit of detail about my battery being loose. Etc etc etc…I buy it, what the heck do I know about cars!? They charge me nothing, news that makes me gleeful.
I steal an air refresher.
It was on the ground… what? I was gleeful…
The road: Several hours later we stop for gas. And thusly, our adventure with the Hillbilly woman with the Mad Max truck begins. We have a full tank of gas, and we ask her for a jump- She immediately tells me it was my starter, she heard it click…from across the parking lot, inside her truck, with music blaring. I don’t hear it with max silence and me clicking the starter, I have a war in my brain maybe…all in all there’s only one thing to say about it:
Damn she’s good…
She offers the jump anyways to confirm, she confirms like a pro and offers to push start my poor car. We do, and we cheer, each giving her $10 for gas money. Now she was gleeful, and I was feeling marginally lucky, with this full tank of gas I could get to Biloxi. The road seems good from here. Somewhere in the learning of how to push start my car, she offered a piece of info on a mechanics shop just down the road, we decide to check it out and hope for the best.
I turn off my car…like a pro.
Dumbass…
Maybe it’s endless optimism that keeps screwing me, or maybe it’s endless naïveté --- I can’t be sure. So we attempt a hillbilly woman free push start. Somehow during all of this, while someone is leaning on the car- and no one is inside at the controls it starts and begins driving itself directly at the auto-shop owners van. After a spectacular leap and wheel turn I dodge by mere inches and stop the car.
It’s off again…dammit all…
The pushing begins anew, and we somehow get it push started by going backwards, don’t ask how- It just happened to work out that way. The mechanic after watching us toil to start my car tells me he can’t fix it anyways… I have a dislike list, and he made it. Bastard. After this last part, I decide the road leads to Biloxi and does not stop for anything in between. Because if we cannot find someone to fix the car, at least we can get a decent hotel and see what happens the next day. I get off the interstate at an appropriate looking exit, and god AGAIN smiles on me, and gets me a NAPA certified auto shop. One that conveniently has professionals, who diagnose my problem and send us away so they can work on my poor little car, they do this in less than 10 minutes, they charge me $350.
Condition: Gleeful. Again. Somewhat poorer.
We spend the hour they needed in a rundown (more than usual) Dollar General, sword fighting with paint rollers and buying all the cheap shiney beads for Mardi Gras. The rest of the time is spent in a booze store perusing the Rum and chatting it up with a gay man who runs the joint, finding out what goes best with Rum and Japanese Peach wine was a character building experience. I didn’t really participate in the conversation, being as I don’t consume… I enjoy my cream soda thanks, but it’s good to know now. I spend the time in the store enjoying the different RUM types and all the pirate connotations based off of that… What if pirates had pineapple/coconut rum!? Would they have actually gotten any pirating done? I doubt it. We attack the road, after the car starts immediately and without the usual slight hesitation and vibrations, feels like $350 worth of work to me. I am calmed, collected, a little sweaty and full of cream soda. The day is young.
Louisiana: If you ever wanted to be bored of the radio and sight seeing, drive through New Orleans- cross the mighty (smelly) Mississippi river (smells like poo and exhaust.) which is mega and mighty in all ways and get out in the BFE zones of Louisiana. You’ll hear preachers, gospel, and country and talk radio. You’ll stop at gas stations with all the local high school girls hanging out eating ice cream, and talking about us…because we are new and exciting.
It’s bad. It’s scary.
Fortunately we made it to our intended destination, and we crash into a run down Super 8 Motel.
The pool was closed.
Jared enjoyed his rum, and some HBO porn on our television with the broken remote.
Convenient.
Sleep after…
Day 2: To be continued.
=Sean
