Cross-country Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The open road was supposed to be full of exciting possibilities.
It was romanticized in literature and on film. It was revered as the best way
to truly experience America with its different people with different cultures
and customs. Theodore had flown across America, but he had always dreamed of
driving across America. He had been saving money for three years. He was going
to quit his job and do it. He was going to go and finally experience something
unique and special. He had built it up in his mind for a long time. He knew it
was going to be a life-changing adventure and he would become a new and
different man. He would see the world in a new way. He would have new knowledge
and a new appreciation and respect for his fellow countrymen. He couldn’t help
but build his expectations up. There was a longing inside of him, a painful
desire to do something memorable and real and to finally feel like he was
living. Everything always seemed like it was a prelude, to what he wasn’t exactly
sure. But he was tired of living in hopes of finally reaching a future. He
wanted to live in the moment, in the here and now, and to have that future be
the present. He told himself that driving cross-country would do all of these
things. He would learn who he was as a man. He would broaden his horizons and
find his purpose and his goal and he would finally live. Deep down he knew this
was some childish dream and that driving couldn’t really do all those things,
but he had a year’s worth of money saved up to live on, and he knew he had to
give this a try.
Some people told him to go and see historical sites and to
experience the grandeur of nature. Other people had told him to travel the
lesser-driven paths and see American for what it really was. He had heard of
the current trendy cities, Austin, Portland, Las Vegas, and all the rest. There
were cities of culture, cities of debauchery and everything in between. He had
no single purpose and no final destination. He was going to drive for as long
as he could and see anything that was along the way. If he did this right, he
could see the 48 continental states and live a little bit of each. He would
know the differences and know what it meant to be an American basically
anywhere and everywhere. He might come back the way he came, or he might find
something better. He had no outcome in mind. He wanted to experience it all and
find a place that could make him happy. If he couldn’t find that, he joked he
might “Thelma and Louise” it, although driving off a cliff never really
appealed to him.
The day Teddy left, those around him thought that things would
turn out one of two ways – he wouldn’t make it a day before he gave up, or he’d
be back precisely in one year. Theodore was that sort of guy – he made a lot of
plans and for the most part did none of them, never even starting. But if he
did start, then he finished. Always. Nobody thought that he’d be gone though.
Theodore was a sentimentalist and everyone assumed he would miss his life and
his friends too much. No one thought he would find something along the road
that could beat the allure of his past. For the most part Theodore would have
agreed with his friends’ assessment of who he was. But there was that other
side, that side that only he knew about, the side that longed for something
more, something special. There was a small part of him that thought he would
drive and keep on driving. Roots were overrated. One location to call a home
was overrated. There was that small part of him that loved the idea of
something new always over the next horizon. Something new meant there could be
something special. As long as he had gas money he always had a chance of
finding it. All he ever wanted was a chance to get things right, and a chance
was all he ended up making for himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment